Mischief Managed

40: October 31st

I couldn't stop loving you for a moment long enough to think about what you'd done.

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"I'm going to go check on Prongs," mumbled Sirius, already making his way to the coat rack by the door.

I was still sitting in the kitchen, my hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. My hair was sloppily done up in a bun, and the loose strands tickled my cheeks.

"And Wormtail?" I inquired.

Sirius slid his black coat neatly off the rack and responded, "Tomorrow, remember?"

I sipped my tea.

"Right."

Sirius was quite proud of his plan to thwart Voldemort, but my concern for Peter was growing daily. He was talking to us less and less, and the words he did speak were squeaked or stammered. I did feel a twinge of pity for him, since he must be even more terrified than Sirius or I were.

"I'll be back after lunch," Sirius called. Then he was swinging out the door.

I sighed softly to myself and gripped my warm mug tighter. It had only been two days after I'd overheard Sirius practicing his proposal, but I was still waiting for him to do it in person.

Several times I had to resist the urge to search for my engagement ring, but I stopped myself with reassurances that Sirius would unveil it soon. And his behavior had changed slightly- I'd catching him looking at me doing little things, like making tea or reading, and he would only grin back at me when I called him out on it.

Maybe today, I thought. Maybe he'll finally ask me today.

With that hope, I finished my tea and took out my violin from its case. I lost track of time as I played, filling the apartment with light, bubbly melodies stemming from that thought that tonight, tonight, Sirius would ask me to be his wife.

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Lunch came and passed, but Sirius still wasn't home. I ate my sandwich alone in the kitchen and idly twiddled my thumbs. He must have gotten sidetracked playing with Harry. It had happened more than once.

Two hours later, that excuse was becoming less and less likely. A dark pit opened in my stomach. I grabbed my jacket and keys.

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When I arrived at the Potters, I nearly vomited with the horror. The house was ruined- no, decimated. The roof had caved in, and half of the front walls were blown apart. Debris was scattered across their previously well-groomed front yard while Muggles swarmed around the house like flies on dead meat.

My hands began to shake and a horrible, strangled sort of gasp escaped from my throat as I began running farther and farther away from the scene, my feet racing across the pavement until I twisted into the air and vanished.

I arrived at Peter's humble little doorstep. The door had already been knocked down and my dread began to mount as I stepped inside. The place had already been torn apart. Pictures smashed, furniture ripped, and dirt smudged against the walls.

Sirius.

He had to have gotten here before I did. There was no sign of a struggle. The damage to the apartment seemed purely intentional.

So Peter must have ran.

But where?

My mind was racing, but it was too clogged with horror and shock- images of the James and Lily's house- what had happened? T-They must have escaped, they were certainly capable of it...unless...unless they, like Sirius and I, had never seen this coming.