The Corpse That Lived.

Chapter 18

A/N Heyyy.... I know it's been months but it's better late than never. I hit the largest writing block ( I passed my GCSEs yay!!!)  But today, I just felt like writing. Please vote or comment because it does motivate me and i'll know i'm not just writing into the void. Hope you enjoy!!! 

At first, Sirius couldn't believe Dahlia had killed Peter Pettigrew. She looked too soft, too breakable, to have painted that room in blood. James wouldn't lie to him, not about this.

It should have been him. He would've torn that rat apart with his bare hands, relished it. But Dahlia, sweet, fragile Dahlia, had done it instead. And the sight of her, shaking, wild-eyed, her lips parted as though she'd just surfaced from drowning, struck something deep in him. He feared for her, how this situation might scar her. She was only a child. There was beauty in her rage, in the blood on her hands. He found himself wanting to hold her close, to shield her from consequence, to drag her away and keep her all to himself. If this violence broke her, he would be the one to put her back together. If the darkness consumed her, he would walk straight into it at her side.

She was dangerous now—untouchable, radiant in a way that burned him to look at. And still, Sirius knew he would follow her anywhere, even into ruin.

The room was a nightmare etched into reality.

Blood was everywhere. It painted the floorboards in jagged streaks, soaked into the once-elegant rug in great, black-red pools. It spattered the walls in grotesque patterns, as if Peter had tried to crawl away only to be dragged back into the centre like an animal. Chunks of flesh clung to the legs of a shattered chair. Something glistened wetly near the hearth—viscera, maybe. Part of a hand. A tooth.

Peter Pettigrew, sprawled in a broken heap.

A chuckle broke from his throat before he could stop it, low and humorless. This was the great betrayer of the Potters, the rat who had slipped through their lives and left ruin in his wake. Bested by a child. The same baby who he wanted dead. It was almost poetic.

"Pathetic, Wormtail," Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "After everything you did... this is how it ends for you."

He nudged the corpse with his boot, then drew back and gave the head a sharp kick, sending it lolling to one side. The sight should have sickened him. Instead, he felt only a dark satisfaction settle in his chest. Peter had deserved worse—for Dahlia, for James and Lily, for all of them.

But there was no time to savour it. Sirius crouched down, eyes narrowing as he considered the body. It would have to vanish. To the rest of the world, Peter Pettigrew could never be a corpse rotting in the dirt. No, he would be a ghost story, a fugitive forever just out of reach. The first man to escape Azkaban... and never to be seen again.

That, Sirius thought grimly, was a fate almost kinder than he deserved.

His mind couldn't comprehend that fact that the sweet little girl was the one responsible for this it just seemed impossible. A child shouldn't have to do something like this. Shouldn't have to carry blood on her hands, no matter how deserved.

It went without saying that Sirius cleaned every bit of evidence up.

***

Remus had felt the tension in the room earlier, heavy and brittle, like glass about to shatter. Dahlia sat too still, her eyes sharp and far away, a child's body wrapped around a soul that had seen too much. It worried him deeply, she looked like a war veteran, not a girl who should be thinking about homework and sweets. The visit to St. Mungo's had unsettled them all, but it seemed to have carved something especially deep into her.

That was why he'd suggested ice cream. A small kindness, a reprieve, something to soften the jagged edges. Lily had agreed at once.

Now they sat outside Florean Fortescue's, the late sun catching on the glass bowls piled high with sundaes. Dahlia moved her spoon absently through the melting cream, Hyacinth drummed her fingers on the table, restless, the silence stretching between them.