Harry was standing rigid in front of the veil. Lord Voldemort had just blasted his wand from his hand so now he was totally defenseless. Harry's head was on fire, especially around his scar because of his close proximity to Voldemort. Sweaty and breathing hard, he stared defiantly at the Dark Lord with clenched teeth and fists, determined to face what he knew was coming next. Voldemort held his wand out at him and was smiling viciously...
"AVADA KEDAVRA! ", shouted Voldemort in a voice of utmost triumph. At the same time, Harry heard another, closer voice from off to his left that yelled, "PROTEGO MAXIMUS!"
From this point on, time seemed move in slow motion as Harry whipped his head around to the direction of the new voice. It was Dumbledore. He was holding a wand in each hand out in a defensive manner. Vaguely recognising one of the wands as his own, Harry had a feeling of hope blossom in his chest...somehow the headmaster had shown up, had known where he was and where to come...
Harry sensed more than saw three streams of light lancing through the air. Gold and red came from Dumbledore's direction, deadly green from Voldemort's. Then Harry half-turned as the strands writhed and braided together toward him as if they were alive.
The gold and red light managed to reach him split second before the green. Harry heard and glimpsed a crackling energy that appeared to erect a dome-like shield about him. Just as quickly, the final green one slammed into the shield, shattering it and swallowing him up.
Pain as he had never imagined surged all through his being. Each extremity burst with agonising flaming power Harry screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life; the Cruciatus Curse was nothing in comparison to this kind of ferocious and devouring burning. Having been possessed by Voldemort last year, Harry wrongfully assumed he had experienced the worst kind of pain imaginable...
Don't give in, he thought...I can't...I--I won't give in... Shaking convulsively, he felt his muscles spasm and started slowly sliding to the floor.
A horrendous, freezing, tearing sensation gripped his spine and radiated outward. It was as if a pair of gigantic hands was ripping through his skin to the inside. Utter terror consumed his mind as he realised what was happening; his soul was being wrenched from his body; every nerve felt as if it were being scoured by ice-cold razor blades.
Screaming louder, he tried valiantly to fight it, but nothing was left in him to fight with. It was only possible to feel complete suffering. No...NO! he thought miserably...his parents flashed into his thoughts...I'm sorry, he thought to them...sorry, mum and dad...you died for nothing to save me... He knew it was only a matter of time; he couldn't live long in this strange netherworld of terrifying heat and crippling cold, of fire and ice. This is what it feels like to die...
A dizzy floating-like sensation came over him now. It was most peculiar, this duality of being in two places at one time; falling to the floor and floating inexorably towards the doorway with the veil. After feeling that he had both crashed to the floor and passed all the way through the gateway, time itself seemed to halt for a second. Harry shut his eyes reflexively...he anticipated something big was going to happen...
Suddenly, everything exploded. It was as if his body had blown into a million pieces. A white-hot light surrounded and engulfed him.
Slowly, all the pieces of him seemed to blend back to a whole. At last Harry was no longer in pain, but he was still flying and was vaguely aware of a rushing sound in his ears. Gradually, his other senses came back into focus. Opening his eyes, he saw blurs of color darting passed him. Rather quickly, the rushing sound in his ears sorted itself into voices and the blurs of color sorted themselves into pictures.
The pictures were moving and being accompanied by the cacophony of voices. They were like living snapshots, moments of Harry's own life being replayed over in front of him.
Dudley punching Harry for trying to talk about Lily and James...thousands of letters from Hogwarts pouring into the Dursley's living room...the bludger breaking his arm and then him catching the snitch...fighting the boggart-dementor with Lupin...setting Sirius free with Buckbeak...Hermione punching Malfoy...seeing his parent's ghostly forms over the graveyard where Voldemort returned to his body...using the Summoning Charm on the Triwizard Cup and escaping Voldemort with Cedric..."I will not tell lies" scored into the back of his hand and bleeding...teaching the D. A. members the Disarming Charm in the Room of Requirement...Sirius falling back through the black veil and disappearing...Ron burning off Malfoy's hair and eyebrows...dancing with Ginny Weasley and bending down to kiss her...Sirius playfully telling him to stop reminiscing about his girlfriend and that it was time to follow him now...
Hang on a minute. Harry automatically realised this never could've happened. His godfather hadn't even been alive when he started dating Ginny. Open curiosity caused him to fly directly through the window of this false memory...
Gliding to a halt in midair, he gazed intently at the image of Sirius. His godfather's arms were folded and he was standing stock-still with a welcoming smile on his face.
Harry felt his feet gently hit floor. Gleaming white walls with matching doors coalesced in front and back of them both, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. Uncertain, Harry approached the figure in front of him.
This was Sirius as Harry had never seen him; not only was he grinning happily, but the ever-present gaunt, hollow look was completely absent from his face, and his frame was filled out which resulted in him looking more youthful than ever. It was almost magical seeing him again, for nearly a year had passed since he had fallen through the black veil. Harry had wished for a moment like this countless times in past months, when he could only talk to the man who stood in front of him, even if it was just to say goodbye.
However, this would not happen because Harry knew from past experience that memories, regardless of origin, could not be changed or interacted with. Despite the sinking feeling in his chest, he felt an irrational impulse to speak to this statue-Sirius and gave in to it.
"It's too bad you're only a memory," Harry said, his voice fading, "'cause then I could ask you why you're wearing white robes," he finished, a smile sliding off his face.
"While I admit it's not my best colour, I do think I look rather dashing, don't you?" asked his now-unfrozen godfather. Harry gasped and jolted backward, stumbling a step.
"SIRIUS!" he cried, while his heart filled with so much emotion he nearly choked. Rushing forward he seized Black in a fierce bear-hug, nearly knocking the pair of them off their feet.
"Whoa!" Sirius bellowed happily, "you're stronger than you used to be."
Harry clenched his eyes tight shut as fists constricted on his godfather's robes. Despite the reassurance of actually being able to physically touch Black, Harry found he could not let go. Several moments passed, the only sound being Harry's tortured breaths.
"Are you all right?" asked Sirius in a concerned voice when Harry failed to respond.
He did not know how or why, but he was finally seeing his godfather again. There was so much Harry wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to say that he didn't know where to begin. This was all impossible, and yet here he was, holding onto Black as if he were never to let go. He didn't dare speak for fear of shattering the miracle of being in Sirius' presence once more.
Sirius gently prised Harry away from him, set his hands on his shoulders and peered worriedly into his godson's eyes.
"Are you all right?" he repeated, more deliberately this time.
Harry looked down at the floor and shook his head furiously. A drowning wave of guilt washed over him as he felt his godfather's gaze. Experiencing this much care and concern from Black even now was incomprehensible, especially since it had been Harry's fault he'd died in the first place, Harry's fault that Bellatrix Lestrange had snuffed out his godfather's life in the Department of Mysteries last year...
If only he'd tried to continue Occlumency and fight off the fake visions Voldemort had sent him, if only he'd done a thousand other things, he'd still have Sirius with him. After all that had happened, Harry felt as if he didn't even come close to deserving this man's love.
He backed away from Sirius' grasp, felt wetness prick the corners of his eyes. Maybe Sirius wasn't cognisant of the fact...maybe he didn't know Harry had summoned him to death, however unwittingly. Harry knew he needed to say something, needed to apologise, for he might never get another chance again. Rolling his hands into fists and closing his eyes, he continued looking down while he screwed up his courage.
"I....I'm sorry..." he began, and faltered.
"Come again?" said Sirius encouragingly.
Taking a deep breath, his eyes swimming now, Harry plunged forward. "I'm so sorry for getting you k-killed. I...I didn't know Voldemort was sending me f-false dreams of you being t-t-tortured...I thought I w-was coming to save you, but you had to come and s-save me instead, it's all m-my fault you came for me..." his voice cracked and he could feel hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Sirius' breath caught in his throat and Harry, at last, looked up into his gray eyes. "Harry, I had no idea you were carrying the guilt of my death on yourself for this long, "he said in a gravelly tone, "if I'd have been aware....." his voice trailed off and he blinked painfully, tears shining in his eyes to mirror Harry's own. Holding hands out imploringly he continued in the same tone.
"Believe me when I tell you the only people responsible for me being killed are my cousin, Bellatrix and I. Bellatrix is because she held the wand and sent the curse; I am because I failed to take advice or heed warnings when I was told. Remember Kreacher? Dumbledore was quite right when he said I should treat him kindly, but I did not. As a result, Kreacher offered his services elsewhere and deceived us both. I believed him nothing but a burden, and you believed him when he told you Voldemort had taken me. When Snape informed us in the Order that he assumed you and your classmates had headed to the Ministry of Magic that night, I was told by Dumbledore to stay behind to inform the others who were arriving later. Again, I ignored his warning and left the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place, of my own choice. It had nothing at all to do with you, Harry. Nobody forced me to do anything, the fault lies with me."
Of course Harry had heard all type of reassurance like this from his other friends and teachers. Dumbledore himself had explained to Harry about Kreacher, but at the time, listening to people saying anything critical about his deceased godfather had been too painful, as if the memory of him was being slighted. Professor Lupin had also tried to explain that Sirius was a man of action, and was incapable of sitting still, but Harry had found it impossible to accept. Hearing it directly from Black was different though, and he felt the heaviness across his chest lift slightly.
"But...but it was me who failed to practise Occlumency on my own," he persisted, still confused, "me who believed Kreacher when he told me you were abducted, me who believed the visions Voldemort sent, me who assumed Snape didn't care when I told him you were being held in the Department of Mysteries—"
"Harry," Black cut him short in a voice of desperation, "listen to me please. There are some things you must understand. Stepping toward him, Sirius placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and kept speaking.
"Even if you had tried continuing Occlumency alone, you could never have grasped it; it is not something people can pick up by themselves. Yes, some learn more quickly than others or have better abilities," he added, "but it requires the student to have an accomplished Occlumens to instruct them, and for that you had naught, as well I know. I daresay that if it were a common gift, more people would undoubtedly be able to do it."
Sirius sighed heavily, but prolonged his speech. "Even grown witches and wizards rarely achieve mastery of the subject; the only two known pupils at Hogwarts to have ever managed this feat while still at school are Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. You and your friends are the only other ones I have heard of to even attempt it, "his godfather said meaningfully.
Absently, Harry unclenched his hands and flexed his fingers while wiping his eyes. Could this really be true? he thought wildly, then slightly reassured, of course it is, Sirius has never lied to me before. The tight knot that had gathered inside him during this encounter started slackening again; his brows contracted in concentration as he finally began to understand.
Sirius then rested his other hand on Harry's opposite shoulder, making sure he was square with his godson, and Black blazed a look into Harry's face as if to slice him to the quick.
"Most important of all is this, "Sirius emphasized, fingers clamping onto Harry's shoulders. "Had you been able to master Occlumency, it would not have mattered in relation to what happened with me. Sometimes certain incidents are supposed to occur at certain times; this is regardless of the sequence of events leading up to the occurrence. My death was one of those incidences, and even if I failed to go to the Ministry of Magic, it would have taken place anyway, in spite of where I was, who was with me, or why." Dropping his hands from Harry's shoulders, he folded his arms and continued to look at him intently.
"I know it seems odd, for why would one who was young be slated to die? I'll tell you. It has been my blessing and my curse to possess a restless spirit. Never once was I ever satisfied to sit complacently while others around me bustled about doing things. I took when I should've given, walked away when I should've stayed, and was cruel when I should've been kind, far too many times in my life. It was bound to catch up with me sometime, and it did—sooner than later, that's all. So you see Harry, nothing you could've thought, said, or did would have prevented my death from happening, because it was meant to be," Sirius finished deliberately.
Finally, finally...Harry felt the terrible weight of guilt lift from him completely. Sweet understanding swept over and through his body; cleansing him of the burden and shame he had carried for so long. It really wasn't me, it wasn't my fault...it never was...he thought with blessed relief.
Sirius turned and started slowly pacing, and then stopped, facing away from Harry. "The reason I knew you must have all this explained is that I have personal experience of feeling exactly the same way."
He quietly continued, "I had a similar burden upon myself for nearly 15 years after your mother and father were both murdered, because it was me who insisted Pettigrew should be secret-keeper for them," he said, facing Harry's direction again.
Harry felt a rush of gratitude and empathy for his godfather and reached out to touch him automatically. Sirius lifted his arm and clasped Harry's hand in his own. Mutual understanding flowed between them, reaffirming their connection of friendship and brotherhood. Sirius didn't hold Harry responsible for his death any more than Harry blamed Sirius for the death of his parents.
"I'm glad to see you've forgiven yourself, at least—for right now," Sirius said, the old familiar twinkle back in his eye. "It was something I never learned to do while I was alive, and something I could not have instructed you to do unless you were here."
Harry looked askance at Sirius. The incredulity of the surroundings jolted him back to...what? Not reality, surely. "Yes...speaking of which," Harry said, contemplating, "if you're not a memory of mine, what is going on?" Then a horrible thought struck him. Maybe this wasn't real.
"I''m...this isn't a dream, is it?"
"No, Harry. This is not a dream. Although for your sake, I wish it were," Sirius said dubiously.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, getting confused again.
"It means," Sirius said, pacing again, "that as gratifying as it is to be with and talk to you again, I wish it were under much different circumstances."
Harry's eyes widened. Something was nagging the back of his brain, and he tried, unsuccessfully to squash the thought.
"Sirius, what is this place?" he questioned, a note of fear creeping into his voice, "and why are we here?"
"Well, Harry, I was sent to you here for guiding and reassurance; my appearance was never meant to distress you," he said apologetically, after stopping his pacing.
"Guiding and reassuring me? But what for? Is this some sort of alternate reality or dimension?" Harry demanded, feeling real panic rise within him. He knew he was grasping at straws; he just couldn't bring himself to give voice to what was rapidly becoming the only explanation for his arrival here, and the presence of his deceased godfather.
"Harry, be honest with yourself," Sirius admonished. "What do you remember before coming here?" he asked. "Do you know what you were doing straight before seeing me in this hall?"
Harry thought back rigorously, squinting in concentration.
"I remember flying...some sort of...explosion..." he recounted disjointedly, holding a hand to his forehead, "...a painfully bright light...remembering parts of my past—it was a lot like Dumbledore's Pensieve...and then...you—here. That's it," he finished lamely.
"Nothing else?"
Harry wracked his brain.
"No, nothing," he said miserably, as if he'd failed Sirius somehow.
"I see," Black said contemplating. "We were afraid something like this would happen. Apparently, your mind could not deal with the trauma of the separation of body from spirit," he said calmly, as if discussing weather patterns.
"Sep—"Harry tried to ask, his voice gone. He gaped openmouthed at Sirius. So, he had been right. The real reason he and his godfather were here was—
"It's because I'm...dead......isn't it?" he said with finality, suddenly finding his voice.
"What is, Harry?" said Sirius patiently.
"The reason we're here is because I...I'm dead," he said numbly.
His godfather looked at him with undisguised sympathy written in his eyes.
"Yes," Sirius said quietly, voice coloured with emotion.
Being with Black again had been nearly overwhelming; but Harry was reeling with this second, bigger shock. He looked down and inspected himself for the first time. Harry was wearing white too, but his outfit was trousers with a belted long-sleeved tunic instead of robes. Instinctively he started patting his head, arms, and torso as if he might have been able to see physical evidence of the reason he wasn't alive any more. If only he could remember...
"Sirius, could you tell me—I mean—how...how did it happen?" he asked in a jumble, like saying it faster would make the question sound less terrible.
"I think that perhaps it would be best to show you, "Black said mysteriously, gesturing to the door immediately to the left of them.
Harry took a step and reached out tentatively for the golden door handle, held his breath, and gently pushed it open.
It was like watching cinema; the whole doorway was filled with what was obviously another memory, although one which Harry had not the ability to recall.
He watched himself pounding around the familiar hallways of the Ministry of Magic, as if trying to find something or someone...
Occasionally, he saw bolts of energy speeding at his form in the doorway; Harry recognised those as wand sparks. Then his blood ran cold as he heard evil high-pitched laughter issue from further down the Ministry corridor... I was chasing Voldemort, he realised with a sense of dread.
It seemed as if he watched his chase after the Dark Lord forever, until he saw himself run through the Department of Mysteries hall and through the black door at the end, following the cackles of laughter.
A feeling of ominous foreboding closed over him as he watched himself in that terrible series of rooms. Creeping silently into the room with the black veil, wand out, his memory-self slid slowly up the steps toward the veil and finally in front of it on the promontory. He witnessed himself shouting threatening challenge to his pursuant, Voldemort replying laughingly back from among the shadows. And then—
"Expelliarmus!" screeched Voldemort, unexpectedly Apparating in front of memory-Harry, and reality-Harry started as he watched his counterpart's wand soar sideways from his hand and clatter loudly on the floor. Wand raised high, the Dark Lord drew forward toward the unarmed Harry...
Something powerful stirred in the real Harry's memory; series of unclear images popped up in his mind rapidly, as if clamouring for attention. Without thinking, he pressed his hand to the familiar spot on his forehead, vaguely noticing something different...
Still watching the doorway, he saw Voldemort raise his wand higher; open his mouth to shout the curse...and suddenly, without doubt, Harry knew.
His eyes darted to where he was sure Dumbledore would appear beside Harry's counterpart, two wands in his hand.
"Protego...Maximus," whispered Harry, with doorway-Dumbledore's shout.
A thousand memories slammed into Harry all at once, as he watched his other self fight the poison-emerald light of the Killing Curse, he crumpled with the impact of all he had seen and experienced the last hour of his life.
Sirius lunged forward and caught him expertly, as if he had anticipated what was going to transpire. Gently, he lowered Harry to the floor and leaned him against the wall and closed the open doorway. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes.
"You...you caught me like you knew I was going to fall," he said weakly.
"It was not entirely unexpected," Sirius explained. "Avada Kedavra can do that to people; it is the most cruel curse ever known or conceived. The body may eventually forget, but the mind and soul always remember," he said knowingly.
"Okay then?" he added, holding out a hand as Harry nodded, hauling him to his feet.
Then Harry remembered something else while lifting his hand to his forehead, fingers marching all the way across it. He turned toward Black, puzzled.
"Why is my scar gone, Sirius?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.
"Scars are of the physical world, Harry. Yours in particular was meant to distinguish you from all other individuals, as survivor of Voldemort's curse and mark as his equal. Here, we have no need for such marring attributes or reminders of affliction. They can be too easily masked or feigned as well. More satisfying means of recognition are practised than among mortal being." His godfather grinned.
"The biggest reason for this, Harry, is that every man, woman, and child is already distinguished, just by being themselves. No visible mark or object on anyone's person can show who and what they truly are; their uniqueness is only manifest in countenance and intent of spirit," he said happily.
Harry started pacing, hands clasped behind his back and chewing the inside of his lip.
"If that's true," he asked Black, "why am I still wearing my glasses? And why did I black out while I re-experienced the moment of my...er--passing?" He quit pacing and faced his godfather's profile.
Sirius turned and quickly closed the gap between he and Harry.
"Cottoning on now, aren't you," he said bluntly. It was a statement, not a question.
Harry blinked expectantly. He didn't have to wait long.
"You are able to feel these things," Black said anxiously, staring at his godson's face, "because they serve as reminders you alone remain in need of. For you see, the link between your incorporeal and mortal halves has not yet been totally severed."
Sensing his jaw drop, Harry backed up a few steps. This was too weird. First he's dead, then he's not, glasses still here, scar gone... A very unsubtle urge to yell bubbled up inside him, but he suppressed it. Focus, he disciplined himself.
Okay, if he wasn't really dead, then perhaps he might be able to...but he didn't dare hope...
"Might there be a chance I could...maybe go back?" Harry asked urgently.
"It... is... possible, but exceedingly dangerous," Black warned, sounding reluctant to share this information.
"The bond you still share with your physical body is so tenuous, it might not stand up to the abuse, and could snap at any time during rejoining." He pursed his lips. "I don't even want to think about what would happen to you if that occurred," Black said with a wince, nearly shuddering.
"However, since the thin thread will eventually dissolve on its own; time is of the essence. So we will have to do it as soon as we are able, but preparations must be finished first."
"What do I need to do?
"Mostly observe, Harry. Observe and listen. Without doubt, this will be the hardest test of your existence, and you need to strengthen yourself. This is dependent on your personal resolve and stamina of character, and you must be strong." He emphasized the last words with such furious intensity, Harry almost took a step back.
Nodding once, Harry tried to gather his resolve.
"Now please, follow me," Sirius said abruptly, turning and striding up the hallway, arms swinging.
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