Eclipsed

Sirius sat on the steps outside their apartment, the heat of July pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had been feeling restless all afternoon, having finished his shift at the hospital after a very long 24 hours. Peter had been absent for weeks, James and Lily were out, and Remus was off on some mission for Dumbledore in some unknown part of Europe.

And Sirius—Sirius had too much time to think.

Normally, this would be when he’d reach for a bottle, drown out the loneliness, the anxiety clawing at him. But he’d made a promise, to himself, to Remus. No more drinks. So instead of heading to the local pub, he found himself apparating to Godric’s Hollow, to the Potters' home—the only place that ever truly felt like his own.

When he arrived, he stepped inside quietly. The house was always welcoming, warm in a way his childhood home had never been. The faint sound of swing music played from an ancient record player, blending into the soft hum of the house itself. Fleamont was lying on the couch, a blanket tucked around him, looking frailer than Sirius remembered. His breathing was steady but slow, a light cough escaping every now and then.

"Hey, old man," Sirius greeted quietly, settling into the armchair beside him.

Fleamont stirred and offered Sirius a weak smile. "Sirius, good to see you." His voice was tired, but there was still that familiar twinkle in his eye.

They talked for a while, before Fleamont closed his eyes to rest, leaving Sirius absentmindedly picking at the fabric of the armchair. Eventually, Effie came in, wiping her hands on a tea towel and giving Sirius a fond look.

“Sirius, love! Would you like something to drink, dear? Tea? Lemonade?”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Sirius replied. “Just thought I’d stop by… Didn’t feel like I should be alone, you know?”

Effie smiled, knowing exactly what Sirius meant, and sat down beside Fleamont. “We’re always happy to see you, love. You’re the son we acquired later in life… not that we were spring chickens when Jamie was born.”

Sirius grinned, feeling warmth spread through his chest. “And you’re like the parents I never had.”

Effie chuckled softly. She reached over, brushing some of the wispy hair away from Fleamont’s forehead, and her face grew more serious. "Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Sirius."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Effie rarely had that tone unless it was something important.

She sighed softly, her hands resting on her lap. “After we went together, to take Monty to Mungo’s a few weeks back, I went to the eye doctor myself. After everything that happened with James' eyes and missing how Fleamont’s health was slipping… well, I got worried about my own vision.”

Sirius shifted in his chair, not sure where she was going with this. “You’re fine though, right?”

Effie hesitated before answering. “It turns out that I carry the gene for James' condition. The doctor said it’s been dormant in me, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed. “It is passed from mothers to sons. It doesn't affect women in the same way it affects me.”

Sirius blinked. “But—you didn’t know? You didn’t know your father well, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Effie whispered. “But I feel so guilty, Sirius. I missed the signs in James for so long. And now Fleamont—”

Sirius cut her off, leaning forward. “Effie, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t make James blind, and you’re certainly not responsible for Fleamont getting sick.”

Effie shook her head, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it, Sirius. Not with James, not with Fleamont. I should’ve been more careful, more observant. A mother is supposed to protect her family.”

“Effie, listen to me.” Sirius’ voice was firm but gentle. “James is blind because some bastards attacked him in the hallways. That’s not on you. The genetic stuff… sure, it’s a factor, but James would still be able to see way better than he does now if it wasn’t for that attack. You’re a healer, Mum, you know this. You can’t take on the weight of all this.”

Effie wiped at her eyes and smiled weakly. “You always were the charmer, Sirius.”

He grinned, sitting back in the chair. “And you, Effie Potter, are the best mother James could’ve asked for. He knows that. Fleamont knows that. And I know that. You’re the best mother I’ve ever had… and that’s objective, since I’ve had more than one, you know.”

Effie let out a shaky breath, her smile growing more genuine. “Thank you, darling. That means a lot to me.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Fleamont’s breathing steady beside them. Sirius felt some of his own restlessness dissipate, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with family. Effie’s words still lingered, though—the quiet fear of losing her vision, of watching her family struggle and feeling powerless to help.

But Sirius knew, deep down, that James had inherited more from his mother than just her eyes. He had inherited her strength, her kindness, and her unbreakable spirit. And if Sirius had anything to say about it, Fleamont, Effie, and James would never have to face any of this alone.

Peter tugged nervously at the cuffs of his dress shirt as he stood outside the grand manor. The place was huge, far more elegant than anything he’d ever been invited to. The wrought iron gates and the long, winding path up to the front door had been enough to set him on edge, but he had agreed to this. He couldn’t back out now.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and knocked on the heavy oak doors. They opened almost instantly, revealing a house-elf who motioned for him to enter without a word.

Inside, the atmosphere was vastly different from the rowdy parties he was used to attending with his friends. This was no Gryffindor apartment bash with cheap Firewhiskey and too-loud music. Instead, classical music played softly in the background, and chandeliers sparkled overhead. The guests, dressed in fine robes, sipped expensive wine and chatted in hushed, controlled tones. The air was thick with wealth and something else—something that made Peter’s stomach knot.

He wasn’t surprised to find that most of the attendees were familiar faces from Slytherin—the ones who had always whispered in the halls about blood purity. He wasn't even shocked to spot the Dark Marks hidden beneath the sleeves of several guests. What did surprise him, though, was how nice they all were being to him.

“Pettigrew, was it?” one of the younger men, Antonin Dolohov, greeted with a grin, clapping him on the back a little too hard. He’d been a couple years ahead of them at school, and Peter was sure they’d put hair dye in his shampoo one time as a prank. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You Gryffindors aren’t known for joining the finer circles.”

Peter forced a laugh, feeling the weight of every eye in the room turn towards him. “Well, you know me, always full of surprises.”

Another man, older and clearly someone of influence, raised his glass in Peter’s direction. “We could use more surprises like that, couldn’t we?” His tone was pleasant, but there was an undertone of something darker.

Peter smiled weakly, his palms already beginning to sweat. He moved further into the room, greeted by more pureblooded wizards, each handshake and nod adding to the growing pit in his stomach.

As the evening progressed, Peter tried to blend in as much as possible. He laughed politely at jokes, made a few weak ones of his own, and nodded along when people spoke to him, trying desperately to keep up with the conversation without standing out too much.

But then something clicked. The conversation shifted, becoming darker, more pointed. Talk of “preserving wizarding traditions” turned into discussions of laws that would suppress Muggleborns. Mentions of "strategic alliances" felt more like covert plans for something sinister. It dawned on Peter, suddenly and horribly, that he wasn’t just at a party—he was at a Death Eater meeting.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t just surrounded by elitists or people with questionable morals. He was in the presence of full-fledged Death Eaters. Powerful, influential men in the wizarding world, many of them holding key positions in the Ministry, and all of them discussing plans that chilled him to the bone.

Peter stayed quiet, shrinking into himself, trying to become as small as possible. He cracked the occasional joke, weak as they were, hoping to defuse any attention on him. But his heart was racing, his throat dry, and his mind screamed at him to leave. Yet he stayed. He didn’t know how to get out without raising suspicion, and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

At one point, Edmund Burke—Elle’s father and one of the most respected men in the room—caught Peter’s eye and raised his glass to him. “Glad to see you fitting in, Pettigrew,” Edmund said with a smile. “Only the best for my daughter, isn’t that right?”

Peter smiled tightly, nodding but not trusting himself to speak. He could feel his pulse thudding in his ears, the overwhelming pressure of the room crashing down on him. These weren’t just powerful men—they were dangerous. And somehow, he had gotten himself mixed up with them.

By the time the evening began to wind down, Peter felt like he could barely breathe. He made his excuses, slipping out as politely and quickly as he could without causing a scene. His head was spinning by the time he apparated back to the small apartment he shared with Elle above the apothecary.

As soon as he walked through the door, Elle turned to him, her eyes bright with excitement. She was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over some Herbology notes, but she looked up with a smile when he entered. “Hey! How did it go? Did you have fun?”

Peter swallowed hard, not knowing how to answer. What could he even say? How could he possibly tell her that her father was a Death Eater? That he had just spent the evening with some of the most dangerous wizards in the country?

“It was... fine,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m just really tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

Elle’s smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. “Okay, love. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done with this chapter.”

Peter forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He trudged into their bedroom, his mind racing. As he lay down, the events of the night played over and over in his head. What had he gotten himself into? And worse, how was he ever going to get out?

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The image of Edmund Burke and the other Death Eaters laughing and talking about their plans haunted him, along with the terrifying realization that he was in way over his head.

The sun hung low in the August sky, casting a warm, golden glow across the sandy shore. The ocean waves lapped rhythmically against the beach, a soothing soundtrack to the day. Peter stood at the edge of the water, letting the cool sea foam wash over his bare feet. He hadn’t been to the beach in ages, and even now, with the gentle breeze and laughter of his friends filling the air, a knot of anxiety sat in his chest.

 Lily had suggested this trip for Peter’s birthday—with everything else going on—the Order meetings, the increasing attacks, the tension brewingin the air—it felt like the perfect excuse to get away. But Peter had hesitated to invite Elle. He had wanted to invite her, but the fear gnawed at him. Would his friends judge her for being a Slytherin pureblood? The daughter of a known blood-supremist? Worse, would she look down on them?

The beach was quiet, far enough from any major muggle or wizarding community to feel like a retreat. Marlene and Mary had joined them, along with Remus and Sirius, who were sitting together on a blanket. Lily had packed sandwiches, and Marlene brought butterbeer, which Mary was trying to cool with a perfect chilling charm. James stood near the water’s edge, Lily beside him, gently guiding him through the soft sand. Peter watched them, feeling a mix of warmth and something else—an odd sort of disconnect that he hadn’t quite shaken off since Elle came into his life.

He glanced over at the group lounging on towels spread out over the sand. Remus sighed as he stretched out, clearly relieved to be resting. “I’m not made for the sun,” he muttered with a wry grin, squinting at the bright horizon. His hair had grown longer during his time away, and there were new scars on his arms—Peter tried not to stare.

“None of us are, darling” Sirius teased, lying back again. “Aside from Prongs and Mary, we’re all doomed to suffer in the sun.” His hair, now cut short to suit his work at the hospital, made him look different—more serious, somehow. Peter wasn’t used to seeing Sirius with short hair, and there were tattoos snaking across his chest now, black lines, stars and script that stretched out from the center of his chest and under the open sides of his linen button up shirt. He looked tougher than he had in school, the tattoos balancing out the clean-cut look of his new hair. 

Remus, sitting beside Sirius, looked more tired than ever. Every now and then, Sirius would nudge him or pass him a drink without saying anything, and it was an unwelcome flashback to their last year in Hogwarts, when Remus had been falling apart without them noticing. His posture was stiffer, his movements slower. His eyes, though still bright with humor when he joked with Sirius, carried a deeper fatigue now. Maybe it was the missions Dumbledore had him running or just the weight of it all, but after not seeing him for a few months, the changes in Remus seemed so drastic. 

“Pete!” Marlene called, waving a bottle of Butterbeer in his direction, breaking him from his trance. She was sprawled out next to Mary, Marlene in light summer robes next to Mary in her muggle swimsuit, sunglasses perched on both their noses. “Stop brooding over there. Come have some fun, will you?”

Peter smiled weakly and waved back, but didn’t move. He wasn’t sure why he felt so distant from them, even now, when he was surrounded by the people he’d grown up with. His thoughts kept drifting back to Elle, to her world of pureblood parties and influential friends—people like her father, who Peter now knew to be a Death Eater. How could he stand here, on this beach with his friends, knowing that?

Still, he joined them after a moment, sitting on the sand beside James. 

Lily pulled Peter into the conversation. “You’re awfully quiet over there, Pete. Thinking about something?”

“Just, you know, soaking it all in,” Peter replied, waving his hand dismissively. He wasn’t about to admit that he was thinking about Elle, or that he was watching his friends with this quiet, sinking feeling.

James’ sunglasses, black and thick-rimmed, shaded his eyes as he tilted his head toward Peter. “Good day for it, eh? Sun’s nice and hot.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, glancing at Lily. 

She was seated next to James, her hand resting casually on his thigh. Lily smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was softer with James now—Peter could see it in the way she always kept a hand on his arm or laughed at his jokes, even when they were bad—but with the rest of the world, she had become harder. Tougher. He’d overheard her more than once at the Order meetings, talking heatedly about the Ministry and their lack of action against the rising Death Eater threat. Today, though, she seemed more focused on keeping James happy, which Peter guessed was what this whole trip was really about, even though using his birthday as an excuse was a nice touch.

Lily stretched, standing up. “I’m going for a swim,” she announced, pulling her hair up into a quick bun. “Anyone want to join?”

“I’ll come,” Mary said, jumping up eagerly, and Marlene followed suit.

Peter watched them go, feeling an odd sense of detachment. He looked at his friends—James, Sirius, Remus—and realized how much they had all changed in the year since they had left Hogwarts. Sirius was harder now, scarred from hospital work and war. Remus looked worn out, his body more tired and sore than it had ever been. And James—the confident, carefree boy Peter had grown up with was still there, but more guarded, more afraid. 

“Come on, James, you’re missing out,” Lily called, teasing.

“I’d rather not drown today,” James replied with a grin. Sirius reached out an arm and clapped it on James’ shoulder, reassuring him of his presence. 

He thought of Elle again, of the parties she attended, surrounded by the elite, the powerful. Her friends were at the top of society, while some of his friends were at the bottom—fighting for survival in a world that was crumbling. Peter felt caught between two worlds, not quite belonging to either. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he’d been avoiding his friends, withdrawing into himself out of fear and anxiety. He wished he could talk to them about it, but what could he say?

“Alright, birthday boy. What do you want to do today? Besides brood,” Sirius joked

Peter laughed softly, shaking his head. “Again… I’m not brooding.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sirius replied with a smirk. “Go on, get in the water. It’s your birthday.”

Peter smiled despite himself. He stood up, glancing back at the ocean. Maybe he could let himself enjoy today, just for a little while.

“Come on, Peter!” Marlene shouted from the water, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. She waved him over. “You’re not getting out of this!”

As the sun sank lower and the day wore on, Peter found himself relaxing. They swam, they ate and drank, and for a few hours, Peter let himself forget about everything else. There was laughter, splashing, and for a brief moment, things felt almost normal.

But as they packed up to leave, Peter’s thoughts drifted back to how much had changed. His friends were different now, hardened by the world they lived in. He wondered, as they walked up the beach together, James holding onto his arm tightly, if they were all heading toward something worse. And if he would still belong with them by the time they got there.

“Putting on some muscle, are you?” James teased, squeezing Peter's bicep as they walked up the beach away from the water together. “You alright? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about... everything.”

“Don’t think too hard,” James said, giving him a grin. “Today was supposed to be fun.”

Peter nodded, though the weight in his chest hadn’t lifted. It was hard not to feel the weight of everything pressing down on them. Peter knew things were changing, that they had already changed. 

“It was James. Thanks for planning all this.” 

As the sun began to set, casting a golden light over the water, Peter turned back for a second watched his friends laugh and joke with one another as they followed them up the beach. The war hadn’t reached them yet, not fully. But it was close. Too close. And somewhere close by, Elle and her friends were safe, protected by their status.

The weight in his chest kept pressing down harder and harder, and he swallowed it and smiled. 

“It’s been a wonderful day.”