Discliamer: I am not JKR and I don't own the characters, locations or situations depicted herein.

Author's Notes: Sort of the first in a series (mini-series?) covering post-death experiences for HP characters. Naturally, Sirius goes first. Kudos to anyone who can guess why my!canon has this taking place where it does.

Warnings: Character death. Mild potentially objectionable content.

Don't forget to read it after you review! (What? That sounded fine, right? Right?)

The last thing Sirius heard as he went through was Harry's wordless cry of horror, the last thing he saw the look on Remus's face. Blackness, cold, but no pain, only a gentle feeling of vagueness starting behind his eyes that spread rapidly throughout his body. Then there was nothing.

And then there was everything.

He was lying on the ground. In fact, he'd only just landed, he could still feel the tingle all down his back, from where it had connected with whatever it was underneath him.

He did not notice where he was; he did not much care. There were two people crouched above him, as if they had been waiting for him together, and if they weren't everything, then the rest could not be very important at all.

"Padfoot," said one, the taller, reaching a hand down as if to help Sirius up. He was smiling, but Sirius did not take his hand. He thought he'd just lay there for a little longer. The view was something of a miracle, anyway.

"Hello," Sirius heard himself whisper happily, his eyes darting between the two figures.

They exchanged glances of their own. Then, "I need to talk to you," they both declared, at once, and caught themselves in surprise. They sat back a little, their eyes locked -- they seemed to be fighting a battle of wills over who would speak first.

"I've been waiting longer," the shorter said, almost with an edge.

The other raised his eyebrows. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied, voice heavy, "I suppose you have, haven't you?"

There was no response.

Sirius watched them with an interest that barely escaped being detached.

"Well," said the first of the figures, rising on his own and backing away a little, "I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

"Thank you," the other answered, and Sirius rightly recognized that he had no say in the matter.

The first moved several steps further way, just out of hearing distance, and then all was silence, as the other took a moment to rediscover exactly the right words. Taking advantage of the pause, Sirius looked around, and was rather surprised to discover that the ground he was lying on was a clearing in what looked to be the Forbidden Forest. There were no animals, though, indeed there seemed only to be him, and the other two figures. It was quite odd...

"You were right," said a quiet voice at Sirius's side, and he swung his gaze back around.

Sirius felt his eyes glaze slightly in surprise. "What?"

"You were right," the figure repeated, bitterly. "About everything. You've always been right, haven't you?"

"I try." Sirius, beginning to feel at a disadvantage lying down as he was, propped himself on his elbows. He realized idly that he was naked, but it did not seem particularly important. "Perhaps you should have realized this while you were alive."

The other's eyes flashed. "I did."

Sirius sat all the way up. He didn't have anything he could say, except "Regulus..."

"Why did you think I died?" demanded his little brother, almost indignantly.

"Who killed you?" Sirius asked, in a whisper, trying to dispel the sudden anger in his heart, at whoever had murdered his brother, and at himself for despising his brother for so long when he needn't have.

So Regulus told him how he'd died, simply and baldly, sparing nothing, even the part he'd forced Kreacher to play.

There was a long moment of silence, as the Blacks stared at each other. "You died better than I," Sirius declared, eventually. There was another, shorter pause, and he said, "I wish that I had known while I was still alive. I'm sorry."

"I wish that I had listened to you more before I died," countered Regulus. "I'm sorry, too.

There gazes met again, and then Sirius held out his hand. "Pax, brother?"

"Yes, brother," Regulus agreed, nodding and eagerly clasping the long fingers being offered to him. "Friends."

They shook hands. Neither seemed willing to drop the other's hand, though, and then a moment later, quite without realizing who had started it, they found themselves embracing as they hadn't for years before Regulus's death.

"No, not friends," Regulus muttered, to himself, as they separated. He caught Sirius's eye one last time, and explained, "Brothers."

Beaming happily, Sirius silently watched him rise and walk away into the fog that ringed the clearing. It did not bother him that his brother was leaving without any words of farewell, or that no mention whatsoever had been made of his own death. He and Regulus understood each other, which was the important thing. There would be other chances for them to speak.

And besides, he wasn't alone.

Sirius looked up at the other man, who was now approaching him, a grin once more plastered across his face. His eyes, behind his glasses, seemed to sparkle happily, as if to say Is it my turn now?

Sirius folded his legs in front of him, Indian-style, and rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling across his calves. He craned his head, to get a better look at the other person. "Well, Prongs?" he asked, not having to force the cheerfulness overtaking him. "What was it you had to talk to me about?"

"Oh, it was nothing, really," replied James, sinking to a seat beside the still unclothed Sirius; he did not seem to care about his friend's nakedness any more than Sirius did.

"No, come on," protested Sirius, rather lazily, "We've got eternity to talk about it, haven't we? You might as well do it at the beginning and not make me wait."

James shook his messy-haired head, still smiling. "No, really, Padfoot, it was nothing."

"What--" began Sirius, frowning. The tone of James's voice was matter-of-fact, not evasive as the words suggested it should have been. He looked over, past the glasses and the eyes, into the soul behind them.

The answering smile James threw him was dazzling in the pure joyfulness of it.

"It's been almost fifteen years, Padfoot. I just need to talk to you."