Foreboding. Utter and terrible foreboding rose up in him, and nothing he did could shake it. He weaved through tight openings in the traffic. His heart was intimate with his throat. Thrice defied. Was that it? Was that all a man could face without succumbing to power that seemed unbeatable?

He sped along the road, cursing Peter. Cursing himself. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Never trust someone to do the job for you. This! This most critical job. Why had he thought he was beating the game by passing off their trust to someone else?

The house came in sight—perfectly visible on the dark night. Ruined on one side. He screamed over the engine, heart shattering.

He didn't see the shadow flicker in the upstairs window; the shadow of another heartbroken soul. And just as well he didn't see. He had not tolerated the obsession of Severus Snape with as much grace as James. He would not have taken well to seeing Snape here.

He launched from the motorbike, heedless of the safety of his most prized possession. Because it was just that. A possession. Something that could be replaced. He could not replace Lily and James. He couldn't replace the love that was so unconditional; so all encompassing that his presence in their lives, in some of their most intimate moments was unquestioned. Unquestioned because it was simply expected. They were irreplaceable.

Harry could not be replaced.

He burst through the door, nearly falling flat on his face just over the threshold. James. He staggered, hitting his knees as his eyes went blurry with tears. His best friend. His brother. Broken on the staircase; untouched yet unseeing. He stumbled past, already knowing what he would find. Lily would not leave James. Had she not confessed as much to him the day they went into hiding? He couldn't make it past. He leaned over James, tears coming hot and fast. How could he have let this happen?

A young wail came from upstairs. He bolted upright, sprinting the rest of the way, heedless of the wreckage in the hallway. The nursery. Lily was on the ground, eyes glassy and unseeing. But beyond her. Beyond her…

Harry wailed, shrieking his unhappiness to the world. Mere feet away his mother lay. Unmoving. Untouched by his need for her. He choked, stumbling to the crib. This was impossible. Voldemort would not have left Harry alive. The prophecy—the prophecy was Harry. Not Lily and James. They were coincidental. They had simply made Harry be. Harry was the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.

Harry was not untouched. A scar marred his forehead, red and livid. Lightening. He scooped the boy into his arms, unable to be reassuring. His grief was too great to feel any remote joy. Harry was alive. But at what cost? He—irresponsible and reckless he—was now the sole provider for this child. Mother and father all in one ill-prepared grieving mess. He clung to Harry. Harry was alive.

A wail like a wounded beast came from the front lawn. He launched to his feet, darting to the window. Hargid stood in the front lawn, wailing at the top of his lungs. He rushed from the house, past Lily and James. Harry was his priority now. Harry was in danger. If Voldemort came now… It would be the perfect time to strike, when they were weak and vulnerable.

"Hagrid!" He cried, voice unrecognizable to even him, clouded with grief and something else. Something burning that he couldn't yet recognize.

"Sirius." Hagrid croaked, blowing his nose with as much delicacy as a trumpet. Harry cried harder.

"Hagrid, what happened?" He stumbled, half-falling. "J-James…h-he a-and Lil…" He couldn't stay on his feet. He hit his knees for the second time, clutching Harry to his chest and weeping.

"Dumbledore." Hagrid gasped, hand coming down none too gently on his shoulders. "Dumbledore said… He said H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named c-c-came h-here tonight."

"W-what?" It couldn't be.

"And Harry! Little Harry." Hagrid hiccupped, wiping his nose. "He lived."

"W-what?" He faltered, unable to fathom it. Unable to understand how this little baby had done what so many could not.

"Harry, little Harry." Hagrid lowered himself to a knee beside them. "He survived the killing curse!"

Survived? What did that even mean?

"H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. Dumbledore said it."

And of course, that made it completely valid. That Dumbledore was the one to say it.

"We've won."

If they'd won, then why did it hurt so much? He bent over Harry, unable to do anything more than weep. Hagrid comforted him as much as he could before going inside the house to see for himself. James and Lily. He wanted to scream. To shriek his agony to the sky. The cold, uncaring sky. How could this happen? How could he have let this happen? Let Harry grow up an orphan, never knowing just how wonderful his parents were.

And beneath it all…beneath it all was rage. Cold, unfeeling rage that he'd only heard tales of. Peter Pettigrew, the rat. How could he have been so blind? Had Peter not exposed himself years ago? A rat! A bloody, stinking rat! How could the man be any different when his animagus form was meant to expose his true self? How could they have been so damn blind?

"Give Harry to me." Hagrid said.

"No." His voice was cold now. Remote. The rage was building. Consuming.

"Dumbledore said—"

"I don't care what Dumbledore said!" He exploded, jumping to his feet and backing away with Harry clutched in his arms. "He's my…" Merlin, the grief was crushing. He couldn't breathe. "He's my godson." He finished in barely a whisper. "My responsibility now."

"Dumbledore ordered me to fetch him." Hagrid's chest puffed out with pride even as he shuffled nervously in place. Everyone knew James and Lily trusted him the most. Everyone knew there hadn't been a moment's doubt on who their son's godfather would be. The bastard who betrayed them. Who'd convinced them to put their faith in a rat.

"Take him." His voice was rough. Unsteady. "Don't let anything happen to him! If you do…" He couldn't voice a threat. His throat closed off again, and he rocked Harry back and forth because the pain was overwhelming. This is my fault. My fault.

"Dumbledore will see to him." Hagrid said like it was the most reassuring thing in the world. Dumbledore's protection.

"How will you get him there?"

"Erm…"

"Take my bike." He enlarged it with a quick jab of his wand, thinking quickly. Peter would go underground. He'd know. He must know what was coming for him. He'd start the hunt. He'd start now so Peter wouldn't get far. Then, once Alice and Frank told Remus what happened, Remus could help him finish the job. "I don't need it anymore." It didn't matter if Hagrid heard or understood the savage quality that entered his words. He kissed Harry's forehead, silently promising to be the best possible parent he could be. In a day or two. Once his parents were avenged.

He passed Harry to Hagrid, watching as Hagrid revved the bike and shot towards the sky. He stood and watched until they were little more than another star. He twisted to look at the house, heart shattering all over again. I fucked up. He told his silent family inside. I fucked up real bad this time. But I'll make it right. I'll make it right if it's the last thing I do.

"Frank?" Alice called, staring at the impossible letter in her hand.

"What?" He appeared promptly, alarmed by whatever he'd heard in her voice. "What's that?"

"A letter from Dumbledore." She frowned at it, wondering if this was just some trick. "He says it's over."

"The war?" Frank whispered, ashen. "Have we lost?"

"I don't know. It just says Didelus Diggle will explain it all—"

A knock interrupted her. A frantic knock. Frank drew his wand immediately, creeping into place exactly as they'd planned if anything should happen. She inched her way to the door, grasping the handle. A quick glance at Frank confirmed that he was ready. She wrenched the door open, keeping her body behind it. Didelus Diggle tumbled in, cheerful as cheerful could be.

"What's going on?" Frank hissed, waving his wand threateningly.

"You-Know-Who is dead!" Diggle shouted, jumping in place and clapping.

"What?" She traded disbelieving glances with her husband. Neville was safely asleep upstairs, and surely Harry was no better prepared to fight an evil wizard than their young son.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter defeated him!" Diggle could not stand still.

"Slow down, man!" Frank cried. "What are you saying? Harry is hardly a year old."

"He survived." Diggle's voice dropped to a whisper. His eyes wide as saucers. "He survived the killing curse."

"What?" Frank barked. "What about Pettigrew?"

"He's fine and dandy! Saw him on my way here. Gave him the wonderful news!" Diggle's joy could not be contained. He jumped in place, beaming like a fool. "To Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!"

"Oh, hell." Alice pressed her hands to her mouth, stomach dropping. Self-sacrifice. Her heart went with it as tears welled up in her eyes. Lily, you were right. You were right and I was wrong...

"Alice?" Frank reached for her, steadying her before she could fall.

"Hail the Boy Who Lived!" Diggle crowed before running out. Running for the next house. Spreading joyful news. Ignorant to the fact that they'd been hidden beneath a private Fidelius Charm for the last year. Had he been told of the location of their house, or had Dumbledore undone the Charm without telling them? The reversal of the Fidelius Charm was the job of the Secret Keeper. He could have undone it all without them knowing. What did it even matter? Voldemort was...dead. She swayed, gut wrenching agony pulling through her veins, because she knew as sure as she knew her own name that her best friend was also dead. That she'd given proof to Flamel's belief in self-sacrifice having unparalleled power. Harry survived the killing curse.

"Alice?"

"Lily." She moaned, hiding her face in her husband's chest. The relief she felt was sickening. "She read it somewhere. Flamel's piece on self-sacrifice. She's the one who gave me that article. She... She scarified her life for him. For Harry."

"James, too." Frank understood immediately. He'd read the article as well, as James must have. His head bowed, and he held her tighter. They were safe. Neville was safe. Voldemort hadn't chosen the pureblood son as they expected. They swayed together for a long time, grief warring with relief.

"Poor Harry." Alice mumbled after a while. What would happen to him? Sirius would adopt him. It's what Lily and James would have wanted. If only Pettigrew had…made it. Alice's thoughts faltered as the pieces of what Diggle said came together. "Frank!"

"What?"

"Sirius!" She gasped, whirling around. "We have to find him! Before he does something stupid."

"I'm not following."

"Peter Pettigrew! Pettigrew is alive and well!" She'd never seen realization dawn so suddenly on someone's face. "Pettigrew was the mole! He betrayed them."

"Sirius will go after him." Frank started to run out the door and then wheeled around and started for the stairs. He stopped halfway, torn between their son asleep upstairs and stopping Sirius from doing anything rash. "The world will think Sirius betrayed them."

"We have to stop him." Alice said urgently. "Send a message to Dumbledore. Tell Dumbledore the truth."

"But Neville—"

"I'll floo your mother." She nodded rapidly, steadying her whirling thoughts into a plan. "Write a letter to Dumbledore. I'll get your mother over here to watch Neville. Then we have to find Remus. Remus will want… We have to stop—"

"Crucio!"

"Alice!" Why did he shout her name? What was it about seeing his wife writhing on the floor in the utmost of pain that banished every ounce of auror training he'd received? Barty Crouch, Jr raised his wand, a cold smirk on his face.

"Cruico." He said with honeyed sweetness.

It wouldn't stop. They wanted answers that neither of them could give. They'd been so far outside any happening of the Order and the Ministry for the last year. They had no intelligence. Nothing to explain what happened to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore wouldn't know the truth about the Potter's Secret Keeper. He wouldn't know of Sirius' innocence. Sirius wouldn't stop to rationalize his course of action. He'd act rashly, finally giving into the madness that ran rampant in his family. He'd hunt Peter without thought or care of the consequences. Harry wouldn't be the only boy born as the seventh month died to grow up without a father, without a mother.

His last coherent thought was to wonder exactly how everything had gone so wrong.

Two days had passed. Two short days to reach this moment. Staring down Peter, who was trapped in the corner of an alley—a muggle alleyway. Did he honestly think Sirius wouldn't confront him here? He was beyond sanity. Beyond reason. But not nearly as bad off as Frank and Alice. How had things gone so wrong?

"Lily and James, Sirius!" Peter cried pitifully. "How could you?"

"How could I?" He roared, hand tight around his wand. Then, before his fury could well and truly peak, the alley exploded. People's screams rang in his ears. Sirius landed flat on his back, cracking his head against the ground. Through dazed eyes, he saw a rat sitting a foot from him, paw bleeding just a little bit. Maybe he was too stunned to be seeing clearly, but he'd have sworn the rat waved at him before turning and scampering through a newly-made hole in the concrete. Down to the sewers where he'd be safe. Because no one knew Peter Pettigrew was an animagus. No one would believe the lump would have that kind of magical skill. Even he couldn't believe it.

Sirius sat up slowly, staring at the wreckage a single spell could cause. Dead muggles littered the streets. His mouth hung open. What tricks had that weasel learned? Just how many secrets had he kept hidden? I was outsmarted by a rat. Too late to wish he'd gone to Frank and Alice first. Even if they recovered their wits, no one would believe their story of his innocence. Wizards arrived in a hurry. They grabbed him, hauling him to his feet.

Slowly, in a mad swirl of thwarted anger and crushing grief, Sirius started to laugh. What else was there to do? He laughed, because all of their planning, all of their careful preparation had led straight to this. Lily and James were dead. Alice and Frank were tortured beyond sanity. Two little boys would be deprived of their parents' love, left to struggle and learn this world on their own. He would surely go to Azkaban for this. No one would have seen that Peter was the one to fire the curse that killed a dozen muggles. They'd find some bit of him among this rubble and assume that Peter, too, was dead.

His tail was on a one-way trip to Azkaban. His only possible ticket out was a werewolf, who wouldn't be trusted for his condition alone. And things had been tense between them for the last few years. Ever since that stupid prank on Snape. Would Remus think him capable of betrayal? Even if he wondered, would he speak up? Sirius hoped he wouldn't. It would be better—safer—for Remus to pretend the friendship hadn't existed. To pretend that he wasn't, and had never been friends, with a killer. Mass murderer. What would they call him? What would they believe him capable of?

What would he be capable of after a few years with dementors eating away at the remaining fragments of his sanity? I will find him. He vowed silently, as if James and Lily could hear his thoughts. I will make this right if it's the last thing I do.

AN: (I hate these so I'll be brief)

Thank you so much to those who have stuck with me throughout the process of writing and editing this story. An extra thanks to those who have left reviews along the way - I thrive on feedback and you definitely helped motivate me to see this project to the end.

If you have any questions about the writing process or decisions I made along the way, please feel free to ask in a review or PM me! I love chatting about writing and will happily analyze plot choices in this story with anyone who so desires.

And for one last, shameless plug: Please leave a review! Even if it's negative, I won't get better unless someone tells me what they don't like about my writing!

Until next time... Mischief Managed.