Sirius Black knew he was in trouble the moment he found Peter's flat emptier than a Gringotts vault after a Weasley shopping spree. No Peter. No note. Not even the faint smell of treachery—though, in hindsight, maybe that's what the lingering stench was.
Something crawled coldly up the back of his neck.
He didn't bother using the door. He Apparated straight to Godric's Hollow, motorcycle roaring beside him like an anxious dog. The sight that met him nearly knocked the breath clean from his lungs.
James and Lily's cozy cottage—usually full of laughter and mismatched baby toys—now looked like someone had stuffed a bomb inside and politely asked it to explode right there. Walls were cracked, the front garden was half-ash, and the door hung open like it had given up halfway through a scream.
Sirius sprinted inside. His boots skidded on debris.
James lay collapsed in the doorway, eyes still wide with shock rather than fear. Sirius froze, knuckles whitening on the doorframe. For one terrible second, he thought he might actually throw up.
But grief was a luxury, and he shoved it down. Hard.
"Not now, Padfoot," he muttered through clenched teeth. "James needs you upstairs."
He stepped over his brother-in-all-but-blood and climbed the stairs two at a time. Oddly enough, parts of the house still looked untouched—like the destruction had politely confined itself to one room.
Harry's room.
His heart sprinted even faster than his feet.
The nursery was a wreck. Burn marks on the wall, crib half-collapsed, toys blasted into unrecognizable shapes. In the center of it all lay Lily, her bright hair fanned around her like a fallen banner—and Voldemort's twisted remains beside her.
Just as Sirius's vision began to blur with fury, a small, hiccuping sob sliced through the silence.
Harry.
The boy sat against the overturned crib, covered in dust, tears, and blood. His little hands shook. His eyes—those big, green Lily eyes—looked dazed, like the universe had personally slapped him.
Sirius dropped to his knees so fast he nearly cracked the floor.
"Hey, hey… I've got you, kiddo," he whispered, scooping Harry up. His godson felt too light, too warm, too heartbreakingly alive.
Harry flailed, wailing, "MAMA!" and clawed helplessly at Sirius's robes.
"Shh, shh—it's okay, pup, I've got you." Sirius tried rocking him, bouncing him, pleading with him. Nothing helped. Harry was a storm of grief and terror.
Afraid he'd accidentally crush him—or drop him—Sirius gently muttered a soft sleep charm. Harry sagged instantly, tiny fingers still curled around Sirius's shirt.
Sirius exhaled shakily. "Good lad. Rest."
He examined him, hands trembling. Aside from the fresh lightning-bolt cut, a few bruises, and a nappy that could have doubled as a biological weapon, Harry was alive. Miraculously.
Which raised one very pressing question:
Whose blood is all over you, kiddo?
He checked Lily's hand—blood on her palm. Probably hers. He swallowed hard and forced himself not to look too long.
Working quickly, Sirius cleaned and changed Harry, then started gathering anything he could get his hands on. It suddenly hit him—only he and Peter knew about the Secret Keeper switch. James and Lily were dead. Peter was gone.
That meant—
"Bloody hell," Sirius growled under his breath. "Peter sold them out."
And everyone—everyone—would think Sirius was the traitor.
With his family name? The Wizengamot wouldn't give him a trial. They'd barely give him ten minutes before snapping a pair of magical cuffs on him and calling it a day. Meanwhile Peter would be skipping off into the sunset, guilt-free and smug as a Kneazle in a birdcage.
He thought of James's voice from the night before:
"Padfoot… if anything happens, take Harry and run. Don't let Dumbledore use him. Don't let anyone use him."
At the time, Sirius thought James was being dramatic—something about cabin fever, too much time indoors, not enough Quidditch. But now… now the words settled heavy on Sirius's shoulders.
He had promised.
Even if every part of him wanted to storm out and throttle Peter with his bare hands.
But Harry came first.
Always Harry.
He gathered the Potters' belongings—photo albums, journals, heirlooms, anything Lily had stitched or touched, anything that had James's handwriting on it. He shrank the trunks, tucked everything into his pockets, and wrapped Harry in a warm blanket.
Just as he turned to grab the last few supplies, he froze.
There were footsteps downstairs.
Heavy ones.
"Hagrid?" Sirius breathed as the giant form appeared, Harry cradled in his arms.
Sirius's stomach sank. "Hagrid… mate… give him to me."
Hagrid shook his head, eyes sad. "Dumbledore says he's ter go ter his aunt an' uncle. Muggles. I'm takin' him now."
Sirius felt his temper flare hard enough to light the curtains on fire.
"Petunia? Vernon? Absolutely not. They hate magic. They'll treat him like rubbish. Hagrid, I'm his godfather—I swore to James I'd take care of him."
"I gotta follow Dumbledore's orders," Hagrid rumbled. The big man shifted Harry protectively, and Sirius's heart twisted. Hagrid wasn't the enemy. Just loyal to a fault.
Sirius forced a smile. "At least let me give him a goodbye hug."
"Aye… o'course."
Hagrid passed over the sleeping boy. Sirius took him carefully, turning just enough to slide his wand into his palm.
"Sorry about this, big guy," he whispered.
"UNBEWUSSTE!"
A pulse of raw magic shot from his wand. Hagrid's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a felled tree—mercifully missing the staircase by inches.
Sirius staggered, breath shaking. That spell took way too much out of him. His knees felt like pudding.
But Harry was safe.
That was all that mattered.
He secured Harry into the sling, tucked the blanket around him, gathered the last shrunk items, and bolted for the motorcycle.
First stop: his apartment. They'd need supplies.
Second stop: Gringotts.
After that?
Disappear.
For good.
Sirius revved the engine, jaw set.
"Don't worry, Prongs," he muttered. "I've got him. And I'm not letting anyone—Dumbledore, Death Eaters, or bloody destiny—touch him again."
The motorcycle roared into the night, carrying the last remnants of the Potter family toward an uncertain future—but one Sirius would protect with everything he had left.