Sirius was falling. That didn't seem right, however. If he was dead, why would he feel anything at all? This thought continued to buzz through his brain as the sensation of falling persisted. He vaguely wondered if he really was dead, and if this falling meant he was going to hell. He certainly deserved it, but having never believed in an afterlife, he was pleasantly surprised.

The sensation stopped and Sirius found himself lying, spread eagled, on a cold stone floor, gazing at a high arched ceiling that looked like it had come from some dark cave. He coughed as the smell of sulfur and ash met his nostrils.

"Well…well," said a sarcastic voice said from the other end of the hall. "What have we here?"

Sirius felt his brow furrow. He sat up and turned, feeling his bones ache and his head spin. At the end of the long hall was a tall, high backed throne that appeared to be made of human bones. In it was a tall man dressed in a crisp, black, pinstriped suit and glossy black shoes.

His black hair gave Sirius the distinct impression of familiarity, but he couldn't place who this man reminded him of.

"Well? Speak. Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The man didn't seem very patient. He was tapping his foot and glancing every now and then at the empty throne to his right. It was a different chair, a peaceful cream in the dark, black hall. It was obviously a woman's chair, and its empty state seemed to disturb the man in the suit.

Sirius stood and seemed to regain his voice. "I – I'm Sirius Black, convicted criminal and escapee of Azkaban Prison, Member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Godfather of Harry Potter."

Sirius felt startled. He had only meant to say his name, but something about the man pulled the truth from his lips.

The man's eyes narrowed. "You're a wizard." He spat the word like it was something disgusting.

"I am, and you are…?" asked Sirius, feeling his strength returning, and his sarcasm building again. This man didn't seem like a Voldemort type of character (excluding the throne of human bones) and Sirius was prepared to fight his way out of the strange throne room.

This question seemed to anger the man on the throne.

"I am Hades!" he thundered, standing to reveal his full height of close to twenty feet. "God of Death and the Underworld!"

Sirius took a step back in shock. "…God? You're God?"

Hades shook his head and covered his eyes with his large palm. "Typical," he muttered under his breath. "Typical mortal…typical wizard." He glanced up and his dark, empty eyes gazed a Sirius with a strange mixture of hate and confusion. "No, mortal," he rumbled. "I am not 'God'. I am a god, the god of the Underworld.

"I presume you, like most wizards, did not believe in some form of afterlife?" Hades was not impressed. He watched as Sirius gaped and slowly nodded.

"And you fell through the veil?"

"Yes, I was – wait, how do you know about the veil?" Sirius asked, shocked. Hades rolled his eyes.

"The number of your kind that fall through that during their 'experiments'… I take it you also work for the…what's it called… Ministry of Magic?" Hades asked, slowly sinking back into his throne. His glances to the other throne were becoming less frequent and Sirius could tell he was relaxing.

"Er…no, I was only in the Ministry to save my Godson. I was…" Sirius trailed off. He couldn't remember what had happened. One minute he had been fighting a Death Eater, and then he had heard Bella's high pitched cackle…and then he was falling.

"I fell through the veil…" He finished lamely.

Hades raised an eyebrow, and Sirius realized who this…god of death reminded him of.

"Snape!"

Hades looked taken aback. "What?"

"You remind me of someone I know." Sirius amended quickly. Hades looked at Sirius like he was crazy but shook his head and stood. Suddenly he was standing in front of Sirius, much smaller, but still menacing. Hades brushed his suit off and strode to the door behind Sirius.

Sirius just stared. Hades sighed. "Well, come along." Sirius jogged to catch up to the other man and followed, silent. He still wasn't sure what was going on…

"Why am I here?" he asked, glancing around at the cavernous space they were passing. A giant three headed dog growled softly at them as they passed but Hades threw a red rubber ball and chuckled.

"You're dead."

"What?" Sirius exclaimed.

"Why must you people ask such stupid questions?" Hades snapped, clearly annoyed. "I told you. I'm the God of Death. You are in my domain. Obviously, you are dead."

Sirius closed his mouth and followed Hades past a field full of standing people and he wondered if that would be where he would spend his eternity…he certainly hoped not. They were ascending a set of stairs and Hades pushed a door open at the end of the stairwell.

Bright light assaulted Sirius eyes and he found himself in a small waiting room full of people just milling about. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book and grinned. He had a gold tooth. His short crew cut hair shined in the light of the fluorescent bulbs.

"Ah, my lord Hades," he said in an oily voice. His accent seemed different from Hades' and he realized it was because the man behind the counter was British.

"Charon, I have another wizard." said Hades, his tone dry. "Please take care of his passage and deliver him to the correct judges this time."

Charon grinned in a slightly sheepish manner. He nodded and turned to Sirius as Hades disappeared back through the door. He took out a book and grabbed a pen from the counter.

"Name? Occupation? Other identifying information – and your bank vault number." He grinned and Sirius had to suppress a shiver.

"Sirius Black, Member or the Order of the Phoenix, and, er, bank vault?"

"You have to pay the ferryman, Black," Charon cackled. "Since you're not a regular mortal, I can't just add the price to your bill. I have to withdraw it straight from whatever bank you use."

Sirius was beginning to wonder if he really was dead or if this was all some insane comatose dream. He shifted, glancing at the milling souls who had gloomy faces. There were some who looked like street urchins, homeless bums, and some children.

"Poor souls, didn't have any money." Charon shrugged and turned back to Sirius. "Now, vault number?"

Sirius turned back to the man, who was wearing an Italian suit. He had an earring and his dark eyes were alight with glee, deep, black, pitiless glee.

"Gringotts. 437."

Charon held out his hand, and two galleons fell into his outstretched palm. He tucked them away into a drawer and motioned for Sirius to follow him.

Sirius wasn't sure he liked being dead if it was this much trouble.