Tales from the Threshold

It was warm, clean, light. But, wait, wasn't he lost, in a terrifying darkness? A challenge, a Portkey, a small hooded figure? Cedric sat up before he realized he had been lying down. Why was he lying down? Confusion and a sense of overwhelming ...serenity... were overtaking his mind in turn with the fickle shift of tides. He didn't know where, why, how...but he knew, somehow, that it didn't matter.

The sun shone down, warming him. He opened his eyes before he realized they had been closed. He was at the Quidditch pitch, the three golden hoops glinting at either end, with dusty golden ribbons streaming through the holes. That was right where he should be, wasn't it? But the pitch was smooth; there was no maze, no spectators. It was just the pitch, as he'd known and loved it.

The streams of light caught on a small shadow in the middle of the field. The shadow was moving closer, closer...Cedric leapt to his feet, drawing his wand to defend himself. He knew, he knew, something was wrong, even though he had the strongest inclination to let everything go, to be carefree. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that nothing mattered anymore, that nothing bad would happen anymore. And still the shadow moved forward.

Cedric heard the familiar, comforting sounds of late spring. The leaves rustled in the wind in the Forbidden Forest behind him, birds chattered idly, and somewhere in the distance students, his friends, were talking and shouting in the late morning idleness. Cedric stood still, wary. Had he passed out, sleepwalked, and ended up here after the tournament was over?

The shadow was resolving itself. It was a young boy, about eleven or twelve, Cedric could tell, although the glare form the sun still obscured the boy's face. Because he felt awkward, staring at the approaching youth, Cedric looked around him. At the edge of the Quidditch pitch, instead of the familiar school grounds, there was a blanket of thick white mist. He turned, confused again. The mist was everywhere, everywhere outside the pitch, except for up. The sky was a brilliant blue, an aquamarine, sapphire, icy blue-every blue there ever was-and not a single cloud marred the inviting expanse.

Cedric looked down again, at the little boy, who was very near now. And he could just make out his face, a young face, so similar to his own.

"Brian?"

The boy smiled, his eyes shining with tears.

And Cedric was nine years old again, playing Quidditch with his older brother in their backyard, diving after apples and oranges and grapes, crash landing on the overgrown lawn and laughing and wrestling...the glorified days of a boyhood past. He was wrestling and Brian was winning, as always, Brian was the golden boy, he'd be leaving for Hogwarts that fall. He was staying up late into the night, talking to Brian across their shared room about classes and houses and teachers. They were racing one last time on their brooms and Cedric was winning for the first time and he looked back and Brain's broom had carried him higher and higher and was twisting and jerking and it shot off suddenly, in what direction Cedric couldn't remember, and his brother was gone. He was crying in his father's arms, he was sitting in the uncomfortable chair at the memorial months later, he was searching farther and farther every summer, for the traitorous broomstick and his older brother he was sure was only lost.

Cedric fell to his knees and embraced the boy, his heart filling his chest, even his stomach, feeling odd to be able to envelope his older brother in his arms.

"I missed you," Cedric murmured in a choked voice. "What happened?"

"To me?" The boy's voice was high, he hadn't even reached puberty.

"Yes."

"The broom malfunctioned. It was old, and honestly, I tried to charm it to make it newer, faster. I broke it. It went everywhere, and I could barely hang on. It shot off. I was high, high in the air over the ocean when it exploded." The boy, Brian, stated this matter-of-factly, something he'd realized and memorized and come to terms with years ago, and looked at Cedric sadly, "and I'm so sorry." He stepped back and looked imploringly, beseechingly into his little brother's eyes. "It turned out so bad, so wrong, Ced."

"But...you're dead?" Cedric asked, scared. A strange iciness had flooded his limbs. Brain looked at him with a sad knowledge that belonged to no eleven-year-old boy. Cedric felt his breath catch in his chest, "and...I'm dead?"

Brain nodded sadly. And Cedric though of his parents.

"Mum and Dad...two sons...no sons, no bodies...they're not left with anything...nothing." Cedric broke down and began to cry, unable to talk.

Brian patted his little brother on the back.

"Maybe Harry will bring your body back?"

"Maybe. I hope so."

Cedric sobbed quietly for a few minutes. Brian stood by his brother, as tall standing as Cedric was sitting. An unmeasurable amount of time passed; whether it was too long or too short or somewhere in the middle, Cedric couldn't tell. He looked at his brother.

"What will they do? Do you think they'll know how much I loved them? And Cho...I really loved her too. And will Harry be alright? Or will he die like me?" he asked, nine years old again and asking his big brother, his best friend, for answers to unanswerable questions.

Brian gasped Cedric's hand and pulled him, with some effort, to his feet.

"I think they know. And I don't know what's going to happen for all of them, but I do know that in the end, we'll all be together."

Cedric took a deep, steadying breath, and looked down at his big brother who he'd missed so much. The little boy looked back up, smiling, a lone tear streaking down his cheek. Brian hesitated for a moment, looking down at the lawn, before looking up again with reverence in his eyes.

"I'm so proud of you Ced," he whispered, and Cedric grasped his hand. In his other hand he felt a broomstick that hadn't been there before. His heart was heavy, but lightening with every new breath.

"Let's go flying, Brian."

The pair climbed on their brooms, which hadn't been there a moment prior, and rose high, high into the curved blue ceiling, closer and closer to the sun, until the warm white rays swallowed their figures and they were no more.

--------------------------

Sirius sprang upright, wand drawn, ready to kill Bellatrix, that horrible, evil beast. But everything was white. Sirius panicked.

Silence was pressing in on his ears, pressing into his ears. He could feel his brain being invaded by the silence; it was trying to calm his nerves, trying to erase his evil memories. What curse had she hit him with? Was he blind? Deaf and blind? That would be the cruelest death, a death of slow incapacitation. Sirius found himself hating Bellatrix even more than before.

But he couldn't be blind...wasn't that the horrible troll leg table? Yes, yes it was...how...why was he back in this horrible place? Sirius found himself shuddering with disgust. His skin crawled. He felt himself beginning to retch. Would this house haunt him for the rest of his life? Was this Bella's torture?

The gloom of the dingy hall came into sharper and sharper focus, and the white misty turned a dismal gray. He was back in Grimmauld Place. Revulsion coursed through his body.

And he couldn't be deaf either...he could hear...laughter. Yes, laughter, coming from up the stairs. But there was never laughter in his house. Come to think of it, something was horribly, terribly, yet wonderfully wrong. The ache in his bones, the emptiness in the pit of his stomach, was gone. Sirius felt whole in a way he hadn't since James and Lily had been murdered. He felt comfortable in a way he hadn't since before Azkaban. And, through his newfound...contentment...a feeling of cold hard dread blocked Sirius's throat, and he couldn't breath.

He knew, as if by instinct, that he was dead.

The laughter was getting louder. It was a familiar laugh, but Sirius couldn't place it. He was so confused, so distraught...so guilty...

"Harry..." he murmured sadly.

"I'm not Harry, you prat, don't you even know your best mate? Although I hear that we look conspicuously similar. Lucky for him, to get the strikingly-handsome gene." The voice, full of laughter and happiness, came from the stairs behind Sirius. He felt a flush of warmth. He spun quickly, noting again how his old pains were gone. Sirius felt twenty-one again.

There, at the bottom of the stairs, was James Potter, grinning from ear to ear. Suppressed happiness was radiating from him, and James seemed to glow and almost float an inch above the ground. The room became lighter as it was filled will that indescribably feeling of being reunited with something sorely, deeply, and truly missed. Sirius bounded over to his best friend, his voice caught in his throat, and pounced on him. He clung to James tighter than he could ever remember clinging to anything in his life, clinging to his body with more fervor than when he clung to his innocence in Azkaban. James held his best friend, his brother, and they stood, speechless for several minutes.

"James," Sirius finally whispered, his throat too tight to say more.

"I'm here, mate," James whispered back, and Sirius was relieved to hear the tightness, the strain, and the emotion in his best friend's voice, "and I'll never leave you again. Friends forever, right?"

"Forever." Sirius paused, and then drew back. "James...I'm so sorry"

James looked quizzically back at Sirius. Both the men had decided to ignore the tear tracks on their cheeks.

"I shouldn't have let Peter...you know...and now, I've left Harry, and he was all...I mean, I was all he had..." Sirius couldn't choke back his guilt. He gasped and fell to the step, sitting with his head in his hands. He felt James slide down next to him.

"Padfoot, Sirius, really, you can't believe that was your fault. It was a horrible mistake, bad judgment all around, and in the end it's solely Peter who bears that blame. And as for Harry, well, I'd love it if he had you in his life, but I think he'll be able to manage without. He's still got Dumbledore, and Moony, and more than that, he's got the Weasleys. I think they'll give him the family he needs. I know you'll miss him. I miss him every day...and I missed you every day..." James trailed off, apparently forgetting what he was going to say next.

"I missed you too. I didn't know who I was without you; you were the only person who I could define myself by as...non-Slytherin, non-Black."

"What about Remus?" James chided gently.

"I loved Remus too, but he had so much of his own battle to fight, he couldn't help me define myself because I helped him define himself. It just...wasn't the same. You were always my best mate, my brother. I loved you the most." Sirius felt death was as good a time as any to get gooey and sentimental. James smiled through his tears.

"I love you too." James jumped up, changed into a stag and back again, apparently in excitement. Sirius followed suit, bounding about the hall as a great black dog, knocking over every Black family heirloom he could reach. He transformed, laughing, back into a human.

The two men looked at each other for a long moment.

"It's time to go," James said coaxingly. Sirius grinned back, and felt all the shadows of Azkaban leave. He was haunted no longer.

"I'm so happy. I haven't been this happy since Hogwarts." Sirius spread his arms, stretching his limbs to their fullest extent, feeling their new lightness. He looked at James, in an absurd cross shape, and asked without being able to reinsert worry into his voice, "We'll watch out for Harry still, right? James, I really did love him, like my own son, like my own brother."

James nodded and turned to open the door. As it creaked slowly open, Sirius saw the sun glinting outside; a cool, clean breeze lifted his heart higher than he thought it would ever be. He was Black no more.

A woman's voice, Lily's voice, called from beyond the doorway with mock austerity, "Boys, are you coming?" A tinkling laugh followed. James turned back to Sirius and held out his hand.

"It's time to go."

Sirius paused for a moment, only a moment, and looked back at the house he knew only as his prison. In his heart, he felt that he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time, barley staying tethered to life by a boy who could be best friend. Warm air was gliding in through the door, carrying on it laughter and song and the smell of summer flowers. Sirius could hardly contain himself in the house a moment longer; he was bouncing on the soles of his feet already.

"James, I'm so happy," he said, trying to communicate how new this felt after so long.

And then Sirius bounded over to his best friend and, arms over each other's shoulders, walked out into the pervasive sunshine.

--------------------------------

Dumbledore knew. And he was ready. He opened his eyes and found himself exactly where he knew he'd be, at the gates of Hogwarts. His conscious nagged him only slightly. Harry, he'd left him with so little. Enough, but so little. That was his only real regret. Well, his only regret among the living.

He looked around the grounds he loved so much. The home he'd made for himself. The trees, the castle, the lake...the giant squid reached up its arms and waved lazily. Dumbledore waved back. Behind him, he heard a rustling of leaves.

He turned. Past the gates, he could see three figures walking towards him slowly. A young girl led them, a simple smile on her face, her arms outstretched.

Love, painful and wonderful and true, rose inside him. Behind the trio, he saw them all, from his students to his friends, all waiting expectantly. He felt the wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying. Without waiting, for he had waited too long, he glided forward and threw open the gates, ready to meet all those he missed the most, and beg forgiveness from his family. He was ready, and as the gate clanged behind him, as he ran towards his little sister, he was gone.