The Rat is Actually a Snake
The Aurror's hands didn’t leave his arms once. Not one time. They had found him sitting there, halfway between a sob and a cackle, in the depths of hysteria. There was ash fucking raining from the sky, and houses along the sides of the muggle suburb were still on fire. How long had they been on fire? How long had it been since Peter had cast that deadly spell, killing twelve muggles with one flick of his wand?
After bravely, for once in his life, ripping his sleeve up and baring the ugly black skull and snake branded to his arm, proud while somehow still sobbing. Sirius was sobbing too, but his tears didn’t co-mingle with pride. No. All he was able to feel now was rage. “How, Wormy?! How fucking COULD YOU?!” He had roared. Wormtail had stood there, bold as brass, as if Prongs and Lils hadn’t been killed. His best friend. Sirius’ best friend. And the woman James loves-no, loved, more than the world itself. It came out later that James had died first. Of course he had. James was the real Gryffindor. All Peter was had come down to a wolf in sheep's clothing. A true rat.
“He was your best friend! You loved him! I LOVED HIM!” Wormtail had flinched, at least, at that, not trying to conceal the tears cutting tracks down his face.
“And now you stand there, bloody CRYING!? No, you don’t get to cry. You did this, Wormy.”
Sirius had practically spat at him. Wormtail looked up at him, eyes shuttering. Sirius almost thought Peter was about to break, and then something new slid into place. His eyebrows dropped, and his chin jutted out defiantly. His eyes narrowed, no longer the baby blue of his youth, but a churning, ocean storm.
“You never cared about me, Pads. You never respected me. You treated me like the shit on your pureblood shoe, ‘Toujours Pur’. And then, you became friends with James Potter. My best friend. You stole him from me and turned everyone against me. Who could I have been, in comparison, to the Great and Mighty Sirius Black and James Potter! Who pulled off great pranks and stole the hearts of every girl who passed by. Who got top marks in every class, and had legacies and riches to fall back on? The athletes of the century! And you wouldn’t even let me bask in your sunlight, would you? Pushed me away, made fun of me, ignored me, and made James do the same. You may have been embarrassed of me, but you are pathetic. Even now, still running around doing errands for old Dumby like the dog you are. You could never grow up, could you Sirius? The only good part of your existence was when you were a fucking schoolboy, and so you thought you might never have to leave it. But for once, Pureblood Prince, open your eyes. There's a war on, and your team is losing. Why would I put my neck on the chopping block? Line up for the hanging tree, for a bunch of people who left me out in the cold? Fuck that. The Order of the Phoenix is the Titanic, and you just hit your iceberg. I’m not going down with the ship.”
Wormtail exhaled sharply, eyes alight with a fire Sirius had never seen before. Sirius for once, was almost stunned into silence. Almost. What Wormy had said hurt. Because parts of it were true. Sirius had stolen James away from him. He had outshone the little rodent in every way possible, and then kicked him to the curb. Why wouldn’t he? Peter was always a desperate, annoying little boy, who had turned into a sniveling, crippled man. Who would want him around? He was right about some bits though. Pieces that just now fell into place. That his school years were the only part of his life that made it worth it. Meeting James. A boy that, while a pureblood like him, was the opposite of his parents. That the generations of blood that flowed through his veins, while only ever magical, was just that. Blood. And sometimes, blood doesn’t bind you. Sirius would know, better than most. Where the Blacks were cruel and cold, the Potters were kind and warm. Where the Blacks were prideful and secretive, the Potters were humble and inclusive. Warburga and Orion prided themselves upon it, and it made Sirius sick. He remembers, even now, how two days after meeting James, after deciding he had met his best friend, James shocked him.
He had been lounging in the common room, decked in red and gold (his new favorite colors), and had asked a new boy his last name. The boy was curled up in one of the squashy armchairs, a few sizes too big school robes swamping his frame. He had golden curls and an angular face, brutal scars thrown into sharp relief in the light of the flames in the fireplace. The boy sported a black eye and more than a few fresh scratches. His eyes seemed perpetually wide, and his fists were always clenched, as if expecting a fight. Sirius had no clue how his clothes were so ratty already. Term hadn’t even started, and his robes were almost threadbare, with strings trailing from the cuffs of his what-would-be new robes from Madam Malkins. Did he get sent back a year? No, he was too small for that. But Sirius had flung himself onto the couch, rumpling his hair with what he hoped looked like cool, roguish behavior. The boys' eyes had flicked up at him, looking startled again. Sirius clamped down a snort.
“What's your name?” The boy, somehow, looked more skittish. He mumbled -well, something, and then looked back at his grubby hands, fisting his robe in nervous energy.
“Sorry lad didn’t catch that. I don’t speak mouse.” Sirius raised his brows at the boy, who seemed to get frustrated. Ah, at least it was something.
“Lupin. R-Remus. Lupin.” He stuttered out. “Like the wolf?” The boy- Remus went white. It looked like he stopped breathing. Sirius was confused. Did he have a thing with wolves? It wasn’t like there was one in the room. Honestly, how did this kid end up in Gryffindor? Remus looked like his lips were glued together as if one couldn’t get them apart with a crowbar. His chest was pushing up and down, and his eyes were dilated so much that there was almost no iris left. The poor kid looked on the cusp of a fucking panic attack. Of course, it was then that James had swept into the room, clambering out of the portrait hole, after bidding The Fat Lady a brief but cheery “Cadywampus!” He sauntered over to Sirius and plopped down on the couch next to him, before glancing in between Sirius and afraid-of-everything-Remus-Lupin, and instantly understanding something was wrong.
He jumped up and knelt next to Lupin, who was currently squeezing the knees of his trousers so hard his knuckles had turned white.
“Wha- what happened, Sirius? Is he okay?” Sirius, at a loss, shrugged.
“All I did was ask him his bloody name, and he told me, but then he just bugged out.” James looked as confused as Sirius felt and tried to get into Remus’ eyeline.
“Hey, kid- I mean- what's his name, Sirius?”
“Lupin. Remus Lupin.” “Oh, like the wolf?” Remus visibly jumped at the comment being made a second time, and his fists clenched like he was ready to start swinging. Sirius clocked this, but James seemed unperturbed.
“That’s what I said the first time, that's what got him all worked up. I have no clue why though.” James carded a hand through his hair, and trying to make eye contact with Remus, said,
“Remus, I don’t know what got you worked up, but we weren’t trying to make fun of you, honest, we just-” Remus seemed to not be listening much, but he snapped back at James,
“If you say that again, I’ll bloody knock your teeth in, posho.” James was the one who looked shocked this time. Sirius was mad.
“Don’t be a bloody knob, alls we did was ask you your name, wanker.” James scowled at Sirius at this, who just shrugged his shoulders and slumped back into the couch.
“Sorry Remus, I was just making the connection between the old Roman myth about the two brothers, Romulus and Remus. And like, that, Lupin is Latin for wolf. Your name is basically just about wolves, I think it's cool.” As James talked, Remus looked like he was about to explode, then started to calm as he realized James was just being kind. He was like that. You could hear the same thing from two different people, but if James said it, they could see his transparent goodness.
Sirius had never been like that. Transparent. And it was probably for the best. Remus straightened up, crisis averted, it seemed for the moment. Good then. James sighed and went to sit next to Sirius again.
“I’m James, James Potter. And this is Sirius Black.” he reached his hand out, in an attempt to shake Remus’ hand. Remus eyed him warily, and for a second, it almost looked like he wouldn’t take it, but at seemingly the last second, grasped James' hand firmly in his scarred one. James clearly noticed the scars, but met Remus’ eyes instead. James looked over at Sirius, still sprawled on the couch, and nudged him with his shoulder.
“Play nice, Black.” Sirius huffed, and shifted forward to shake Lupin's hand.
“You know Lupin, I won’t bite. I don’t got fangs.” He laughed at his own joke, then seeing the other boy blanch again, stopped. He didn’t really fancy getting wailed on by this kid. James whacked him upside the head, a little harder than was probably necessary, in Sirius’ opinion.
“Don’t worry Remus, sometimes Sirius is a bit of a bully.” James joked, smiling warmly at Remus, who was only now starting to realize they weren’t just blatantly making fun of him. Geez, where did this kid come from?
Also, James' comment stung a bit. Sirius didn’t love being the butt of the joke. He wasn’t a bully, he just liked to mess with people. Bullies were ruthless, and cruel. Bullies intimidate vulnerable people for fun. Bullies know they hold power over you, and use it to their advantage. Sirius knows bullies, so he knows he isn’t one.
His brow furrows, trying not to let James’ light-hearted joke affect him. James doesn’t know- he doesn’t, and he won't. There’s no reason for him to. So Sirius shakes it off, and looks at Remus again, trying to lead the conversation in a different direction.
“So, a Lupin, eh? I don’t know if I’ve met any Lupin’s before- you’re not related to me, are you? Nearly all wizards are. The Lestranges, Malfoys, The Bulstrtodes, The Carrows, The Weasleys, my mum hates them, they’re purebloods, but they’re blood Traitors anyways, and the Tonks, too, my older cousin Andy ran off with some guy who wasn’t in the family, bully for her, but nope, not any Lupins I know of. Maybe you're some long-lost cousin.” Remus looked a bit bewildered by all of this information but nevertheless answered.
“Nope, I don’t think we’re related. I wouldn’t know anyway, I guess, I don’t remember my parents.” James looked concerned, while Sirius felt shocked. Who doesn’t know where they come from? Seriously, where did this kid come from? The more they talked to him, the more of an enigma he became.
“Wait, what? What do you mean, you don’t know your parents? Do you live with an aunt or something?”
“No. I-I live in a home. St. Edmunds. With a bunch of other boys.”
“A home- like an orphanage? Are your parents dead?” James shoved him again, giving him a look, like a shut up you are being very rude look, but Sirius was simply too curious.
Remus had resumed the twisting of his too-big school robe, and it took him a second to answer, a second where James, much to Sirius’ disappointment, swooped in.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Remus, really. Not if you don’t want to. Nobody is going to bother you if you don’t.” He said, looking directly at Sirius, as if in challenge. Sirius was disappointed. He wanted to know! He didn’t really understand what this whole “home” thing was, it certainly didn’t sound like a regular home with a regular family, or parents. These boys couldn’t all be his brothers, could they? If they were, that much magic would probably blow up the house, that many magical kids all in one place.
“It’s. It's fine. People were going to find out eventually. I live in a care home, with other boys. No, I don’t know my parents, at all, but I don’t think they’re dead. At least not both of them. Guess they just didn’t want m-to deal with a kid.” James looked over at him, heartbroken, but Sirius still had more questions.
“So none of the other boys are related to you? Why haven’t I met more of them? Are they all our age? Are they here too? What houses did they sorted into? Are you all friends?” It seemed like a pretty good deal to Sirius, to live in a gigantic house with a bunch of boys his age, where they could play quidditch all day and just have fun together. Maybe Remus was just a wet blanket of sorts, he didn’t seem very fun. Remus just looked surprised that Sirius wasn’t getting a grasp on what he was talking about, and James, despite his initial assurances that Remus wouldn’t have to talk about anything he didn’t want to, seemed just as interested to hear.
“No, they aren’t related to me. I think their parents are probably like mine, dead or better off without them. One of the boys, Davey, he remembers his parents. He was the youngest of six, I think, so his parents just gave ‘im to Matron, cause they couldn’t feed ‘im. I think my parents weren’t well off, either, but I don’t know if that's why. You probably haven’t met more of them cause they don’t go here. They go to school at Eddy’s, but Dumbledore came to talk to me, told me I was special, and told me that I had a place here, if I wanted. Not all of them are our age, they’ve got all kinds. And no, we are not “all friends”.
Remus had a thick accent, sloppy, and missing lots of consonants. Sirius resisted the urge to wince. His mother would have made him scour the attic for days if he talked like that, and Sirius knew for a fact there were cornish pixies up there. More than that though, was what he gleaned from what Remus had said. Dumbledore had called him “special.” Like different, from the other boys, and then he got to come to Hogwarts, while they all stayed back, at this-other school. Were they not magic? Did he grow up with a bunch of poor muggles for friends? Sirius was so confused. But it seemed to fit. Remus not understanding who the Potters and Blacks were, almost as if he wouldn’t be able to recite The Sacred 28. And what he said about one of the other boys parents not being able to feed him? Like it was a normal thing? So Remus was poor, and mudblood. Oh, his mother would hate this, him even conversing with a boy like this, so naturally, Sirius loved it. He told Remus so, saying,
“Wait, so you're basically poor and a mudblood? Oh bollocks, my mum would despise you, let's be friends.” He went to stick out his hand again, genuinely this time, but only got so far before a fist made contact with the side of his cheek, smacking his head sharply to the side. Blinking through the watering his eyes were doing, he looked around, assuming that Lupin had landed the blow, but no, it was James shaking out his fist. What the hell?
“Buggering hell, Potter! That hurt!”
“Don’t ever say that again Black, or you’ll get bloody pounded.” He wasn’t joking, not even a little. His eyes held a fury that Sirius had never seen before. James was always fun and joking about, not a serious comment in sight. It was a little nerve-wracking. Sirius rolled his jaw, releasing some of the tension, and moved his gaze over to Lupin, who seemed equally on the verge of violence.
“Just because I don’t ‘ave a fuckin’ family crest don’t mean I'm poor! Not everyone can have a family- family motto.” Remus spat, stuttering a bit when it came to crossing the finish line. Sirius didn’t mean it like that, obviously, he didn’t give a rat's arse how much money was in the Lupin family vault, just that he liked how different this boy seemed to live from him. James, however, seemed angry about something else entirely.
“Didn’t take you for a blood purist, Black. Maybe all Blacks are the same.” Potter snarled, folding his arms over his chest. Now that hurt.
“What?! Blood purist? Are you joking? I think my lot is a bunch of tossers who don’t know what they're talking about. How could you say that?” Sirius finished, disappointed immensely that his first and only friend (so far) could ever compare him (TWICE!) to his family. Plus, he didn’t even know what he said!
“No person who isn't a blood purist would ever say that word. It's entitled. It's elitist. Its-disgusting.” James wrinkled his nose up, getting up and standing next to the chair Remus was currently on the edge of. Sirius hated the physical separation, a visible indication James had chosen his side, and now Sirius needed to as well.
“What? Mudbl-” Sirius snapped his mouth shut as James’ eyes flashed once more, and he took a step toward Sirius as if he intended to hit him again. Sirius flinched back, hard. James stopped for a second, quirking his head to the side, looking confused. Sirius’ chest filled with dread. Oh no. Shit, what if- but then James shook his head as if to clear it, and his eyes pooled with anger again.
“Sirius, that is a horrible thing to say to a person. I don’t know how your parents brought you up, but mine would wash my mouth out if I ever talked like that.”
“What else am I supposed to say?” Sirius didn’t even know there was another word for it. Any time his mother brought up people who used magic that weren't from magic families, that was the only verbiage employed.
“In polite, civil, respectful conversation, people use the term ‘muggle-born’.”
“Oh. Okay. Cheers, mate.” Sirius relented. He just hadn't known. He stuck his hand out to Lupin for the third time, this time meaning it the most.
“Let me try again. Pleased to make your acquaintance. my name is Sirius Orion Black.” Remus bemusedly took his hand, giving it a firm shake. His hands were rough and calloused, and Sirius could feel the lines of the scars that crisscrossed them. He liked it.
“Hullo, Sirius Black. My name is Remus John Lupin. Nice to meet ya.”
That day, Sirius learned three things: One: Remus Lupin was pretty okay. Two: his parents royally sucked. Three: James Potter was a good person to have on your side. And he had been. Through all the years of growing up and fighting himself and his family and changing and never really understanding who he was, James Potter did. He understood Sirius more than himself, most times. He was the moral compass, guiding The Marauders like a fearless captain, even when he wasn’t fearless. And Sirius believed James would have been their guiding light his whole life. Like the sun. Constant. But Peter had taken all of that away.
Blinking back the wetness that was stinging his eyes, Sirius forced himself to meet Wormtail's gaze.
“I don’t know what Voldemort could have ever given you that we couldn’t, Peter. James loved you, and he would have never turned you over. Not for anything.” Instead of the roiling rage that Sirius had expected his words to be laced with, the anguish snuck out. Slipped past his lips like a shadow in the night, almost imperceptible unless you shone a light to it. The pain of the betrayal. He wanted to be mad, and he was. But more so, he just felt like he was free falling into the depths of Tartarus. Peter, who had flinched at the sound of his Masters' name, was looking at Sirius oddly. As if he didn’t expect him to cry.
“He gave me what you couldn’t, Padfoot. I’m sorry. I really am, I-”
There it was.
The anger.
‘He’s baaaack.’
“YOU’RE SORRY? YOU’RE FUCKING SORRY? No, Pete, I can’t accept that. “Sorry” is for I copied off of your Astronomy charts and now we’ve got detention. "Sorry" is for I ripped a hole in your favorite Chudley Cannons kit. "Sorry" is NOT for I betrayed my best friend and his wife that I fucking grew up with, sold their souls to the darkest wizard in history, all with the goal of letting him murder their infant child, to save my worthless skin?! Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore.” Peter didn’t look ashamed. No. He looked murderous. And when he spoke, the last words he would speak directly to Sirius for twelve, endlessly long years, the words that would haunt his nightmares and swim in his consciousness, he wasn’t angry. Wasn’t sad. No. he was deathly calm. Quiet, almost like a whisper, and it sent goosebumps down Sirius’ spine. Poised, ready for the attack. Coiled. Like a snake.
“That’s the thing, though. Isn’t it, Sirius? You all thought I was worthless. You may not have said it outright, but it was clear. Trailing after you three for years, hoping that one day, you would see me the way you saw each other. But I could never be good enough. You never valued me, so I found someone who did. Is it sick to say revenge feels a little sweet?” Sirius felt frozen in place, watching the grin spread slowly across Wormtail's face as he spoke. But it wasn’t a James grin, or a Moony grin, the way it filled your chest with warmth and attached itself to your face in tandem with theirs. No, the rat's grin felt like ice coating his veins. In his periphery, Sirius saw a flash of something pink.
He turned his head to see a muggle girl, staring at him and Peter. She was bundled up against the late October chill in a fluffy pink bathrobe with white polka dots, her small feet clad in honest-to-goodness bunny slippers, ears flopping around her ankles. Her hair was mussed from sleep, pigtails frizzy with little bits of hair sticking out every angle. She couldn’t have been more than nine. She looked at Sirius curiously, approaching the two men slowly. She padded down the sidewalk, perhaps only 20 paces away when a man and woman burst out of one of the muggle townhouses, a brown one with a sunflower yellow door and hummingbird knocker. They ran down the street towards the girl, similarly dressed in night clothes, eyes bleary from sleep but frightened all the same.
“Clara! Clara stop! Clara!” The man pulled up short when he reached his daughter, drawing her into his arms and squeezing tight. “Honey, you can’t just go wandering about at night. Mummy and Daddy want you to be safe, pumpkin.” The mother cooed at the girl wrapped in her father's arms. Sirius looked at the little family, feeling a familiar feeling. The familiar bond that he lacked, and missed so dearly. A bond that he never had, people to love him, draw him near, and remind him. To protect him. To keep him safe. But wait. He did have that. With James. And now, he was gone. Because of the man standing in front of him.
Clara and her family were not the only people to come and watch the confrontation between the rat and the dog. As the two had bellowed back and forth, people had shuffled out of their homes, rubbing at their eyes and trying to make sense of the scene. A young couple with dark skin and bonnets adorning their heads, peering from behind a white picket fence. Number twenty-eight, the metal numbers read on the side of their hunter-green mailbox.
Two sisters, twins really, both blond with chubby cheeks and wearing the same blue checkered night dress and yellow wellies, standing in front of their parents and red painted door. Number twenty-five.
A husband and husband, peering at them from across the street, the taller of the two still pulling on his brown tartan nightgown. Number sixteen.
And an old woman, clutching a grey longhaired cat, which was hissing in Peter's direction. Smart cat.
Twelve muggles, cautiously observing the scene. As Sirius looked around at all of the different families, he wondered quite how this would play out, the whole taking Peter to The Ministry and making a dementor suck out his soul thing. In front of the muggles. Unfortunately, Peter was already speaking again. Only this time, he had completely changed his tune.
“Sirius, HOW COULD YOU! He was my best friend! We grew up with him! He gave you the world on a silver platter, and what did you do with it? You sold his soul to the devil! I will never forgive you for this.” Sirius had to admit, Peter was selling it, conjuring the tears like a pro manipulator-which Sirius relalized quickly, he was-the muggles looking at Sirius as if he was the bad guy now. Maybe he always had been. Before he knew what was happening, Peter had drawn his wand, and looked at Sirius for the first time today like his old self, quaking in fear, with just a hint of something more sinister lurking behind his lids.
“No, no Sirius, please-” And then everything fucking exploded.
Sirius threw up a Protego, the most powerful one he could muster, as the wave of magic fulminated through the street. It was red, it was black, it was white hot. It was all-consuming, roaring through the air like the fiery breath of a Ukrainian Ironbelly. Sirius couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. It tasted dark, like battery acid and smoke. It burned against Sirius’ skin, making him nauseous. The Dark Lord's servant, wielding his wand like a baton of death, comanding the destruction to swallow everything in its path. It was through sheer force of will that Sirius kept up his shield, like a final testament to James, his friend who had fought valiantly to the end. His spell was a promise, wrapping him up in light, a chanting to himself.
i will not die, i will not die, i will not die. i will live, so the world will know the traitor's name. Peter Pettigrew.
Finally, the swirl of magic ebbed, and Sirius was left on his knees in the middle of a six-foot-deep crater. It was smoking at the edges, and ash rained down from the sky. The air was an inky black thing, like you could almost reach out and grab a handful. The world swam, black spots pulsating sickeningly in Sirius’ vision. He tried to inhale, only to turn and give his guts to the earth, spilling out of him until only yellow bile remained. He gasped for air, and was finally given a reprieve. He forced his head up, only to meet the snake's black pupils.
“Goodbye, Sirius. I hope it's hell.” And with that, his former friend whipped out a small blade from his pocket, and deftly sliced off his right index finger with a sickening crunch. Grimacing, Peter tossed his digit into the crater, and transformed, leaving Sirius with nothing but a bloody finger, an empty stomach, and a heart full of grief.
Sirius struggled to his feet and clambered out of the hole, intent on chasing the snake through the gutters and to the ends of the earth, but came up short. The previously quiet muggle neighborhood was on fire. Every window was shattered, greenery in flames, and light posts, mailboxes, and white picket fences strewn about. The street was littered with various debris, and a fine layer of soot covered everything. It hit him all at once. The muggles. The muggles who had come out of the safety of their homes to watch the betrayal of a century, not understanding what was to come. Not knowing that moments later, power beyond what even Sirius had witnessed would come, summoning death in its wake to cut their strings.
Sirius couldn’t breathe. The smoke, it was too much, air wasn’t flowing- but no, the smoke had gone, along with the twelve people Peter Pettigrew had senselessly murdered in a successful attempt to dissapear. Not only could Sirius not have saved James and Lily, but now twelve more innocent souls had been stolen. Stolen too soon. The blonde girls had certainly been loved the way Harry was-the way Harry is.
At least they had the mercy of not being left alone in the world- orphaned.
The last coherent thought he had on the night his best friend left him was the sight of one pink bunny slipper, missing a single ear.