a/n: Yes, it's OVER. This is the final chapter (although there is an epilogue of sorts).

Love and thanks to everyone still reading for putting up with this story for so long!

x.x.x

The Spy Game

x.x.x

Nineteen: Quiet Endings

x.x.x

Peter woke to find his mother hovering over him, smoothing his hair, and his sister fooling around with a stethoscope that she probably wasn't meant to be touching. He took in his sterile surroundings and tried to remember what he had been doing earlier and why he was waking up in the hospital. His arms and legs were heavy and his head felt full of cotton.

"Peter?" his mother whispered after his eyes had been open for a few moments. "Peter, dear, are you awake?"

"Mum?" he murmured.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty's up, then?" Susanna chimed.

"Shh, Susie. Now's not the time."

"Mum?" He was starting to remember . . .

"Peter, dear, you've had a bad accident. But you're going to be all right."

Apples . . .

"That's the important thing to remember—you're going to be all right."

Oh. Fuck.

Peter frantically lifted his arms and opened and closed his fists, feeling, searching for—

"Shh, Peter, no, don't do that—"

Something was wrong. His left hand was numb and wrapped in gauze and something was wrong, oh God please no—

"Dear, please, you'll tear out the stitches."

"Stitches?"

She nodded.

"My finger," he whispered.

His mum nodded again. Susanna looked at the floor.

His voice was quiet, raspy. "You mean—it can't be—it's not—gone?"

"Oh, Peter." His mother placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, you poor dear. Of course you'd have thought—I should have explained—oh. No. It's not gone. You cut it nearly to the bone—Susanna found you passed out on the kitchen floor, gave us an awful fright, and you've had to have quite a lot of sutures. But—no—it's intact, thank the Lord."

He took a gulping breath. "So I'm okay? My fingers are all—all there and—and I can play violin and—"

"Slow down," his mother said. "You're not going to be able to use that finger for a while yet, let alone practice the violin. And the doctor said something about—physical therapy and—and you should be aware, Peter, even when you have regained use of your finger, you won't—it might not ever be—quite the same. Quite as—agile. Do you understand?"

"But I'll be able to play?" he pressed.

She nodded. "Yes, I think it's safe to say that—given time—you'll be playing beautifully again."

x.x.x

Back at home, Peter's dreams were full of blood and severed fingers. He woke several times and fumbled for his left hand in the dark, tracing the outline of his fingers from outside the gauzy mitten. Once he even stumbled over to his dresser and took his "shoebox" from its place of honor, running his right hand along its thin neck and plucking the tinny, out-of-tune strings. Peter imagined smashing it again and again over the corner of the dresser, smashing and smashing until it was nothing but a pile of wood chips.

But no. None of that now. Nothing had yet been broken beyond repair, and nothing needed to be, now.

He just sighed in exquisite relief and went back to bed.

x.x.x

Sirius had probably experienced a more excruciating car ride sometime in his life, but damn him if he could remember when that was supposed to have been.

He had gone home last night. Sort of. He'd knocked and Regulus had answered, laughed in his face, and closed and relocked the door. And Sirius, who hadn't thought to grab a key before he'd run off, had simply gone back to James' place to spend the night.

And then this morning James had gotten a call from Peter's mother and they had gone off to relay the message to Remus and within another half an hour the three boys were crowded on the Blacks' doorstep and begging—well, James had done most of the begging, really, while Sirius had done a lot of glaring and Remus had done a lot of blushing and looking ashamed—Sirius' mum (who had fortunately answered the door this time) to drive them to Peter's house, because he had been in the hospital and nearly lost his finger and would probably appreciate a visit from his best friends to lift his nearly crushed spirits.

And so. Here they were. His mum drove, of course, and Sirius sat in the passenger seat, staring fixedly at his lap. James and Remus sat behind him and his mother, respectively. Sirius didn't speak. He could see Remus fidgeting in rearview mirror. He didn't speak, either. James, however, rambled rather loudly as if to compensate for the others' reticence—

"I can't believe Pete nearly lobbed off his finger like that. I've got a card for him—well, you two saw it—even made it myself, as utterly gay as that sounds. Err—I mean . . ."

Remus let out a tiny, forced laugh.

"Well—anyway. I really hope he's okay. His mum said on the phone she didn't reckon there was much permanent damage, but still. Glad she thought to call, at least, 'cause I don't imagine Peter would've said anything—wouldn't want to trouble us or some sort of rubbish like that, as if we haven't been mates for ten years now. And we're overdue for a visit with him, anyway—haven't seen him once since school let out, I'd been meaning to ask him over, just—got busy—you know—so. That'll be good. But—I mean—obviously the circumstances surrounding our visit aren't ideal. . ."

Silence.

"And you know, it was really lucky you were free, Mrs. Black, because Dad had already gone out before Peter's mum called this morning and so if you'd been busy we'd have had to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even all week since it's Sunday, you know, and on Monday everyone goes back to work and none of us can exactly drive a—"

"It's no trouble at all, dear," his mum cut in. "I need to pick up some items from the grocery store, actually, so I'd have been going out anyway. And it was very thoughtful of you to make Peter a card. You haven't got a card for him, have you, Sirius?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Perhaps I should stop off somewhere and let you pick one up quickly?"

"No, don't," Sirius said. "Remus did one and I already signed his."

She cringed almost imperceptibly, then smiled very brightly. "Well, that's all right, then."

"He did a really nice card," James said quickly. "He wrote a great message and sketched a violin on the front and—and it actually looks real, doesn't it, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded very slowly and Remus shyly ran a hand through his shaggy fringe.

"Mine's mostly just a mess of red felt tip," the bespectacled boy continued. "It's his favorite color—red, I mean, not felt tip. Well of course I meant red—felt tip isn't a color, is it? Hah. Hah hah . . ."

"Thank you v-very much f-f-for t-taking us all, Mrs. Black," Remus said softly.

"It's no trouble at all, dear," Sirius' mum replied once more, and silence prevailed for the rest of their journey.

x.x.x

Remus had never been inside Peter's house before. James had been, he knew, but only a few times, and Sirius—he wasn't sure. Sirius might not have been either. It was a small house—two tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, and squashed between two more just like it in a neighborhood of these tightly packed ramshackle homes. Sitting cross-legged on the dingy carpet and studying the pink paisley wallpaper of Peter's hand-me-down bedroom, Remus had the strange feeling of intruding on something private—like reading a letter addressed to someone else, or peering inside through another person's window.

"Was good of you lot to come," Peter said. "You shouldn't've bothered, really. Can't believe my mum actually called you, James."

"Oh, that was nothing unusual," James replied. "Bethany and I are on very good terms."

Sirius snorted. Remus raised an eyebrow. Peter looked a little queasy.

"Don't let her catch you joking like that," Sirius muttered darkly. "We've seen what happens to people who cross Mrs. Pettigrew." He inclined his head toward Peter's bandaged hand.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come on in," Peter called with a small smile. "If you can fit."

The door creaked open and Remus turned to see a blonde girl—petite and very pretty, probably four or five years older than Peter—carrying an infant.

"Peter," she said. "Mum called me last night, and I've only just been able to get away." She stepped around Remus, Sirius, and James, and gave Peter, who sat on the bed with his knees tucked under his chin, and one-armed hug. "You're all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, blushing a bit. "I'm fine. It's not a big deal, really."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Right. Not a big deal. I'll remember that next time my little brother nearly maims himself and save the visit for Christmas. Who are your friends, then?" she said, looking at the veritable pile of boys on the floor.

"Oh—sorry," Peter said. "Guys, this is my sister Mary. Mary, that's James Potter, that's Sirius Black, and that's Remus Lupin."

Mary's blue eyes narrowed. "Lupin, did you say?"

Remus nodded.

"Why?" Peter said. "What is it?"

"Oh—nothing," Mary said quickly. "It's just an unusual name, that's all. I'd better leave you lot to your own devices for a while—Mark here's probably getting hungry."

x.x.x

Soon after Mary's hasty exit, James and Sirius were roped into an impromptu board game with Susanna—

"Hey, you lot! Anyone up for a thrilling round of Snakes and Ladders?"

"Isn't that a kids' game?"

"Ought to be just about your level then, eh, Black?"

"Oh, c'mon, Sirius, it'll be fun."

"All five of us then?"

"Nah, Pete hates Snakes and Ladders. Sore loser, that one."

"Hey!"

"Well—you three play. Peter and I will be fine just t-talking"

—and Remus and Peter found themselves alone in the bedroom.

"Ta, mate," Peter said. "I really do hate Snakes and Ladders. All the backtracking, you know."

Remus smiled. "Never played it, actually. I—umm—I'm really glad you'll—you'll be okay."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I mean—me too, obviously. Thanks for dropping by and all that."

He shrugged.

"It's just—it isn't—it's weird, you know? What I almost—almost did. Because it's—I wasn't—well. And. I mean—it's like—my whole—everything was nearly ruined just 'cause—because I was a little—I don't know. Clumsy. Shit, I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"No—I mean—I understand," Remus said.

"Okay," Peter said. "Right. Good. So, it's—I don't know—just—kind of awful. But also kind of good. Like—more than good. Fantastic. Because something so much worse could've happened and—it didn't. Like I was—spared, somehow. Well—that doesn't—I don't know how to say it right. I'm sure you'd have a word for it, Remus."

He frowned. "A word for—for what, exactly?"

Peter pursed his lips in thought. "A word for—for when, it's like, something really bad doesn't happen when it almost—almost should. Not should, but—I don't know. Like luck, but—not good—I mean. Damn. Just—the worst doesn't always happen, you know?"

Remus nodded. "I think," he said, "some people would c-call that—grace."

"Grace," Peter echoed.

"Grace," he repeated.

Peter nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's it exactly."

x.x.x

Just minutes after his friends had departed, Peter heard a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Mary cracked the door and slipped into the bedroom. "Hey, little brother." She sat next to him on the bed, her baby in her arms.

Peter remembered the last time that he and Mary had sat like this, together on his little bed, and he felt the old, sleeping curiosity flex and yawn once more.

"Hey—Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember—remember when you said that—umm—if I had any questions? About—you know . . . "

She frowned. "Yes."

"Right. Um." Peter gathered his nerve. "So—you said, I mean, ages ago—it was a car? He was hit by a car?"

She nodded. "An accident."

"And do you know—I mean, it hardly matters—it's not as if—and an accident—but still—do you know—I mean—who—"

"No," she said suddenly, firmly. She adjusted the baby to scratch her nose. "I mean—I'm sorry. But I don't—no one knows. It was a hit-and-run. They never found whoever did it. So. No. I have no idea. No one does."

"Oh," he said. "That's—"

"Exactly how it is, usually. And maybe how it should be."

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Is that all?" Mary said with more than a hint of her old iciness.

"Yes—no—I mean—no. Wait. That's not all."

She raised an eyebrow.

He swallowed hard. "Umm—I just—I always wanted to know—what he was—well. You know. Like."

"I can't remember much," Mary told him, but her voice and her face were soft now, and Peter knew that she would tell him everything that she could.

x.x.x

Sirius' first few days back at home were mostly silent. His mother would look at him, purse her lips, then smile with saccharine artificiality. Sometimes he would catch sight of her in the morning, before she'd done her makeup, and always her eyes would be red-rimmed, set in dark, exhausted shadows.

When he left that afternoon to see Remus, he told her that he was going to James' place. She knew that he was lying. Sirius knew that she knew he was lying.

He just didn't really care.

x.x.x

Remus was, predictably enough, spending the late-summer afternoon under the shade of the willow—the tree was huge now, its roots sprawling and its branches sweeping and its trunk stretching ever farther toward the sky.

Sirius approached slowly. From the edge of the Lupins' yard, he could see that Remus and someone else—a woman—were sitting cross-legged in the grass with a plastic chess set between them. He had never seen the woman before, but he was sure he discerned something familiar about her. She was probably about thirty-five or forty years old, with a gentle, somewhat tired face, and her long and wavy hair—a few shades lighter than Remus', with a streak or two of gray—was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wore a flowery dress and no makeup. Her eyes were big and almost gold in color.

She spotted him and waved—unsurely, tentatively. Then Remus turned and caught sight of him as well.

"Sirius!" he called. "You've not met my mum, have you?"

His mother. For a fraction of a second Sirius stood, stunned, but he collected himself, grinning and trotting over to the pair. "Mrs. Lupin?" he inquired, looking at the woman across from Remus.

"Catie is just fine, dear," she said, standing up to lightly shake Sirius' extended hand.

"Well then, Catie, it's a pleasure to meet you." He gave her a particularly polished smile.

She smiled almost shyly in return and resumed her seat.

He looked at Remus. "Can I sit with you, then?" Once, Sirius wouldn't have bothered asking. But they were terribly old now and nothing was certain any more.

"Course," Remus said. "Sirius is one of my very b-best friends, Mum," he explained.

Sirius sat down.

"Well," his mother said, "he is quite charming. If all your friends are like that, I'd say you've got very good taste."

Remus blushed and bit his lower lip. Sirius laughed loudly.

"You obviously haven't met Severus Sn—"

"Shh!" Remus interjected. "Sirius—really—you don't need—that isn't—n-necessary."

Sirius stuck out his tongue playfully at the other boy but said nothing, and Catie Lupin watched with a happily bemused expression.

"I am sorry I haven't met you before," she told Sirius almost wistfully. "I've been—a bit absent. You'll have to forgive me. Have you and Remus been friends for very long?"

"Oh—yeah, I think you could safely say that we've been friends for quite a long time."

"And did you meet at school?" she asked. "Because if that's the case, I bet you're a brilliant student like Remus here. I never knew my own son was so smart—well naturally I'd always thought that about him. But now he's got all sorts tests and papers that prove it."

Remus blushed heavily and Sirius just smiled at Catie Lupin's bursting pride.

He understood completely.

"Not at school, actually, no," he replied.

"Oh, well, forgive me," she said, apparently detecting her son's embarrassment. "You know how mothers can be, I'm sure. So tell me—if you and Remus didn't meet at school, then when and how did you meet?"

"Oh—umm—it's funny, actually. Me and James—you don't know James Potter, do you?"

Catie shook her head.

"Right. Well. Good bloke. Lives just a couple houses down. We've pretty much been best mates forever. Anyway, me and him, when we were kids, we'd play this game—ummm—where we'd sneak into people's yards and—hah, umm, well"—Remus snorted—"well, that's how we found Remus. When we were—umm—six years old, I reckon."

She smiled, amused. "So—a very long time, then?"

He nodded.

"Well. I suppose I ought to thank you."

Sirius didn't really know what to say to that, so he just grinned and shrugged.

x.x.x

"Sirius," Remus whispered as Catie headed inside to fix some lunch.

"Yeah?"

"Your mum—"

"Don't worry about her," Sirius said firmly.

Remus frowned, but nodded his agreement. "But do you—do you think we'll be—all right?"

"That," Sirius said, "is perhaps the only thing I'm sure of."

Remus looked around and gave him a quick hug. And when he pulled away and smiled so that his cheeks bulged and his eyes crinkled, Sirius felt that sixteen wasn't so far-removed from six, after all.

x.x.x

"They're releasing your mother from the hospital. We're to collect her tomorrow morning."

James looked up from his take-away dinner with bright eyes as his father placed the phone on the receiver.

"That's brilliant!" he said. "She must be getting better, after all."

His father shook his head solemnly.

"No?" James whispered.

Another shake of his father's head. "They've not—they haven't—no," he said softly, slowly. "They just think she would—would be more comfortable at home."

James swallowed a mouthful of curry and tried not to vomit. "Right," he said. "Right."

His father had spidery lines at the corner of each eye and gray hair by the handful. The man stood, slumped, exhausted, and it occurred to James for the first time that he and his friends weren't the only people getting older.

x.x.x

Sirius had never been to a funeral before. Well—when he was five his mother had conducted a funeral for the family goldfish, which had died of something akin to obesity (but really, no one could blame him and Reg when feeding the fish was just so much fun). But he had never been to a real funeral for an actual dead human being.

It was a rather small affair. The dark casket and the hush of people shrouded in black stuck out absurdly against the bright end-of-summer day and the cheerful little Anglican church. A colorful flower garden flourished just outside while the sun poured in through the stained glass and painted colorful streaks of light across the white beech floors.

James and his father held the seats of honor today, along with James' maternal grandparents, who had flown in from Wales and looked on the brink of death themselves. Across the aisle from them were a number of other extended family members. Sirius' family sat behind James and his dad—Sirius directly behind James, Regulus behind Mr. Potter and sandwiched between Sirius and their mother. Also in attendance were Peter and his mother, Remus, the Evans family, and various adults that Sirius didn't recognize. Severus Snape had even showed up at the Potter's house a few hours prior to offer his sympathies with a card and a rough handshake for James, but apparently he knew better than to show his face at the service.

The priest was a good sport, all things considered—a thirty-something who had probably hoped to spend the pleasant afternoon in some park with a pretty wife and a couple of laughing toddlers. He talked about "the tragedy of a life cut short" and "God's mysterious plan" and "comfort in the knowledge of salvation"—well-intentioned utterances that Sirius couldn't half pay attention to while his best friend's shoulders were shaking in front of him.

x.x.x

Lily held his hand as they lowered his mother into the gaping earth. His glasses kept fogging and he'd had to take them off, so he couldn't see much—just a lot of glaring blue and green. And black. But that was probably for the best. He didn't need his eyes to feel Lily's soft hand wrapped around his own, or to hear the sound of his own hushed sniffles. Afterwards, Lily quietly slipped away, and James and his father spent a lot of time receiving condolences from various acquaintances and extended family members.

"You've been really patient, James," his father said in a soft, sandpaper voice. "If you want to take off for a while—." He inclined his head toward the edge of the graveyard where James, his glasses now back in their rightful place, saw Sirius, Remus, and Peter sitting, possibly talking.

"Oh," he said. "I—yeah. I would like to. I mean—thanks. I'll be back—umm. Yeah."

His father nodded, and James was off.

x.x.x

The heat was oppressive, and Remus had to shrug off his jacket. It had looked a bit ridiculous on him, honestly—he'd had to borrow it from Sirius, and the sleeves stopped half an inch before his wrists while the shoulders stuck out awkwardly from his thin frame. Wnen he had left home earlier that afternoon, he'd worn blue jeans and a t-shirt and had told his mother he was going to the cinema.

And besides borrowing Sirius' clothes, he'd had to drive with Sirius' family, because the Evans family didn't have room for another in their car and he could hardly impose himself on James and his father. So Remus had asked Mrs. Black very politely and with his eyes averted if she might, possibly, somehow, if it wasn't too much trouble, be able to give him a ride to the funeral. And she had—of course—replied very sweetly that it wasn't any trouble at all and he would be welcome to ride with them. So he'd sat next to Regulus and behind Mrs. Black and remained silent, occasionally catching Sirius' eye in the rearview mirror and then looking away quickly.

He'd sat with Lily for the service.

"It's almost over," Sirius said, sprawled lazily across the overgrown grass.

"Hmm?" Remus settled himself next to Sirius, tucking his knees under his chin and wrapping his arms under his legs.

"Summer," Sirius said. "It's almost over."

Peter soon joined them, taking a seat on the ground next to Remus. His left forefinger was in a splint. No one spoke.

Moments or days later, James joined them, too. He crumpled bonelessly on the other side of Sirius.

For several minutes.

No one spoke.

"It was quiet," James finally said. The sun glared harshly off his spectacles. "Not like—not like loud or, or—agonizing, I don't think. We'd both kissed her goodnight, and then in the morning Dad went to bring her a bit of breakfast and—. Well. She just drifted off, I reckon. Asleep and then—right. Quiet."

Silence crept upon them once more.

Peter was the first to speak in response. "That's how they say the best endings are." His voice was a near whisper, breathy and warm as the summer evening's soft breeze. "Quiet, I mean."

"Oh, fuck," Sirius murmured.

Remus sighed softly.

"Yeah," James said. He removed his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. "Yeah. That's right, mate. That's right."

The bleeding sun sat low on the horizon when the four friends eventually bid their somber goodbyes.

x.x.x

End.

x.x.x

a/n: OMFGAHYAY it's finished! There is an EPILOGUE, which will not be posted at this site. Fanfiction(dot)net doesn't allow the strike-through symbol, for reasons unknown, and I'm way too much of a diva to rewrite the epilogue to accommodate the site's formatting restrictions. So, instead, you may read it here (just remove the space and replace "(dot)" with actual periods):

http:// yourmomismyheart(dot)wordpress(dot)com

But if you want to review first then that's cool, too.

Love you all.