Author's Note: This is my first group of drabbles for the LiveJournal hp100 challenge. July 7's subject: the character who died in The Order of the Phoenix. SPOILERS FOR THE FIFTH BOOK! This is actually comprised of three drabbles, but because they're linked (the first time I've tried this) I'm placing them in one series. Enjoy! (Side note: the title came from the song "Death is Such an Odd Thing" from the short-lived musical Dance of the Vampires.) In the hp100 community, authors have to choose a house where the points from each drabble will go; I call myself Ravenclaw.

Such an Odd Thing

By Trisana McGraw

Lingering

The curse raced at him, lightning-fast, a deafening roar. As he began to slowly fall backwards, his vision blurred and his body became numb, but he could still hear things.

His own laughter, still ringing in his ears.

Harry bellowing his name.

The clatter of many feet rushing toward him.

Shacklebolt knocking Bellatrix aside — good for him.

His heart overshadowed everything — Buh-beat. Buh-beat. Buh-beat. Buh — Silence, and he couldn't see; he must have fallen through the veil.

A million wails and screams, high and low, rose around him. Sirius was buried beneath the countless spirits clustering at the veil's entrance.

* * *

No Going Back

The transparent spirits passed through Sirius' solid body like icy breezes. Soon, rather than brushing past him, they began to latch onto him. He looked into hungry faces that pressed closer, while the buzzing voices slithered over his skin.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice lost in the din.

The noise formed definite words: "Flesh." The prickling intensified; Sirius shouted, "Stop it!" Searing pain spread through his body as he struggled.

With a cry, he rose from his body, becoming as wispy as the others. He floated to the edge of the archway, but he couldn't pass through.

* * *

Spectator

Well, he'd gotten himself into a hell of a bind.

Freedom from Azkaban hadn't been all it was cracked up to be. He'd had to lay low — worse, his horrid childhood home had been his prison. Everyone else went on missions for the Order while he was forced to remain at safe, sickening "home." He'd been willing to leave for any reason; a dangerous mission to rescue Harry had just been icing on the cake.

Then he'd had to go and get himself killed. Now, insubstantial, he could only watch his friends fight Death Eaters.

Irony was such a bitch.