The afterlife was not something that could be described with the tawdry words of any of humankind's billions of languages. It was awkward and beautiful, and went on forever. For Sirius Black, the years he spent exploring the vast expanses of space in the thought of a dust mote or in the spindle of leaves on the wind were more free than any he had ever known in life. Still, there was a sadness to them, and a reason he stayed far away from all he had known in his living hours (for they seemed mere hours now compared to the infinite existence here laid before him). Sirius might not have had a beating heart, but he still felt a palpable pain at the thought of Remus marrying (remarrying? No, that was silly). Luckily Sirius found the thrill of exploration was more than adequate to fill his hours and his mind. His heart was another matter. Sometimes he imagined he'd left it behind with him when he'd fallen through the veil, but at other times it hurt so keenly that he knew it must be with him, right here in his not-a-pocket of his mind, burning with infidelity that only the dead could know.