All Is Hallowed

Cover the mirror
Hide in your dreams
Forget what they told you
Forget what it means



Crunch. Crunch. Thin bones shatter. Tongue lickes eagerly at marrow - life'sbloodbane - shadows, quiet, gnawing. Smellsense keen, absorbing, categorizing: predator, prey, prey, prey, pray

Trotting to water, lapping with tired maw; running, always running. Hidden. Shaggy. Darkling. Light is the enemy if not to be recaptured.

Tinkles as drops fall from clenched muzzle, then open again, panting. Heart rate so much faster. Faster than…

Panting. Hehthlahhehthlahhehthlah - smack, lips closed, jaw opens - hehthlahhethlah

Crouching, tensed. Springing. Running to edge of forest, end of survival, safety. Survival matters. Streak of firefur runs near, stops. Orange hair sidles, purrs. Not prey. Not equal. Knows.

How?

Clever feline. Bright eyes shining, communicating anger; filthy rat ran away, tried but could not get it. Feasting. Food. Scuttling rodent is unprotected. Go, now-

Halloween.

"Hey, Potter! Heads up!"

James immediately dives under the table as a small bottle of firewhiskey is thrown his way. Barely catching it, he swears loudly enough that Griffyndor's Head Boy snaps his head in Sirius' direction.

"Mr. Black?"

"Yes, Master Penicks, sir?"

A disapproving glower from the end of the table, commingled with opportunity.

"Let's keep that supple wrist restricted to betting on Quidditch, shall we?"

Dutiful nodding, while raising an eyebrow at Moony, who shakes his head in resignation.

"Especially if there's a spare one for me, eh?" The Welsh accent fades into the din of the feast and the sixth year returns his head to his comrades to wink.

"Sure as shit and sheep, Penicks."

The words go unheard. James tucks the illicit container under his robe, motions are made, heads nod, girls titter, the ceiling of Hogwarts is the most beautiful imaginable.

Swaths of stars, few clouds, moon waning.

All are in their courses; young men, guilty of so much: love, loyalty, the inexplicable untiring incomprehensible bond of fraternity which holds them…

Cat rubs against legs, insistent. Tail caresses ribs raising prominently under matted black fur. Whiskers raise up to meet damp muzzle.

Go. Now. Room dark. Vermin scared.

In gratitude, two thorough tongue licks across flaming hairs. Then bounding away to the Quidditch locker room, door slightly ajar, to back corner. Dank. Nostrils close in on themselves. Unused corridor, obviously, for at least a few years.

Bodyshake, spray flying, from nose to weary shoulders shoulders to thin middle to back haunches to tail. Snorting, headtossing. Better to be dog, for now. Second nature. Nature. Growl forms in throat, is suppressed. The only way.

Must kill the traitor.

Must transform.

Crackling of joints, a popping sound.

I hate this. But it's better to be alive than the alternative, now isn't it? My mind wrestles in on itself, more free to do so in human form.

I'm not sure about those alternatives anymore.

Bony fingers stray across the hard metal, seeking entry, finding the slight indent. I lean in, hoping the way is still open to me.

The door swings ajar.

I stand, a man now, though bearing less of the weight now than I carried when a student, and make sure I have my knife. Even as I drag a thumb over it, cursing as I draw blood, I hear something, and meld with the shadows.

Holding my breath, I pause. Then - nothing.

Cover the madness
Cover the fear
No one will ever
Know you were here


Twelve years in Azkaban have left an indelible mark on me. Fear is not lost to me, that is true; it is one thing they could or would not draw from me. Not like the memories of joy, of sunlight, of alliances which were beyond reason which were taken from me as unwillingly as I would surrender my spirit from my body. But now I sense nothing to make me anxious. Wearing shoes so shabby that had she known, my mother would do dances worthy of the Veela in her grave, I clamber through the opening and carefully drop myself through.

I want to return as Padfoot; he/we/I have better smell, but this particular devilry requires prehensile thumbs. I run on two feet.

Emerging on the fifth floor behind Gregory's statue, I crouch, a mere shadow,barely breathing.

Peeves. Dammit, I know you're about, you always were. Where are you?

But there is no malevolent air around me. Only an easy quiet which immediately puts me on edge and makes my filthy teeth grate. I have not felt such innocence in so long that I feel smothered in its righteous complacency.

I right myself, standing to full height, and walk as brazenly as I ever did up two floors toward the Gryffindor common room, using all will within myself to resist the fragrant smells of the feast.

Hungry. I am ravenous.

Mumbling I answer myself aloud. "The forest is not empty. There is a turncoat to kill before you eat anything. Besides, you never did like pumpkin juice."

Halloween.

Sitting in the common room, seventh years now, an arm sprawled affectionately over Moony.

"Cheer up, old man!" Playing idly, even then, with sprigs of grey, the occasional subject of discussion among a couple of astute students.

"Shut the hell up."

A raised eyebrow.

"You first."

Silence reigns until Remus mumbles, half-singing, "'It's you I swear, it's you I swear, I delight in my despair…'"

For a moment I stew, indignant. This is stupid. "Excuse me, it is my best friend who just told us he proposed to Lily, and piper's spit save us, she said yes. What was that all about? What am I supposed to do now for a best friend?"

I finish my rant and give him an evil eye. "Were those song lyrics? You've been listening to that Muggle rodia station again, haven't you?"

"Ray-dee-o, Sirius. Shit. Don't you learn anything? It's a radio." More sighing, assisted with eye rolling, combined with his own hands rearranging his hair, then settling on his stomach. "You are hopeless."

I remove my hand, run it through my own unkempt mane, my rebellion. I can't face going home this year. James is a ridiculous, shameless romantic. I am in denial.I will not be left behind, there is nothing for me but screaming pictures…

I could almost swagger, if it didn't hurt so much. "What is the password?"

It's the fat woman dressed in pink. Don't they ever change anything here? I don't care if she's supposed to be fetching, whatever era she was painted in. She could be every person in all of the portraits and it wouldn't matter right now.

I try and clear my throat.

"I do not happen to be carrying the password right this moment, dear lady."

A faint blush creeps across her cheeks, and beyond hope, I think I'm in.

"Oh, but kind sir, I cannot let you in if you do not have the password, those are the rules…"

She breaks off, finds a fan that she had somehow hidden in her overflowing cleavage, and uses it.

"You are not a student, and not a professor, and you look… you look… so…"

I stand there for a moment, then take out my knife. She turns rather pale.

"DANGEROUS!" she yells, shrilly.

I am not even listening anymore. Peter is behind her, that is all I need to know.

"DANGEROUS! DANGEROUS! KNIFE-WIELDING! HELP! HELP!"

"I would be quiet if I were you," I say, calmly. "Just let me in and get out of my way, and there is no harm done."

I think for a brief moment while she waddles back and forth within her frame,her eyes suddenly wide, frantically looking for someone to come to her aid.

"Well, no harm to any current Hogwart students, that is."

This slows her, which doesn't say much. She's still lumbering back and forth, almost making me sick as I watch her, wringing her hands.

"Cannot let you in sir, cannot let you."

I sigh, angry.

"So be it."

A picture worth a thousand lies
The memory and the mirror
Nothing but what came before
Nothing but a closing door

Bury my lovely
Hide in your room
Forget me soon…


I do not enjoy what I do next, but if the scarlet cat cannot bring the vermin to me, I will find my way to him. The fat woman refuses to leave, and yet, making my fury rise, she refuses to let me in.

The knife. So many uses.

Screaming. Yelling, horrific yelping.

I am slashing at the gateway, but she has left. I am beyond rage.

"LETMEFUCKINGINTOTHISROOMIUSEDTOLIVEHERETHETRAITORWHOKILLEDMYBESTFRIENDISINTHEREYOUBETTERLETMEINORTHEREWILLBEAPRICETOPAY!"

The words echo hollowly as I hack at her portrait, but she is gone, and I am barred.

Ah, the curse of the prehensile thumb. Though even if I were Padfoot, I would have lunged at her, and the results would have been the same, just messier. There are still shards of canvas howling at my feet, but I ignore them.

The wave of hate has crashed on me, roiling, but then I began to calm. Despising Peter has kept me somewhat sane, but it does not change my situation. James is dead, I don't know where Remus is, and I'm a wanted man in two worlds, both Wizarding and Muggle. I can't bear it.

I want to scream.

"Couldn't be, no, couldn't be!"

I spin around to see Peeves coming toward me, making obscene gestures with his hands."Murdering Black, oh yes, he's back!" his voice rings as he changes course away from me, continuing his babbling. "Black is back!"

I hear voices. I must leave, now.

Transforming again, needing speed. Dashing down two flights of stairs, hurling myself along as they change direction mid-way. A sudden vision of stag and wolf, bounding in beauty under moonlight. Prongs, you will be revenged, I swear it…

Flat-footed, four pads rush behind statue but freeze, just for a moment, hoping, just maybe--

HARRY.

Oblivious, son-of-James. Eyes like Lily look around, don't delve into the shadows, he talks with friends.

I will keep you alive.

My heart aches. I must go.

Running, always running. Back through passageways known so familiarly as a student, re-emerging, panting, alone.

Alone, shivering.

Drops of rain fall on my head as I howl.

A figure in a hallway light
Returning like a ghost
Something that was left behind
Something in a child's mind



*****


Author's Notes
This is my first HP fanfic; I conjured the gap-filling scene while re-reading PoA. I happened to be finishing the story while listening to October Project's first album. all quotes centered and in italics are from the first song on the CD which was creepily appropriate, "Buty My Lovely."


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