characters are the creation and intellectual property of j. k. rowling. no profit is derived from this work of fan fiction.

Rated PG-13
 
 

the unspeakable universe: the day of the dead
 
 

October 2007
 

America was harsh, loud and foreign, and Sirius sometimes felt like he'd go mad if he heard one more condescending reference to Quidditch, or spent another hour in a room decorated with the seal of the US Department of Magic, an eagle holding two wands. The Department had offices all over the country, but he spent most of his time in the sealed Nevada complex, wishing he were home.

It was Hallowe'en.

At Hogwarts, he knew, there would be feasting and festivities. Remus and Hermione would be there, and Snape, and perhaps even Harry and Ron. And the students: hundreds of students, most of whom had never lost anyone on Hallowe'en.

Sirius ignored the parties and the feasts, and stayed in his office. Normally he'd make an appearance at half a dozen parties, probably ending the evening on Charlotte's couch in Los Angeles, but this was Hallowe'en, and these days, he couldn't bring himself to do anything at all.

Hallowe'en.

Second year: James putting on his Invisibility Cloak, then throwing another cloak over that and hovering around the Slytherin corridors until Snape saw him. He'd only been fooled for a second, but it was long enough for James to get a lovely, clear photo of his terrified look.

Fifth year: getting into a brawl with the Slytherins during the feast, and spending several uncomfortable hours cleaning the kitchens without magic, still covered in remnants of cake and pumpkin.

Seventh year: snogging Marguerite Da Silva in the trophy room, and being constantly interrupted: first by James and Lily, then by Peter, then Remus, and finally Tobias Lestrange, who'd been less than thrilled to find his girlfriend snuggling with Sirius Black. He still had the hex scars.

Nineteen-seventy-nine: the Longbottom's Hallowe'en party. James and Lily, only nineteen, yet married already, slipping away to a quiet room. They hadn't realised that anyone else had noticed, or that Remus was just as capable of calculating dates and months as they were. A Hallowe'en conception ends in a July 31st birth.

Nineteen-eighty-one: finding James and Lily's bodies. Dueling Peter. Azkaban.

Nineteen-ninety-three: a knife gouging through the Fat Lady's canvass, while she shrieked and protested. And then -- nothing. Failure.

Sirius had plenty of good Hallowe'en memories, but none he could bring himself to enjoy. They were all tainted.

More than ever, Sirius wished he were at home again, away from Quodpot and the dry Nevada air. Sitting in Harry's flat with his feet on the table and the Prophet in his hand, or spread out in Lupin's quarters at Hogwarts. Anywhere in England, as long as he was with people who understood.

They didn't understand Voldemort here. He was just a British crackpot, a lunatic. No threat to the US, no sir.

Of course not. Because while Harry was defeating Voldemort, the US was giving birth to the Junto. Mass-market evil, thankyou-very-much, America.

God, he was homesick.

It was Hallowe'en. All Hallows Eve. All Souls Day. He could never keep the religious festivals straight, although his Muggle-born grandmother had observed them conscientiously. She'd gone to church, and offered things up, and lit candles for the dead.

Candles for the dead.

Sirius pushed aside the piles of parchment which covered his desk. Waving his wand, he began conjuring candles. One for James, one for Lily. Candles for his parents, for his grandmother, for the sister who Rosier had killed, and the brother-in-law and nephew who died in hospital the next day. One for Dumbledore. One for Minerva. Once for Cedric Diggory, and Susan Bones, and the other students whose names he never got a chance to learn. One for the Bloody Baron, and Nearly Headless Nick, and the Grey Lady, and the Fat Friar.

One for Peter Pettigrew.

When he was finished, his office was ablaze with light.

It was Hallowe'en. It was nearly nineteen years to the day since James and Lily had died.

Sirius leaned back in his chair and watched the candlelight flickering on the walls.

Maybe next year, he'd be home.