#battleofpeter

Who: Sirius&Peter @battleofpeter

Where: Birmingham, battlefield

When: April 30, 1980

A droplet of sweat tickled down Sirius’ spine, causing a shiver to shake his body. His mind had gone into auto-pilot; no, not autopilot, but rather, trying to adapt to the chaos that played out in front of him. Screams, death, pain. Exhaustion. His mind tried to rationalise it, make it appear normal so he would keep going until he couldn’t, instead of freezing into shock. They hadn’t prepared for this. They hadn’t anticipated a battle on this scale. They had planned on a raid, a simple hit-and-run - capture the Death Eaters before they could cause harm to the Muggle and Wizard neighbourhood. Instead, they had faced Death Eaters prepared for war. 

Sirius wiped away hair from his forehead, panting, trying to keep up with what happened around him, fingers clutching tightly to his wand, prepared to force out a shield, prepared to hit before being hit. He couldn’t see James and he swallowed down the intrusive thought that James might be one of those screaming or - even worse - one of those that didn’t. Sirius thanked Sala -- no, no, Merlin, Godric - that Remus wasn’t presented. Remus, who Sirius knew could fend for his own, would throw himself into the battle, fighting better than him. No, Sirius was glad Remus didn’t have to face this nightmare to collect more trauma into his soul. And Sirius couldn’t help but snort that even amidst this chaos, his thoughts wandered to Remus Lupin who - Sirius reminded himself - wasn’t his boyfriend any longer. 

Sirius dodged, a a groan slipping out of him to escape a shot fired at him, gaze searching for familiar faces. Peter, James, Marlene -- 

Peter. Sirius stopped dead in his tracks. Shoulders squared as he turned, a dog sniffing the air for the person he was looking for. Where the hell was Wormtail? Sirius hadn’t seen him for a good while now and his throat contracted at the thought of the possibility of losing not one but many mates tonight. He breathed hard, in short puffs, stumbling as he hurried to put up a shield. He needed a few seconds, to breathe, to think, to recoup. To chase away the thoughts on James, Remus, Peter. Merlin, Sirius would punch Peter when they gathered back at the safe house to recoup and tend to wounds. How in the bloody hell could Peter’s intel have been so bad? Peter was supposed to be cleverer than to swallow any lie and taunt from the Death Eaters. He was a rat, for fuck’s sake. 

He was a rat.

A rat. 

Air escaped Sirius’ lungs.The shield broke. Screams of terror rang in Sirius’ ears. 

“Wormtail!” Sirius shouted, hating the strangled hitch to his voice. Desperation. He hadn’t seen him since the battle began. A battle they only were engaged in because Peter had tipped the Order about it. A battle Peter hadn’t lined up side by side with them to face. 

Sirius laughed dryly, the sound loud and terrifying as it mixed with the sound of the battlefield. With a swift, strong motion, he drew a Death Eater hard against the ground. 

Panting, he began to run. He was forcing all the energy he hadn’t left to keep him going. He was on a mission now. He had a clear goal. He ignored the pain that pumped through his veins, the hotness of his anger numbing it. He ran, jumping over rumble, bodies, stumbling as a spell hit him. Crawling up on all fours, up on his feet, boots hard against the ground as he forced his way forward. 

Peter. Peter. Peter. Peter. 

How could he have been so fucking blind? No, no. It wasn’t true. It was all a coincidence. Wormtail wouldn’t. 

The owl had arrived mere minutes before, had found her in the middle of work yet the urgency within the words of the note had caused the witch to drop everything at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t go back after whatever this situation may be had been sorted. Surely it wouldn’t take all day. Surely it wasn’t nearly as bad as the urgency itself had made it sound. “Peter?” Emmeline called out the moment she’d set foot into the building. Her eyes were scanning the area. It seemed almost too calm, like a storm was brewing somewhere within the walls of the house.

It had been a match for the ages, fun and challenging and at the same time something that made her feel more alive than Emmeline Vance would have ever dared to voice out loud to another person. Despite that the witch found herself relieved when the match was over, all too happy to land and head back to the castle. Too many hours spent in the air had turned her into a sore, chilled mess; one that she was more than happy to sort out and then get back to a warm common room or bed for that matter. On a rainy day such as this, what else could one do after a match such as this? Certainly, there would be celebrating but Emmeline wasn’t one to stick around for those for too long.

Broom over her shoulder, the Slytherin made her way down the path, entirely absorbed in her own thoughts of the match. It was out of the corner of her eye that she spotted him. He wasn’t unfamiliar, certainly not someone she’d ever talked with before outside of the occasional hello or eye roll. Gryffindors were seemingly all the same to her. “Have you come to chase me across the grounds with another bludger or are you done for today?” Emmeline had a smirk on her lips when she turned toward him.