Home

The first pastel hues of dawn were creeping over the horizon, swallowing the night sky and stars. The sickle moon overhead was growing paler as the still moments passed.

And Sirius felt he was home.

He was vaguely aware of gentle fingers running through his hair. They pulled strands out of his eyes and smoothed them back behind his ears. Soon, however, the hands grew bored and moved to caress his forehead. They felt cold, and not quite tangible...as if they sank into his head to extract any remnants of pain and anxiety. The hands passed over his forehead once, then twice, and on the third pass traveled to his gaunt cheek.

Sirius closed his eyes momentarily and shivered. He opened them again and stared out at the morning star, twinkling faintly. The hands continued.

He dared not turn his head from the horizon, for fear of losing the comfort of the hands.

"I'm home," he whispered. "Aren't I?"

After several long moments, a male voice responded. "Only if you want to be."

Sirius frowned, and the hands immediately moved to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

"What other place could I go?" he inquired.

"Anywhere."

"Is there a better place?"

"I wouldn't know, I've never cared to look," the voice said.

Both lapsed into silence again as the sun climbed higher into the sky.

"Do you want to go back?" the voice asked finally.

"What?"

"Do you want to return? To the old world?"

"I don't know. I hardly remember an old world," Sirius replied sleepily.

The owner of the hands, and presumably the voice, hauled Sirius up from his reclining position and wheeled him around.

Blinking, Sirius stared at the man--no, not man, boy--facing him. The boy was washed out, much like an old drawing left in the sun for years. He appeared almost illustrated against the backdrop of the sky. He was faded around the edges and his features were blurred. The eyes were a light grey; the hair so pale it seemed like it had been dusted with baby powder. A name registered in Sirius' mind.

"You're Cedric Diggory."

Cedric nodded, but said nothing.

"You're the boy that was murdered," continued Sirius, the haze over his memory lifting. "By Voldemort."

And still, Cedric did not respond. He took Sirius' hands in his own, running his fingers over the knuckles. Sirius idly noted that he had been right; Cedric's hands did pass through his own.

"And Harry was there. Wait, who's Harry?"

Cedric's face lost its blank, peaceful expression, only to be replaced by a look of sorrow. "He is...was...your godson."

Sirius froze. "Is he here?"

"No," Cedric replied sadly. "He's still in the old world. Listen, can you hear him?"

Off in the distance, Sirius could hear an echo of an echo: "He hasn't gone! HE IS NOT DEAD!"

Wrenching his hands from Cedric's, Sirius stood up abruptly. A rush of memories hit him at full force.

Bella...a curse...the veil... Remus (Oh God Oh God Oh God my Remus)...Harry (Nocan'tleavehimgottoseehimpleaseletmeseehim!). Sirius whirled about in place, searching for the veil. He needed to get back through, he couldn't leave them...

There, behind Cedric, the veil flapped, though there was no draft. Frantic voices drifted through it. Sirius ran towards it and grasped the edges in his hands, attempting to push to the other side. When the veil resisted, he tried to throw himself through, but was violently shoved backwards. Tears streaming over his cheeks, Sirius crawled back to the veil and picked at the frayed hem.

"Oh God, I can't leave them," he sobbed. "Help me through, Cedric, I need to get back through..." He rested his head on the archway, shuddering, still half-heartedly trying to penetrate the fabric...maybe if he could just get one hand through, they'd pull him back...

Cedric sat down next to Sirius and stroked his eyelids and face, soothing away the tears. "I wish I could do something. But the veil is one-way."

Sirius looked up. "You said I could go anywhere. You even asked me if I wanted to go back. Why can't I go back?" he asked softly.

"I told you. One way." Pause. "Even if you could go back through...you wouldn't want to."

"Why n-"

"I had the opportunity, you could say," Cedric snorted. "When Harry and Voldemort dueled...I was allowed--well, actually, forced--to return. And it's not worth it. The old world looks so ugly, so different, once you've been here. It's painful. You can see others dying; you can see their bodies slowly wasting away. The sheer hatred and ugliness you witness...even in good people...is too much to bear. You don't want to go back, it's a worse pain than what you feel now." He pulled Sirius into a tight embrace, his ghostly hands tracing circles over the man's back. The two stayed huddled together for what seemed like an eternity, neither speaking, moving, or for that matter, breathing. A single tear rolled from Cedric's eye, briefly caught the sunlight as it coursed over his face, and landed on Sirius' knees.

Sirius watched the tear absorb into the fabric of his robes. "So now what?"

Drawing back, Cedric stood up and offered a hand. "I wouldn't know. I'm only a Receiver. Our time together is drawing to an end, Sirius."

"Wait...I..."

"There is nothing more I can do," Cedric stated resolutely. "Someone has come to take you the rest of the way."

Sirius pulled his eyes from Cedric's and dropped his hand. He turned around. Standing inches from his face was a grinning, and rather mischievous-looking, James Potter.

"C'mon Padfoot," he said jovially, clapping Sirius on the back. "We've all been waiting for you."

Sirius did not need to ask who "we" was. He did not need to ask where he was going. And he did not need to look back at the veil.

He knew that, wherever James would take him, he would be safe.

And he knew that he was finally home.