Hallowe’en
For the first time in over a year, Sirius had awoken with a smile on his face. The usual terrible feeling in his stomach, justified by the long list of deaths in the paper every morning, was still there. However this morning, as he sat on the window seat of his library, watching the sun rise behind the willow tree outside in fractures displayed upon the floorboards, it was accompanied by a warm contentment. Sirius had a feeling that today, things would change.
For better or worse, Sirius had no idea, but at least there’d be some sort of excitement. An excuse to actually do something, be out in the action - once Dumbledore had told the Potters to go into hiding, James insisted Sirius take particular care to remain safe. Coming from James, that meant it was serious.
For better or worse, Sirius had no idea, but at least there’d be some sort of excitement. An excuse to actually do something, be out in the action - once Dumbledore told the Potters to go into hiding, James insisted Sirius take particular care to remain safe. Coming from him, it was serious. Sirius hadn’t seen his best friend in person for months, and with no information from the Order, he felt he might go mad. Then again, the Order was on its last legs anyway after Meadowes, Fenwick, Dearborn, the McKinnons, the Bones’, the Prewetts… the list seemed endless.
Bored out of his mind, he’d embarked upon various projects just to fill the time. He’d entirely reorganised Alphard’s extensive wine cellar and cultivated a patch of pumpkins as marginal as his green thumb. He looked over at his kitchen garden now, a sad little collection. He kept the lawn maintained though - it was as much as he was able to do.
He hadn’t seen his best friend in person for months, and with no information from the order, he felt he might go mad. Around the time Lily and James went into hiding, Peter pretty much vanished from the face of the earth. Sirius had invited him round several times to receive short hastily-written denials. It wasn’t necessarily surprising, as James had told him to go into hiding too, but Sirius hoped that Peter would find him of all people safe to meet. He picked up the most recent letter again, holding it towards the sunlight to read it:
Sirius,
I don’t know if I can make it. Maybe.
Peter
How boring. He might as well not have sent one at all. Peter had never replied to letters well - “Too nervous!” was always his explanation - but this one was particularly awful.
The only thing that had prevented Sirius from losing his mind was a few visits from Elizabeth Gardner, a friend he wasn’t as close to as the others but who nowadays was the person he was thankful for the most. If only James could wear his invisibility cloak and sneak out like old times… Sirius shook his head. Reminiscing about his school days did no good in the current climate.
A sudden loud rapping on the window made him start, and the slumbering life-size portrait of Alphard above the crackling fireplace woke with a loud grunt. A large tawny owl was perched on the sill, a rolled daily prophet clutched in his talons. Sirius opened the window, allowing it to climb down onto the window seat while he ran over to the desk on the other side of the room, rooting around in jars of quills and drawers of various rubbish to find some coins - it had been a while since he visited Gringott’s.
It flew off once Sirius had counted out five knuts, and Sirius quickly traced his wand over the ripped silk where the owl had dug its claws into the cushions before Alphard could see. In life, Alphard was an avid collector of Victorian furniture. In death, his portrait barked orders at Sirius to maintain them. But when he turned, he saw he had just sagged against the frame again.
Sirius stepped down from the window seat and walked toward the desk, where a marginally organised wooden in-tray contained a few haphazardly placed letters. The desk had originally belonged to Sirius’ grandfather, although he never knew why Arcturus would have needed a big desk like this. It wasn’t as if he ever had a job.
He scanned it nervously, preparing himself for the worst as he threw another log on the fire and sank into a heap on the floor in front of it. More “hurricanes” as the muggles apparently described it. Giants or some other method of destruction, Sirius thought. He’d seen a giant once, and hoped never to again - nasty things.
But the part he was interested in was the list of casualties. James? Lily? Peter? Any other members? The couple in the order who’d been requested to hide like Lily and James? Longbottom, he believed their name was. He’d never had a proper conversation with either of them, but knew from Lily and James, as they had a son the same age, that they were both accomplished aurors so hadn’t taken the measure of using the fidelius charm. In some twisted way that he always tried to fend off, Sirius couldn’t help but hope that He Who Must Not Be Named would go after them instead of the Potters for the ease of it.
But there were only two names he recognised here, and neither were Longbottom. One of which, Frederick Gell, the werewolf and known follower of Greyback, he quietly celebrated. Took a few to finish him off though by the looks of it. The second was Judith Oren, a 50 something muggle born who, judging from the state of her home photographed in the article, had also put up quite a fight.
The list of those admitted to St Mungo’s since yesterday’s edition was higher, but again Sirius let out a sigh of relief as he had done every day so far. Sirius had been extremely lucky thus far. No one he was personally close to had died yet. Regulus didn’t count - they were never close anyway, and the cowardly scum deserved what he got.
“Sirius?”
Sirius flicked his eyes up from the Daily Prophet to the smiling face of James Potter in the fire. “Good morning!” He tossed the paper aside and leaned closer to James. “How’s Lily? Harry?”
“They’re well. Lily’s helping Harry with his breakfast right now. Are you and Peter okay?”
“I’m marginally stir-crazy. I haven’t seen Peter in a couple weeks, but nothing’s reported in the Prophet about him.”
“That’s a relief. You’re my only source of information, nowadays; the Prophet’s forgotten our location.”
“Odd spell, that Fidelius. Does Peter not tell you any news?”
“Haven’t heard from him. I suppose he doesn’t want to accidentally give away our location by showing up or sending an owl. Are you finished with your copy of the Daily Prophet?”
“Pretty much. Why?”
“Do you reckon you could pass it to me through the fire?”
Reaching over to pick it up from where he’d cast it to the floor, Sirius looked down at the paper in his hands. “I don’t know, can I?”
“My mum used to give my dad breakfast that way when he had to go to work early - feed him bits of toast and such. I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same with a newspaper. Do they still have the quidditch section? I don’t expect there are any matches anymore.”
“Um…” Sirius flicked through the pages, “No. They don’t. To be honest I haven’t been keeping up - I think the last I heard was that the Wimborne Wasps have a new reserve beater, and that was months ago. So do I just put this in your mouth… like toast?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind paying me back if I end up burning this?” Hesitantly, Sirius pushed it into his fireplace, where James bit down on it before reaching to his mouth and pulling it out of Sirius’ sight.
“Don’t think there’s any need, mate. Thanks, I’ll enjoy reading this.”
“I don’t know… the news isn’t exactly pleasant.” Thinking back to the section of deaths and injuries which, now he thought about it, had replaced the quidditch section, Sirius added, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I only get it to assure myself you’re not dead.”
“I’m honoured you’re willing to pay 10 knuts a day for information about me.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. It’s 5 knuts.” Sirius smiled.
“Are you going anywhere for Hallowe’en?”
“Elizabeth’s invited me to one - I’ve asked Peter if he’s going, but he sent the most ambiguous response possible so I have no idea whether he’s actually agreed or not. One of Elizabeth’s friends is hosting - Mary? You might know her.”
James nodded. “She and Lily used to be quite close, actually. Drifted apart after Hogwarts though. ”
“You need a bit of fun, I expect.”
“You can say that again; I feel like I might go mad if I’m away from everyone much longer.”
“Tell me about it.” James sighed. “It’s almost surreal watching the muggles walk past our house, looking at us without seeing us - like we live in the Leaky Cauldron. And Harry broke the broom you gave him. Even though it’s not a proper one it still isn’t fixable.”
“That’s a shame. He really looked like he was enjoying himself in the photograph Lily sent.”
“I thought he was definitely going to make a Quidditch player. But his favourite thing to do now is watch the dragons flying around in that old picture book I used to like.”
“You were such a baby bringing it to first year.”
“You’re such a kind friend, Sirius.”
“Your favourite dragon became the Chinese Fireball once you started fancying Lily, because it reminded you of her hair and, if I’m not mistaken, temperament.”
“Shh, she still doesn’t know that.” James whispered jovially.
“Did her a compliment, I’m sure, that her temperament wasn’t comparable to the Horntail.”
James laughed again, “Your favourite was the Tales of Beedle the Bard.”
“Specifically the Warlock’s Hairy Heart, yes. I think that one in particular annoyed my mother. But of course perfect little Regulus-”
A muffled crash came from James’ end along with a woman’s voice calling his name, and James looked apologetically at Sirius. “Sorry, mate. I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. Have fun with Peter if he shows up. Bless him, he’s too anxious for his own good.”
“So I’ll talk to you same time tomorrow?” Sirius asked, as James began to stand up.
“Yep, same time tomorrow. Promise. Love you, Sirius!” And James’ face vanished from the flames.
Later, having spent most of the morning with only the portrait of his uncle for company, Sirius now lay on his back, having eaten the best he could make for lunch, the hard wooden floor of the library not feeling as uncomfortable as he’d originally thought it would, listening to how Alphard had fought off a manticore without a wand for a bottle of elf made wine and Sirius’ 17th birthday gold watch - highly doubtful, and one he’d heard before, but exciting nonetheless by the way he told it.
“And then I grabbed it by the horns and-“
“Manticores have horns?”
“This one did.” Alphard snapped. “Stop interrupting. Anyway…”
Sirius hadn’t ever taken care of magical creatures. The ancient Professor Kettleburn didn’t exactly appeal to him; he didn’t want to risk another Binns type. But maybe if he had, he’d know if a manticore really did have horns. Or if they hoarded treasure, as Alphard said.
Was it not dragons who did that? No, that was goblins. Maybe multiple creatures could be obsessed with gold. Or was he getting what muggles thought magical creatures were like confused with how they actually were?
He’d been given a muggle book about a dragon who hoarded treasure. Given it by the one marauder who preferred to stay inside reading. The man who wrote it thought elves were immortal and beautiful - the severed heads of Kreacher’s ancestors would beg to differ. It was funny how muggles’ imaginations ran wild - always coming up with ways not to believe the truth.
“Are you even listening, Sirius?” The accusatory glare of Alphard from his portrait above the mantlepiece made Sirius roll onto his side so he could look at the fire instead.
“Yes. This is the part where you stab it with its own tail?”
Alphard huffed indignantly. “I’d just finished that part.”
“Well carry on then.” Sirius commanded, absentmindedly fiddling with the cuffs of his robes as he stared at the flames, half expecting James’ head to appear. When it didn’t, he stretched his arms over his head and rolled around again, over and over until he reached the other side of the room, at which point he turned back.
“You see, the beast had the watch behind it, next to its hoard - which manticores do have, I know because I saw it - so I dived underneath it’s belly, emerging on the other side just as it was about to crush me under itself, but you see I skidded a little way too far and- What on earth are you doing?”
“Listening to you.” Sirius said, “A little way too far and…?”
“And I… Oh, why the blazes am I not allowed to finish this bloody story!” Alphard cried, shaking his fist as the bell rang from downstairs, the clanging disrupting once again. Sirius ran from the room, down the wide carpeted stone staircase and toward the oak front door. The portrait followed suit, disappearing from the frame and running through the adjacent paintings until he reached the door as Sirius opened it to reveal a green clad witch. “Good morning, Sirius.” She smiled.
A disapproving harrumph sounded from the wall, and Elizabeth turned to say, “Hello, Alphard. Have I intruded?”
“Well, missy, I’ll have you know that I was recounting a very important, true story that-“
“Changes every time.” Sirius muttered as he retreated to the kitchen, opening the back door leading to the garden and grabbing the shears he’d leaned against the outside of it. He came back to Alphard who was saying, “Well, given that you’re a mudblood I wouldn’t expect you to know that a manticore in fact hoards gold. But you do now, I suppose.”
“Call her that again and I swear I will cut you in half.” Sirius threatened, brandishing the shears as Alphard backed into the portrait further along from him.
“You’re also wrong - I’m not muggle born.” Elizabeth corrected, looking at him with her head to one side.
“You can’t be a Black without knowing the entire pureblood family tree by heart and your surname, Miss Gardner, is not on it. Not even by marriage.”
“My father’s a muggle. I’m half blood.”
“Well, what’s the difference really - half blood, blood traitor, mud… sorry, Sirius… muggle born.” Alphard stumbled in his hurry to get himself away from Sirius’ shears, landing in amidst a huddle of what looked to be hags, disrupting their deep discussion, and crawling the rest of his way back to his own frame with many profuse apologies. “Don’t mind me, just making observations! Perfectly nice young woman, I expect!”
“Sorry about that.” Sirius sighed, looking back.
“Is he not the one whose house this is? Who gave you all that gold?”
“Yes… nice enough but a silly old git really. Anyway, there’s something I want to show you.”
Having marched over to his kitchen garden, Elizabeth hurrying after him, he snipped a pumpkin off its stem and threw it to her, discarding the shears.
“Happy Hallowe’en!” He said, handing a small paper bag to her after she’d caught it. “You can put it in here - undetectable extension charm, it should fit.”
Elizabeth put the bag into her pocket, “Thank you. My father will like this bag.” She extended her arm towards him, “We’d better be off then.”
Sirius took her hand as she spun around and pulled him with her as they became engulfed in darkness.
The usual suffocating sensation lessened as the unfamiliar surroundings of Mary Macdonald’s garden came into view. Grimmauld Place was in the middle of a muggle community, but Sirius had never been in a real life muggle home. Whimsical muggle travelling contraptions were parked outside the strange little houses and the light from those colourful photographs in boxes peeked through half closed curtains. When he walked in, he saw all sorts of other strange devices - when looking in what he assumed to be the kitchen, although there was no range, he saw even more.
Mary had evidently enchanted her drawing room with the same charm Sirius had used on Elizabeth’s bag, as it was disproportionately larger than the rest of the house, where a hum of chatter could be heard. Mary herself stood at the door thanking people for coming, but when she saw Sirius and Elizabeth making their way along the corridor she let out a small squeal and threw her arms around Elizabeth before turning to Sirius.
“You’re the last ones …unless Lily and James are coming? Peter said he doubts it. Half the people in the year have gone into hiding-“ or died “-so it’s a smaller reunion this year.”
“Lily and James aren’t coming, no.” Sirius replied, “Perks of having a son, I suppose.” And You Know Who himself chasing you down. “Peter’s here?”
“Yes. He’s very anxious though. Is Remus coming? He always had a knack for cheering Peter up.”
“Yes… Remus…” Sirius’ brain seemed to have gone slightly foggy, and his voice cracked when he spoke. “I don’t think he’s coming.” Clearing his throat, he announced: “Well, I’m off to find Peter. Have a nice evening.”
He left the women at the door, entering the drawing room and making his way through the clusters of conversation or dancing to what Sirius guessed was the hobgoblins playing from the wireless. He stared up at the ceiling, noticing little glowing strings. At first, he thought they were fairies but it quickly became evident they were some sort of muggle replacement. The orange drapes over the low ceiling gave a slightly claustrophobic feeling as Sirius scaled the walls until he reached the corner. Peter was not at the first, but the second. He held a glass of fire whisky, which he tapped without any sort of cohesive rhythm, his small eyes darting left and right.
“H-hello, Sirius!” He squeaked. “Happy Hallowe’en.”
“Likewise.” Sirius smiled, “Haven’t been out much lately, have you Peter?”
“No, I’ve been… have you heard from James?”
“Yes, this morning. I expect he’s more bored than I am.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he’ll be able to go out any time soon.” Peter said, avoiding Sirius’ gaze and staring down at his drink. “I haven’t been able to show my face at Godric’s hollow - didn’t want to give myself away, you know.”
“He thought as much.” Sirius agreed. “But you’ve been avoiding me. Is something wrong?”
“Well, I’ve…” Peter lifted his glass to his lips, taking a swig and grimacing at the taste. “I’ve been in hiding like you. But, you know… Hallowe’en… how could I refuse? He took another swig of firewhisky, pulling at his collar. “Is it hot in here? All the people…”
“You could take off your cloak.”
Peter pulled it off, folding it in his arms. “Sirius, could you hold it for a moment? I’d like to…”
“You really look like you’re going to be sick. Do you want to get out of the crowd?” Sirius put his hand on Peter’s left arm, and he jerked it away sharply. He really should have known better - Peter never liked physical contact.
“Sorry, I… yes, I think that would be best.”
They pushed their way across the room - or, rather, Sirius carved a pathway for Peter to follow - until they reached the corridor. Elizabeth and Mary stumbled out of the kitchen, giggling, and Elizabeth let go of Mary’s waist when she saw Sirius.
“Oh, Peter are you okay?” Elizabeth asked, before she was dragged into the sitting room by Mary. “We’ll give you some space, sorry.”
Sirius turned to Peter, who was leaning against the wall and gripping his glass so tightly Sirius half expected it to crack under his fingers. “Right, Peter, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I… don’t know what to do. They…” he trailed off, his eyes watering.
God, Sirius was an idiot. Of course… no death eater had come after him. It seemed almost as if they knew he wasn’t the secret keeper, which meant Peter must be getting all their attention.
“Have the death eaters been going after you? If you’re being attacked I can help you-“
“No, I…”
“For fuck’s sake, stop thinking if you tell us your problems we’ll hate you,” Sirius said sharply. “That’s how we get to situations like sixth year. Remember when we all promised we’d never judge you if you opened up to us. James even offered to make an unbreakable vow.”
Peter’s voice was hoarse. “Please don’t mention…” His face suddenly turned white with terror, and he retched as he subconsciously clutched his left forearm.
Sirius’ eyes widened. “Have you…”
Peter thrust his cloak into Sirius’ hands and disapparated with a loud crack. Sirius felt like slapping himself. He hadn’t seen Peter in such a state since they were teenagers, and Sirius had gone and snapped at him.
Memories of Peter hunched on his bed in the hospital wing, held by Remus and crying in great wracking sobs as they all tried their best to comfort him, trying not to stare at the bandages on his arms covering the deep lacerations. Sirius had seen people in much worse shape physically, but it was never the same. It was the first time Sirius had encountered vulnerability like that - so visceral and raw, so human. After that, he and James had properly tried to get their act together.
“Did Peter leave?” Elizabeth was leaning on the doorframe to the sitting room, the party behind her.
“Yes.” Sirius’ voice was hollow. He found he was holding Peter’s cloak, and held onto it tighter, planning on keeping it in case he came back.
“Come on then, I know you’ve wanted an opportunity to socialise for months.”
The numbers dwindled every year - half had perished at the hands of the others. Every year that the war dragged on, there was some comfort in the knowledge that his year would do anything they could to make sure that the Hallowe’en party continued as always. Some sense of consistency remained here, even if the numbers of those in attendance dwindled which each passing celebration.
Last year, it had broken out into a duel between Mary and Mulciber - she got her back on him for the stunt he pulled in fifth year. But, or so she had said in the invite, duels were to kindly be “taken elsewhere”. No slytherins had turned up this year, or so Sirius could see anyway, which would lessen the chances greatly.
Mary appeared next to Elizabeth, pulling on her arm. “Let’s go, Elizabeth.”
“You’re so needy.” Elizabeth laughed. “Just a second.”
She turned to Sirius, clearing her throat slightly. “Sorry about interrupting you and Peter. Mary was… letting me use her house phone.”
“Her what?”
Elizabeth sighed, “Telephone. It’s a muggle way of communicating. They’re really useful, actually - muggles invented the radio and we adopted that - I don’t know why we don’t use telephones.”
Along with care of magical creatures, Sirius was beginning to think he should have taken muggle studies. “Why don’t muggles just use post?”
“They do, but telephone is quicker. I can show you.” She made to move for the door, but stopped, looking at the wireless.
The music silenced. The chatter died down. A few people didn’t seem to notice, continuing their conversations before looking around, confused. A single, robotic voice sounded on the radio, loud, slow and clear:
“Urgent Ministry Announcement”
A reporter gleefully announced, “This evening, we are treated to a speech from the minister of magic herself. May I present to you, Millicent Bagnold!”
From the quality of the sound, they were speaking into a microphone in a large hall. The last time this had happened was when the Fabian brothers died, but the reporter seemed far too excited for that to be the case.
Elizabeth seemed to be thinking the same, as she gave Sirius a quizzical look as a slow, low-pitched and reassuring voice of the minister for magic took over the room.
“Early this evening, the Ministry of Magic received news from Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that this first wizarding war since the time of Grindelwald has at last come to an end. He Who Must Not Be Named has been defeated and those who call themselves “Death Eaters” are being rounded up as we speak.”
The room went silent. Every wizarding family in the country turned their attention to the broadcast. A collective gasp rang out across all of Britain.
You-Know-Who dead? Or captured, at least? No more to die at his hand?
But something, Sirius couldn’t help but think, must be wrong. There had been no talk of this in the order, and while he hadn’t exactly had lots of contact from them, something as big as the takedown of You Know Who was what Sirius expected to be informed of. This was all too sudden.
“I urge you to look to tomorrow’s edition of the Daily Prophet, in which Bartemius Crouch, head of the department of magical law enforcement has outlined how the ministry will proceed and what you can do to help. In addition, Albus Dumbledore himself will give a speech here at the ministry giving further details about the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, which will be broadcast on the radio as well as published in the Daily Prophet.”
If Dumbledore was involved, then the Order must have been too. But why hadn’t Sirius been told? He’d been in hiding, yes, but only because he was told to do so. He wasn’t in any real danger that would prevent them from letting him in on something this important. Unless there was some reason for them not to trust him?
“While this is certainly a time to celebrate, I must stress that the Death Eaters are still at large and with their leader gone, are likely to go to desperate measures to avoid capture or as a ‘last hurrah’ before so. If you think anyone may be a sympathiser to their cause, you must inform the auror office as soon as possible. There will be spies working to protect their own in their time of distress.”
Spies. The spy. Why would the Order not trust him with this information? Because Dumbledore thought he was the secret keeper. Sirius couldn’t think of anyone left who was more important than the Potters. Sirius couldn’t think of anyone else left who Dumbledore would personally go out of his way to protect. Had Voldemort been apprehended by Dumbledore on his way to attack James? Or had he been apprehended by Dumbledore after attacking James? Sirius could hardly bear to think about it.
He looked down at Peter’s cloak, resting on his arm. Peter’s arm - the way he has grabbed it, how he looked so worried, how he’d been anxious all evening. Had he been forced to give up their location?
Or had he given it up of his own free will?
He needed to get to Godric’s Hollow.
Godric’s Hollow…
That rat.
“As always, if you or anyone you know is a death eater, or suspected of being one, inform the ministry of magic immediately. In the meantime, this is definitely cause for a party.”
Bagnold had hardly finished her sentence by the time Sirius stood, clutching Peter’s cloak with a grip so tight his fingernails threatened to pierce the skin of his palms. When he walked, it was as if he was in a trance. The silence broke out into cheers, hugging and whooping in pure elation. It all seemed to be coming from a very long way away, their voices muffles and distorted.
No one followed him outside. He was glad of that. But the street lamps appeared fuzzy. He clutched his head, trying to steady his vision as the world spun. The deafening sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his chest, the acidic stench of vomit pungent in his mouth.
Sirius felt sweat at his collar and his robes stuck to his back. He dropped Peter’s cloak in disgust. It fell with the lining on show, revealing a faint pattern. Sirius bent down, looking more closely.
It was hundreds of dark mark insignias, visible only in the same way a dementor is - made of a despondent, more potent black than the darkness surrounding. The audacity of him, to dare handing Sirius a cloak with that symbol - the one any wizard dreads to see most; that invites horror into the souls of those who see it and what it means.
There was no denying it. Peter had betrayed him, and betrayed James. It hadn’t been tortured out of him, and it hadn’t been forced with veritaserum. He had chosen to give them up.
Sirius suddenly had a horrible thought.
If Peter was the spy, then the man he had been accusing and ignoring and pushing to the back of his mind for months was innocent.
Remus was innocent.
Everything he had been trying not to think about for so long invaded his mind and refused to leave. The way Remus would sit when researching something, which he still did even out of Hogwarts - his knee against his chest, his hair falling in his eyes when he lent over the table to scribble down notes. How he slept with his lips slightly parted and his hands wrapped around Sirius’ waist in the hospital wing while his cuts and scrapes healed every month.
But then how he defended Snape, distanced himself from the rest of them, disappeared on ‘Order business’ just as Dumbledore mentioned a spy… their last interaction… how Sirius had been so cold towards him; how hurt Remus had been; the tears in Remus’ eyes as he left.
Why couldn’t he have seen that Remus John Lupin would never even think of betraying his friends?
Sirius suddenly seized the cloak, grabbing it with both hands and ripping it straight down the middle. He took out his wand, blasting curses and hexes before seizing the two halves of the cloak and ripping it again and again and again until the only surviving remnants were frayed strips of black fabric.
Peter Pettigrew was a dead man.