Chapter Text
We can be heroes
Just for one day
We can be heroes
We're nothing, and nothing will help us
Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay
But we could be safer, just for one day
"Heroes", David Bowie, 1977.
31.10.1981.
The evening was quiet that day, far too quiet. Sirius felt it in his bones before the motorbike even touched the damp grass in front of the Potters’ house. The air tasted wrong. Smoke, fear, the metallic tang of something broken beyond repair. He had grown up in war; he knew its smell too well. He had just never expected it to greet him here.
The front door stood ajar. It creaked when he pushed it, opening as if the house itself were exhaling its last breath. Sirius barely registered the sound. His eyes were already fixed on the hallway.
James Potter lay sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, frozen in a moment that looked almost like defiance. As if he had been searching for one final spell, one last way to fight. His wand lay abandoned on the couch, tossed aside as carelessly as a coat - a detail that would haunt Sirius far longer than the he would ever expect that. His heart dropped so suddenly it felt physical.
Sirius knelt beside James’ body, though he already knew there was nothing left to do.“I’m sorry, Prongs…” he whispered.
The words cracked his voice open. The careless confidence he had worn for years shattered there on the floor beside his best friend.
Upstairs, in the nursery, an even worse sight awaited him. Lily, stretched out on the floor like a shield protecting the crib, as if even death could not scare her golden heart. Sirius trembled, and then he heard a soft cry, the only proof that not all was lost.
In the crib, amid rubble and ashes, sat little Harry. On his forehead shone a fresh scar, but the eyes, those same green eyes of Lily, looked at Sirius with a trust he did not deserve.
Sirius lifted the boy into his arms, more gently than ever before, as if the child had suddenly become far more fragile.
“Shhh, little one, I'm here,” he whispered, clenching his jaw tightly to keep himself from crying. “I promised your parents I'd always be here. And I will. To life and death.”
He wrapped Harry carefully in the cotton blanket and his own leather jacket. Before leaving, he looked once more at Lily and James. In his heart he made a vow he never spoke aloud: I will be everything for him that you didn't live long enough to be.
Outside, darkness was already waiting, and a shadow moved faster than he could react.
Pettigrew. Sirius fixed his gaze on him, his heartbeat racing. Peter's eyes were wide, shining like a rat's caught in a trap. And then everything became clear. He was the traitor. He was the one entrusted with the role of Secret Keeper. The same Peter with whom James had walked hand in hand on their first day at Hogwarts, who shook in his boots every time the Marauders did something a little too reckless at school, the same one who for all those years had called himself Prongs' best friend...
“You...” Black growled, gripping his wand with his free hand. “You sold them out!”
But Pettigrew was already in motion. The explosion tore the street apart, screams and blasts mingling with the crash of rubble. When the dust settled, only blood and scraps of robe remained, and Wormtail had vanished into the sewers, leaving behind only the echo of rat squeaks.
Aurors would be here any moment. Suspicions would fall on him, he knew that. But Harry was in his arms, alive, breathing, and that was the only thing that mattered now. “They won't hurt you,” he whispered to the boy. “I won't let them.”
And with that resolve Sirius Black disappeared into the night, carrying with him the only thing that had survived from the friendship and love consumed by war.
...
The heavy doors of number twelve swung open with a bang, and Sirius stepped inside, still covered in dust and ash. His stride was quick, hard, almost arrogant, as if he were still clinging to that mask of bravado that had protected him for years in a world swallowed by war. Little Harry was wrapped tightly in the motorbike jacket, the thick leather enclosing him softly on all sides.
Remus was already waiting in the half-light of the hall. He stood still, as if he had long expected something to come. But when his gaze fell on the small bundle in Sirius' arms, everything became clear without words.
“Sirius...” he began softly. “What happened?”
Sirius held on for a moment longer to his role: the cocky, composed one. But as soon as he handed the child to Remus, his hands shook. Little Harry nestled peacefully into the taller man's sweater, as if sensing he was safe. And then something inside Sirius broke.
Laughter burst from his throat, sharp and manic, and then turned into sobs. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the doorframe, and between gasping breaths tried to explain: about the Potters, about Lily and James lying dead in Godric's Hollow, about Peter who had betrayed them and fled. Words tangled into chaos, drowned in tears and helpless rage.
Remus knelt beside him, pulled Sirius close and held him tightly, while with his other hand he rocked the boy. He too had tears in his eyes, but it was not the same kind of pain. He knew he had to be the anchor that would keep Sirius' ship from drifting too far into the ocean of despair.
“It's all right, Padfoot... it's all right...” he whispered, though he barely believed it himself. “He's alive. Harry's alive. And that's the only thing that matters now.”
Sirius slowly calmed down. He wiped his face, drew a ragged breath, and sat heavily on the floor.
“The Aurors, the Ministry... they'll think it was me,” he muttered. “Peter’s gone, and I was their Secret Keeper before we passed it to him... Everyone will only look at me.”
Silence fell. Harry whimpered softly in his sleep, like an echo of the grief hanging around him.
“There's one way,” Remus finally said.
Sirius looked at him holding back the tears.
“Veritaserum. If you yourself propose to testify under its influence, they won't be able to convict you,” he continued trying to sound as peaceful as possible.
Sirius flinched as if Remus had just struck him. “You want me to swallow poison and hand them my whole life on a silver platter? And what if I tell them about you?” he snarled. “I'd rather rot in Azkaban than drink that filth and risk your life.”
“Damn it, Black!” Lupin's voice was sharp, strong, then softened again when Harry whimpered sadly in his arms. “Listen to me, this one bloody time. This isn't about you. This isn’t about me. It's about Harry. You have to be free to protect him. You can't let them take away the chance James gave you. You're his godfather!”
Sirius didn't answer. Instead, he looked at the child sleeping peacefully in Remus' arms. In his eyes shone the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the door. One heavy tear slid down his cheek.
Sirius clenched his fists and stood up. “Let's hope it's not too bitter,” he muttered under his breath, with an ironic smirk that couldn't quite hide his determination.
When he grasped the door handle, he felt a sudden pull. Remus had grabbed his wrist, as if to keep him just one second longer.
“Sirius, be careful, ple-“
He didn't get to finish. Black spun around sharply and pressed his lips to his. The kiss was brief, but full of promises they had never dared to speak before.
“I will,” Sirius said quietly. “For Moony and little Prongs.”
Remus smiled faintly, holding in his arms the child who was to become their new beginning. And Sirius, without looking back, walked out into the night, straight toward the Ministry and the fate that awaited him.