Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4883
Characters: James Potter, Lily Potter, Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew

Once I think about it, it's obvious who it is -- who it must be. Sirius, utterly loyal, my best friend and my son's godfather -- Remus, completely devoted to Sirius. No, it can't be either of them. Which only leaves Peter.

At first, it didn't make sense to me. Peter's a coward, deep down. He was always clever and foolhardy enough to more or less fit in with the rest of us when we were at school, but the fact remains that Peter is drawn to people with power. He was originally drawn to me and Sirius because we were clever and people liked us. And he was obsessed with that Slytherin bitch, Madeleine Yaxley, for half our time at Hogwarts simply because she enjoyed keeping him in his place.

Now that things have gotten too scary even for me -- not that I'd ever admit it out loud -- Peter's bound to be looking elsewhere for the security he craves. He's not blind or stupid; he knows as well as the rest of us that, for a long while now, the biggest, baddest bully in the schoolyard has been Voldemort. Is it really so strange to think that Peter might turn to him?

On the rare occasions when we've seen him lately, he claims he's been busy caring for his mother, but I've known that old bat for years, and I know for a fact that she's never had a serious illness in her life. Besides that, Peter's been positively twitchy the last few times I've seen him.

No, if it must be one of them, it must be him. But what can I do about it? I have to get him to show himself, but how?

I don't want to tell the others my suspicions just yet. People may make a fuss about me being overconfident, but what they don't realise is that I'm confident because I have the sense to be cautious. I never say or do anything until I'm sure of how things stand. But my instincts for people's motives are usually good. If Peter's the one passing information to Voldemort, there has to be a way to prove it, or to get him to show his hand.

I'm meeting Dumbledore later today. Maybe he'll give me an idea.

"Thank you for coming to see me today, dear boy." Dumbledore shakes my hand warmly when I arrive in his office at Hogwarts, and invites me to sit down. There's none of the usual twinkling good-humour in his eyes; he's as grim as everyone else in the Wizarding world these days.

His office looks much as it did during my school days -- which I suppose seems longer ago than it actually was -- the portraits of sleeping former Headmasters, bright-eyed Fawkes on his perch, the old Sorting Hat, the whirring, clicking instruments of which Dumbledore is so fond. Nothing offers any ready solution to my current problem.

"Of course I came," I say, laying my old Invisibility Cloak over the arm of the chair. "It sounded like you might have some new information on who's been feeding our whereabouts to Voldemort?"

"Sadly, nothing so helpful as that," Dumbledore says, shaking his head, "but I have a notion about how we might keep you and your family -- ah -- 'under the radar', I believe is the Muggle expression. At least until we know more about who has been informing on you."

I sit forward eagerly. "How?" I'm hungry for anything that might Peter to reveal his intentions, but also for ways to protect Lily and Harry.

"Have you ever heard of the Fidelius Charm?"

I shake my head.

"It is a way of hiding a person -- or, more to the point, a dwelling place -- and keeping it and the people who live there hidden indefinitely," Dumbledore explains. "It binds the secret of a location to the soul of a single individual, and no one but that person can find it or reveal it to anyone else."

"What do I need to do?" I ask.

Dumbledore gives me a grave look. "If you choose to use this charm, you must choose someone you trust absolutely to be your Secret-Keeper. Someone who will never reveal your location, no matter what methods of persuasion Voldemort and his followers may employ."

I nod, the gears of my mind beginning to turn. Dumbledore's words have given me the seed of an idea.

"I am willing to act as your Secret-Keeper myself, of course, if you wish it," Dumbledore continues. "But I have a feeling you will choose elsewhere." The ghost of the old twinkle is back in his eyes. "I've known you boys far too long to think otherwise."

"Thank you, Headmaster, but you're right," I say. "I could never choose anyone but Sirius for something like this."

"You still have absolute faith in him? You're certain he's not the one who --"

"Yes," I reply firmly. "I would trust Sirius with my life, and with Lily's and Harry's as well." How could I not? He's Sirius.

"Very well," the aged headmaster says at last. "If you are certain, then I will teach you the charm. But my offer stands. If you should change your mind once you've spoken with Lily about it, you have only to ask."

"Thank you, Sir," I say, truly touched. "I'll bear that in mind."

Dumbledore gives me the specifics of the Fidelius Charm before I go. By now, my mind is so completely devoted to formulating a plan, that I'm home before I realise I've left my cloak in Dumbledore's office.

I spend the next few days working out the details of the plan. I've even talked it out with Harry. I enjoy telling him secrets, and treating him like one of the Marauders. It makes me sad to think I'll have to stop soon; once Harry starts to understand a bit more, there'll be danger he might repeat something in front of the wrong person -- namely, his mother. But for now, I'm glad to be able to confide to him what might just be my best plan ever.

I told Lily about the Fidelius Charm as soon as I got back from Hogwarts, but I know I can't share the rest of it with her. She's terrified for Harry's safety, poor Love, and she's counting on me to do this right. She'd never agree to anything that might put Harry in any more danger than absolutely necessary. I'll just have to keep it to myself for a bit.

They'll see soon enough. Peter's not stupid, and he's careful, but so long as he doesn't know I suspect him, I have the advantage. He'll never take me, if I'm prepared.

It's a brilliantly simple plan, though I say it myself, but I want to be absolutely sure of everything before I commit to it. Making Peter our Secret-Keeper is risky, but I can handle him; he's always been hopeless at dueling. All I need is to get Peter to slip up publicly, and then I'll get Sirius to help me put another quick Fidelius Charm on the house.

If I had told Dumbledore I was planning on choosing Peter, he would have insisted on doing the job himself. Better to have everyone think that Sirius is doing the honours.

Sirius will cover for me if I give him a good enough reason, but he'll take some convincing. If he thinks I suspect Peter, he'll never agree to my plan. Sirius may be a natural risk-taker, but he'd never gamble on our lives -- especially Harry's. I'll tell him it's a double bluff -- simple misdirection; everyone will assume it's Sirius, and no one will even think of Peter. I'll tell him that makes the secret doubly safe.

I try very hard not to think of what might happen if Voldemort's followers get hold of Sirius, especially if Sirius can't tell them what they want to know. I know Sirius would rather die than allow any harm to come to us, but I'd rather avoid that eventuality at all cost. Maybe I can talk him and Remus into going into hiding, too.

The plan will work; I know it. It's a good plan, and if I keep my eyes open, there's very little risk.

Resolved, I take a pinch of Floo Powder from the jar on the mantle, and throw it into the fire.

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin's flat," I say clearly, stepping into the green flames.

Sirius is alone for once, which is lucky, all things considered.

"Moony's out running errands. He's planning something special for our anniversary," he says with a weak attempt at a smile. "At least, I think he is."

The flicker of doubt in his eyes is painful to see. Sirius loves Remus as much as I love Lily, and the suspicion and doubt that have arisen between them since we first began to suspect an informer is heartbreaking. I give his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"You don't really think it's him, do you, Padfoot?" I ask sympathetically.

Sirius sighs, rubbing tired eyes. "I don't know what to think anymore, Prongs." His voice is flat, lifeless. "I go from being convinced it's not him to wondering if the only reason I think it's not him is because I would die if it was."

I want to offer a comforting hug, but I've been a bit reserved about things like that since we were sixteen and he and Remus started -- well. Not that I mind them being together; it just feels a bit awkward.

I wish with all my heart that I could wipe away Sirius's doubts -- confide to him my suspicions about Peter -- but I can't if this plan is going to work. With any luck, we'll all know soon enough, and then my poor friends won't have to suffer those looks from one other anymore.

"It'll be all right, Padfoot," I say instead.

Sirius nods miserably.

"Look, mate; Dumbledore's had this brilliant idea for keeping Lily and Harry and me safe for a bit, but we're going to need your help."

Peter won't be able to resist an invitation, if I word it enticingly enough. Please join us for supper on 26th October, it reads. I need your help with something important. He'll be there for sure.

Because I've already confided my plan to Sirius -- well, part of it anyway -- I'll his help convince Peter. If Sirius suspected Peter as well, there's no way we'd be able to hide the fact through a whole evening; Peter would know something was up, just from our attitude. He's seen us hiding things together too many times. As long as I keep my suspicions to myself, he'll never know.

When he shows up on our doorstep on the night, I heartily shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder, grinning and saying, "Good to see you, Wormtail, old man! It's been a while!"

"Well, you know Mother's been ill."

He can't even meet my eyes, the lying sod, but I pretend as always to believe him, offering wishes of good health to dear old Mrs Pettigrew, though I can barely stand the woman. I consider saying that I really should drop by and see her sometime -- pay my respects in person -- but I think it's best for now to let Peter feel as safe as possible with me.

"We'll talk after supper," I say, giving him a wink. "And -- er -- don't say anything to Lily, please."

He gives me a good attempt at a knowing smile.

All through that tense and near-silent meal, I can't help casting glances over the assembled company. I'm troubled by the covertly narrowed eyes, the speculative glances, the ill-concealed suspicions that pass between Sirius and Remus. Every now and then, I let my eyes settle on Peter, staring at his plate, eating methodically as he always does.

I wonder what he's thinking -- what he'll think when I seemingly offer up myself and Lily on a proverbial silver platter. I wonder how quickly he'll act? I'll be ready when he does.

Having them all there for supper always reminds me of our school days, back when we used to eat almost every meal together -- except when we were quarreling, or someone had detention -- at the far end of the Gryffindor table, near the doors to the Great Hall -- how we always laughed and joked, and rarely took anything as seriously as we should have.

"Snivellus has been sticking his unusually large nose where it's not wanted again," I said. "Namely, in the region of a certain occasionally violent tree."

"Again?!" cried Peter, outraged. "Are you fucking serious, Prongs?"

"No," I grinned. "That's Moony's job."

Remus blushed into his pumpkin juice. "Hush! Do you want the whole school to hear?"

"That you're the best shag going?" Sirius grinned wickedly. "If you've got it, flaunt it, Moony!"

"Besides," I went on, raising my voice slightly, "I'm saving myself for Evans."

I leered down the table at the green-eyed redhead, who only rolled her eyes at me.

The memory makes me smile, but it fades quickly.

Lily's been giving me trusting looks all through supper, and that troubles me more than anything. She might not trust me so much if she knew what I'm planning. I guiltily squeeze her hand, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. I'll probably get to see a bit of that infamous Evans fire, and end up sleeping on the sofa for a month if she finds out.

But the moment when I feel the most guilt comes between supper and pudding. In a fit of recklessness, I decide to try and draw Peter out -- to get some clue what he's thinking.

"Sure, I could take Voldemort in a duel," I say, grinning. Even I almost wince at the arrogance of my tone. "It's just all those minions and people under the Imperius Curse that get in the way. If someone would just take him out, the whole Death Eater thing would collapse. Wait and see."

Peter's brows draw together, but Lily's voice distracts me.

"Your overconfidence will be the death of us all, James," she says with a quavering smile, covering my hand with hers.

Everyone looks uncomfortable, and I'm assailed with sudden doubts. Can I really be doing this? It's dangerous. Isn't that the real reason why I haven't told Sirius or Lily? Because they'd try to talk me out of it? I consider taking Sirius aside after supper and telling him the plan is off -- that I want him to be our Secret-Keeper after all.

But old habits die hard. Never change plans suddenly; never go through with a plan that hasn't been thought out. I've spent a lot of time on this plan, and though I know it's dangerous -- even foolhardy -- I think I'm equal to it. Sirius being our Secret-Keeper seems sound enough on the face of it, I haven't had time to consider it properly, so it goes against my nature to implement it. I'll stick to the plan. It'll work.

I cast a last guilty look at Lily, and begin clearing the table. As Remus leans to speak to Lily, I catch Sirius and Peter's eyes and give them a meaningful look, gesturing toward the kitchen. Lily catches the look I give Sirius as she hands Harry over to Remus. She knows we're meant to be making the final Fidelius Charm arrangements tonight, and she tries to divert Peter into the sitting room. I raise my eyebrows urgently at him.

Say something, I think at him fiercely. You're supposed to be the master of deceit here, not me. Talk her out of it.

Peter smoothly steps in and takes Lily's hands in his. "That was a lovely supper," he says sincerely, turning his not-inconsiderable charm on her. "You must have been on your feet all day at it. Why don't you go take a rest? I'm sure I can keep myself company until Prongs and Padfoot feel like being social again."

Lily flashes us both a grateful smile and disappears into the bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind her, Peter joins us in the kitchen.

"What's up, lads?" he asks, his face betraying nothing more than simple curiosity.

"Dumbledore's come up with an idea to keep me and Lily and Harry hidden for a bit," I begin, flashing him a grin. "It's this thing called the Fidelius Charm, and it basically hides the whole house so that, even if Voldemort were standing in the garden --" Peter winces at the name "-- he wouldn't be able to see it."

"How does it work?" Peter asks, frowning. I can tell by his posture, if not by his face, that he is hanging on every word, trying commit every nuance of my plan to memory. Peter's never had a great memory.

I'll make it easy for you, mate, I think.

"Well, Wormtail, old friend, that's where you come in. See, we need to bind the secret of our location to someone who doesn't live here -- someone we can trust. They'll be the only person who can find us, or who can tell other people where we are. Of course, all the other protective wards will have to come off the house, since they might interfere with the effectiveness of the charm."

I note with satisfaction that Peter's eyes widen imperceptibly. I can see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind. The calculating look is quickly hidden.

"See," Sirius says eagerly, "with a spell like that, anyone who knows Prongs would assume I was the one holding the secret."

"But you won't be?" Peter asks, sitting forward. His ears and the tip of his nose are turning pink with suppressed excitement, making him look even more rat-like than usual.

"No. That's the beauty of Prongs's plan. Everyone will think it's me, and I'll even tell them I am, if they ask. But it won't be me." He gives Peter a doggy grin. "It'll be you."

"And no one will know it but myself and Padfoot," I add, just to be sure he hasn't missed the point.

"What?" he says, surprised. "Not Dumbledore or anyone?"

"Not even Lily or Moony," I assure him.

It's perfect. The fewer people who know, the more likely he is to think he's safe. Peter won't like killing much; he's too squeamish. The fewer people he thinks might find him out, the better he'll like it.

"Okay," he agrees slowly. "What do I have to do?"

"Just meet me here tomorrow after lunch," I tell him. "Lily's usually napping with Harry about then."

Peter grins. "This is going to be great!" he says, shaking my hand. "Thanks so much for trusting me with this. I won't let you down."

He's lying through his fucking rat teeth as if we were Filch and his fucking cat. I return the smile.

Then Lily comes back, and the conversation is cut short. Remus returns from the garden with Harry, looking utterly miserable. I feel terrible for him. Remus is a sensitive sort -- always has been -- and this whole ordeal has been almost harder on him than on the rest of us.

Just a little longer, mate, I want to say. Everything will be all right.

Instead, I take Harry from him and say, "Thank you, Remus," using his name for once. "Thank you for everything."

Within minutes, they're gone, drifting away into the night. Now we're alone.

It goes off like clockwork. Lily goes down for a nap right on schedule the following day, and within half an hour, Peter's there, eager to get started.

The charm is simple enough. All Peter really has to do is look at the house, point his wand and say, "Semper fidelius maneo," but he's nervous, and keeps forgetting the words. I get him a beer and tell him to relax.

We sit in the garden for a bit, and I tell him again how glad I am to have a friend like him, whom I know I can trust not only with my own life, but also with the lives of my wife and child. I want the bastard to feel as guilty as possible when he does what he's going to do. He merely nods and stares off into the distance.

Finally, he says he's ready to try the spell again. I tell him the words one more time, and this time he manages to get them right. The house shimmers for a moment, but nothing else changes from my view, or from Peter's.

I shake his hand and thank him profusely.

"No trouble, mate," he mumbles, not meeting my eyes.

As he gets on his broom and heads off, I point my wand after him.

"Suspicius," I whisper, sending a paranoia hex after my erstwhile friend. "A little 'fuck you' from me to you, Wormtail, old man."

I've just closed the door behind me when I realise I can hear Harry wailing desperately, but I can't hear Lily's voice at all. Normally, when the baby carries on at that pitch, Lily is right there, soothing and asking him what's wrong, as if he could explain it to her.

Going upstairs to the bedroom, I knock tentatively. "Lily? Lils, is everything all right?"

There's no response. I try the doorknob, but it's locked. What the hell? My heart begins to race. Something is very wrong. Where's my fucking wand? I pat my pockets in growing panic. By the door, I suddenly remember.

Every second of not knowing what's happening on the other side of that door is agony. I have to protect Lily and Harry. What if something's happened to them? My guilt adds to the urgency of my thoughts. It only takes ten second to retrieve my wand and force my way into the room, but that's ten seconds too long for me.

The scene in the bedroom makes the blood freeze in my veins. Harry is sitting on the bed, red-faced and screaming, and Lily lies unmoving on the floor.

"Lily!" I fall to my knees beside her, searching frantically for a pulse. I force myself to pause long enough to find one, weak and fluttering at her throat. "Oh, God! Lily, wake up!"

She's hurt. There's blood on her. Where is it coming from? In a panic, I run my hands over her body, searching for the source. Then I see.

The blood is dark, smeared and dripping all down my wife's thighs.

At first I don't understand. Her time of the month should be -- and then cold realisation hits me -- should have been more than two weeks and more ago. Only it wasn't. And in my stupid preoccupation with everything else that's going on, I didn't notice. She knew, though. She had to know. She didn't tell me.

Numbly, I gather her unconscious body into my arms. God, she's so cold. I pick her up and lay her in the bed, getting in beside her and drawing the blankets up over us both. I barely notice that Harry has worked himself into a fever pitch.

I hold my wife close, terrified, unsure what I should do. I should take her to St Mungo's, I know, but the Fidelius Charm is in place now, and I don't actually know if it will hold if all the residents are out of the house at the same time. Murmuring soothing words, I beg her to wake up. I keep checking her pulse, fearful that she might slip away from me.

At last, her eyelids flutter. I sit up, gazing at her, stroking her hair back from her face.

"Lily?"

"I don't feel well, James," she says groggily.

She doesn't know what's happened, I realised. I have to tell her. Merlin, what can I say?

"Lily," I begin gently, but there is no way to say it that isn't blunt, harsh and cruel. "Lily, you've had a miscarriage. You lost a baby." My voice breaks. I can feel hot tears pricking my eyelids.

Her eyes lose focus for a moment, then she turns her face away. "I know," she says softly. "I'm sorry, James."

"Sorry?! Oh my God, Lily, it's not your fault!" I choke out, tears flowing faster now. I feel cold and lost and far too young for all this. I bury my face against her shoulder.

Then I feel her cool, pale arms around me, as she rocks and cradles me, but no tears fall from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. You had a right to know."

"No," I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, voice still muffled against her shoulder. "No, I should have known. I should have noticed. I've just been so busy -- too busy -- trying to protect you and Harry."

So much guilt! I raise my head and dash the tears from my eyes with my fist. "But now I see," I say, voice shaking. "I thought I could protect you both. I've been so stupid. I'm not strong enough."

She takes my face between her hands, turning me so I'm looking directly into her pain-filled green eyes. "You're strong, James. And so am I. We can still win."

I nod dumbly, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach that it's already too late. That we're dead, and it's all my fault.

Impending doom is one of the least-pleasant sensations one can experience, and it's a feeling that increases in me over the following days. Lily is listless and unresponsive, which is understandable, but makes me feel even more guilty and alone. She's not feverish, thank God, but she sleeps a lot, and eats and speaks very little. I might as well be alone in the house, but for Harry.

Halloween has always been a favourite holiday for the Marauders, and I want to dress Harry up to lighten the mood. Lily doesn't say a word when I transfigure Harry's best baby robes into a miniature Quidditch costume, and when I place the tiny Gryffindor player in her arms, she merely looks at him blankly, then holds him against her shoulder, mumbling nonsense to him.

At one point, I overhear her telling Harry what a good big brother he would have been, and I nearly break down again. I've been trying hard to hold myself together since the miscarriage, and I've not cried once since that day, but there have been a couple of near misses. I wish I could put it out of my mind, but the fact of it seems inextricably linked to my growing feelings of guilt and unease.

I thought I was doing the right thing, making Peter our Secret-Keeper, but four days after casting the Fidelius Charm, he still hasn't made his move, and I'm becoming very edgy. I glance out the window every few minutes, but the spell is firmly in place, and no one so much as glances at the house.

Sunset arrives, and I watch the Muggle and wizard children going by in their costumes, collecting sweets door to door. Usually, on this night, Sirius and Remus and Lily and I would take turns answering the door and handing out sweets. We always keep separate bowls of Muggle and wizarding sweets, and Lily and Remus are very responsible about seeing that the right families get the right treats. Sirius and I mostly get it right as well, but every now and then, it can be fun to slip a Fizzing Whizbee to an unsuspecting Muggle child.

The silence in the house feels spooky and somehow oppressive. As the night wears on and the hour grows late, fewer and fewer children wander by with torches or glowing wands. The night is cloudy, and I can't see the moon or the stars, which lends to the overall spooky atmosphere.

I shiver, hoping my paranoia hex is giving Peter at least as bad a time as I'm having. Something has to happen, and soon, or I think I shall go mad.

I suddenly realise I've been sitting here for nearly four hours, just staring out the window. It's nearly ten o'clock, and there is a tiny Quidditch champion asleep on my lap, drooling on my shirt. Sighing, I get up and go to put Harry in his cot.

I'm too edgy for sleep. Instead, I go to the bedroom and tell Lily I'm going to make some tea. I ask her if she wants anything, but she just shakes her head. I'll make her some anyway. It can't hurt.

Going down to the kitchen, I tap the kettle with my wand. While I wait for it to whistle, I get out the mugs. Into Lily's, I put a spoonful of strengthening Honeymarrow tea leaves -- a gift from Remus, who prefers that particular brew.

The kettle whistles merrily -- a familiar wizarding tune, "The Witch Who Charmed My Heart" -- but as I lift the kettle and the tune fades, I hear a faint sound from the garden.

I freeze, every muscle tense. There it is again. Footsteps where there should be none. They pause. I don't move or breathe. Then comes the scratching sound of a wand tapping the wood of the door.

Secret Keepers © 2004 Skjaere