Disclaimer: I am DND, not JKR. Big difference there. Believe me.
Dedication: All you out there who happen to be reading fics on Halloween instead of going tricksering. Enjoy.
Halloween, 1981
Bleed Black
Part One – The Wait
October 31. All Hallows Eve. Samhain. Hallowe'en.
The date goes by many names, all evoking the same meaning; the one night of the year when the world of the dead is melded with the world of the living, the time when the wall between the two grows thinnest, so thin that it may as well have vanished into nothingness. The ancient Celts believed it to be the beginning of the year, and the large fires, feasting and dancing that went on for days on end served a dual purpose – practical, for one; they rid themselves of all they could not keep for the winter, and thus provided a celebration to tide them over until midwinter. Spiritual, for another; the large fires were used to purify... and to fend off the evil spirits that came out to play.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Who cares about this history grout anyway?
He had always been impatient. Fidgety, his old Transfiguration teacher would say with a stern frown. Not that he cared then, much less now. His mother would have body-bound him by now, merely because she could not abide anyone being anything other than calm and collected anywhere near her. He had long stopped caring about that as well. He had never been particularly good at sitting still for extended periods of time, never managed to master the art of patience.
There had never been a reason to do so, before.
Tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
There was a reason for it now, and it was only because of this that he had managed to sit quietly for so long.
Bollocks.
He was waiting, had been waiting for what felt like sodding ages. For what, he did not know.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
But wait he did.
Ah, bugger.
Quietly, yet close to bubbling over on the inside.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
It would have to do.
Priorities change with time, and in that at least, he was no different from the rest of the world.
Tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
The only sound to be heard in the house, carrying in the otherwise complete silence of the darkening room. Tap-tap-tap-tap... tap-tap. Slow breath. Tap-tap-tap-tap... tap-tap. Glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Was the minute hand going bloody backwards?
Blast.
Tap-tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Slow breath, gritting of teeth.
Tap-tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Outside the shadows were lengthening, the moon soon to rise. Not that there would be too much light tonight; all day the weather had been overcast and chill, unnaturally so. Few knew the true reason for the climatic change.
Hell.
He was one of them. Not that it did any good either way.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
He wondered absently if he could actually wear a hole in the armrest of the settee he was occupying, merely by the rhythmical pattern he had been keeping up for so long.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Dusk and fog began to cover the street outside, shrouding the world in the sort of half-light he had always liked best. From dusk to daybreak, his senses sharpened naturally. He had heard more than once that he was a night creature by birth, but he knew better. Force of habit had made him so, his biological clock shifting to accommodate the activities he had long included in his habitual schedule, which were the sort not commonly performed in broad daylight. This, he realised soon enough, would never change. Not that he suffered any more due to that state; he had never needed much sleep anyway.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Good thing too, since nowadays he would not have been able to get a full night's rest even if he'd wanted to.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
A sigh, heavy and exasperated all at once.
Glance at the clock.
There. It is official. The blasted thing is moving backwards.
Tap-tap-TAP.
A low growl, the likes of which were expected to come from large dogs, menacing, conveying his frustration far better than any bout of swearing could have done.
Glance out the window.
A sliver of moonlight broke through the clouds, sending a solitary beam to the shrouded world below, bathing the foggy, drizzly street in a greyish glow that only added to the atmosphere pervading the world. It somehow enhanced the light issuing from the carved and lit pumpkin heads on the houses along the street, glancing off one bad representation of a witch on a gnarled broomstick, the likes of which would never take off from the ground, no matter how many spells were cast on it.
No sense of aerodynamics whatsoever, if they honestly think that it's supposed to fly I'll eat my motorbike.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Yet the hook-nosed "witch" continued to hang from the roof of the house opposite, supposedly "flying" around it, quite untroubled by the annoyance it was evoking in the only one looking at it.
Muggles.
He had always been astounded how holidays such as this continued to be celebrated by both kinds combined, albeit with great inaccuracies and misinterpretations from one party, as well as different approaches towards the celebrations – but still, Halloween was Halloween, no matter if you were wizard or muggle.
Laughter carried to his ears, warning him of the approaching group long before they came into view, reminding him of bygone times due to its familiarity, spiking his curiosity due to the alien component of it. He had grown up hearing those sounds and noises. Laughter, much like this, was a common element around him wherever he went. He laughed much like that. Maybe not quite... his and his friends' was a richer, louder, more boisterous sound, perhaps. Heartier, more... more free than most. This at least, he knew for certain.
They fought and battled for it every day, after all. Freedom, something the group of muggles walking down the street took for granted, was a precious commodity these days... and it came at a terrible price.
A price he, for one, was ready to pay ten times over if need be.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Was that what he was waiting for? Paying up?
Might as well be. It didn't make much difference.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
He pricked up his furry ears, turned them towards the source of sound with a slight inclination of his head, sifting through the wide variety of noises, completely alert. He had been told, repeatedly, that it was not possible to pull it off.
He had, of course, mastered it only to prove them wrong.
Take that James, I am the sodding king of partial transformations.
From his darkened room, he could see the group of muggle children coming down the street, carrying plastic skulls half full with sweets and dressed in the most ridiculous impersonations of magical beings he had ever laid eyes upon. Despite his present situation, he could not help but be amused by the muggle perception of a vampire, a... was that a hag? – not too bad, that one looks almost like mum – some bloke with a cape who, for some reason he could not quite fathom, wore his underwear on top of bright blue trousers – what the muggles come up with, honestly. I'll have to ask Lily about that one – a hunchbacked... thing, another, thickset one with what looked like screws and bolts sticking out at random places, complete with a set of makeshift scars, and—
A low, rolling chuckle.
Remus would love to see this werewolf.
The small smirk that was well on its way to spreading across his features faded, replaced by a scowl.
Remus.
His friend. Or was it former friend? He could not know for sure. Traitor crossed his mind, and he suppressed a shudder, his left hand wandering to his wand.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
He was still waiting. They had not come yet. Part of him wished they would, just to get it over with, to do something other than sit here, growing mould. Of their close group of friends, he was the most in the open, the last to go into hiding.
The bait.
He was strangely fond of that title, even if it meant certain death. He was openly proud of the plan, however. Nobody would think twice about looking for the real keeper, not after he had taken such meticulous care to tell everyone and their pet puffskein that it was him who knew the location of the Potters.
Yet, he had waited, much like this, all week, and to judge by his present living state, it was pretty obvious that either the Death Eaters were thicker than even he had given them credit for, or they wanted to stage a really big coup.
James had wanted him to stay with them, using every possible argument to back his point, and throwing in a few impossible ones for good measure. He had, of course, turned him down. He visited every day, sometimes staying for dinner, or breakfast, but never staying long enough as to require the use of the bedroom he had been given in the cottage.
Bait, he had argued once, has the unique trait of being in the open, accessible, vulnerable and tempting and ultimately catchable. For their plan to work, he needed to be found.
So it was suicide.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Others had died for less lofty purposes, had they not?
At least it would be on his terms, for the only worthwhile thing he had ever known.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
James hated the idea. Sirius was all right with it. His life, his prerogative, right?
He would not go down easily, he knew that as well. Too bad he had forged himself a reputation of being nearly unbeatable in a duel; few would be so thick as to confront him, even now, when the Dark Side seemed to be so close to victory.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
And Merlin, he hated waiting with a passion.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Maybe he ought to have stayed with Lily and James for dinner? She was making pumpkin pie, was she not? And... pudding?
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
He could be teaching Harry how to say bollocks...
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
It would certainly be much more entertaining than sitting here, waiting for Merlin-knows-what.
Bored, that's what he was.
It did nothing to explain away the tight knot his gut was clenching into, a foreboding the likes of which he had only felt seldom before. It was never good then, and there was no reason to believe it would be good now.
Tap...tap-tap-tap... tap-tap.
Maybe he ought to give James a call?
Hmm...
TBC, folks!