A/N: J.K. Rowling is the proud owner of everything you recognise.

Chapter 1 - The Fall

Sirius took an age to fall. His spine curved into such a beautiful arc as he did so. His expression too held so much complacency. So much acceptance. It almost appeared as if rehearsed. As if this was where he had always meant to be. As if this was the fate he had so dearly awaited these long years.

Surprise danced across his features as his body interacted with the veil itself. But, the daintiness of this dance meant it was not long present. His gaunt, once handsome face became unreadable as it disappeared. Soon he was entirely, completely gone.

The black veil merely quivered at his passing.

The most graceful nature of his downfall was truly heart-breaking to his beloved onlookers. The unrefined hooting of his cousin, his nemesis, was their only comfort. For this enabled anger to be provoked in them, and a feeling of anger, was less pain ridden than a sorrowful one.

Harry alone struggled hard. He did not understand so well as the others. However, he was silenced swiftly.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry….nothing…he's gone."

Sirius was aware of the events that afflicted him. Though he experienced the fall only once, he felt as though it had been many more times. For after the realm of the veil consumed him, it plagued his thoughts. He could see and taste nothing else. He had a vague sense that he was moving, but in his sad state he could not be sure of anything. From this wavering consciousness, he duly passed into total blackness.

"Sirius…..Sirius!"

Sirius felt himself shaken violently.

"Sirius! Wake up, mate!"

Sirius felt only slightly aware of this voice. It was enough to cause him to commence the opening of his eyes, but not enough for him to form any real opinions on it. If he had, perhaps the scene now presented to him would not have been such a shock. For Sirius still withheld his memory. And what Sirius now awoke to, was very different from that which he had left.

It began faded. Sirius assumed the period of disuse must have taken its toll on his sight. He was thankfully mistaken. His eyes were only adjusting to counterbalance the changes in light between the two areas. The room in the Department of Mysteries had been darkened. This was inevitable of course, as everything must be done in order to aid the maintenance of its eternal secrecy. Darkness is so linked to the keeping of a good secret, that how could the spot where all good secrets are held not revel in this. This difference here was immediate. This place was currently rejoicing in a seasonal bathing of sunlight. It appeared obstructed by nothing of consequence, and so was able to flow in freely through each orifice.

The bold saturation of this light, although under usual circumstances could only be seen as an uplifting coincidence, meant all was intensified. And, since such a poignant sight now appeared before Sirius, it grew all the more touching because of this. For when you have longed to see a friend for the best part of fourteen years, it is not much to be moved to tears when the moment arrives. His features were simply illuminated more brightly, causing Sirius's tears to fall more heavily.

James ruffled his hair in confusion. Oh – what a godsend that most familiar gesture was to our fallen hero now. It was such that forced Sirius to fling his arms around James. He held him close, absorbing as much of his lost absent nature and aura as he possibly could in such a short period of time.

Warm from this embrace, Sirius decided he did not care that he was dead. For what could be the meaning for James's appearance, if this were not the case. At least his friend was not beyond his reach anymore. The soul he cared about most was here. Therefore, Sirius told himself definitely, he must resolve to be grateful for his passing.

And yet, Sirius could not pull himself from James's comforting grasp, and he could most certainly not prevent himself from wailing.

The awkwardness of the situation caused James to pat his friend in a way as to command his attention.

He laughed, "I know that it's OWL day, but don't you think you're overreacting a bit."

James had not removed Sirius from his dependant position. His words, however, captured Sirius's attention enough for him to move himself. And Sirius now joined James in his confusion. Although of course, each had its own, extremely different origin. James's lay in the most peculiar behavior of his beloved brother. While, Sirius's was raised by the mention of a phase so firmly established in his past that he should not have assumed ever to hear it dropped in the present.

"OWL day?"

James fixed his glasses, which had been drifting further and further down his face, enabling him to properly focus his gaze on Sirius.

"Yes. OWL day. Don't know how you managed to get hold of any Firewhiskey last night, Sirius. "

At a notion so ridiculous, even a man such as Sirius, who was not usually so distrusting of his own ear, was forced to check once more.

"OWLs as in exams? As in Ordinary Wizarding Levels? As in tables in rows and everything?"

James was now completely bemused as he repeated that, yes this was indeed what he had meant.

"Wow," Sirius sighed.

Death was more abstract than he had first thought.

He looked at his friend, and aided by this new knowledge, began to recognize differences in him that should have been glaringly obvious. Firstly, he was too thin. James had and always would have been lean, but he had grown much more muscular over the course of his sixth year at Hogwarts. Sirius remembered the day it had dawned on him that James had bigger biceps than he did. It had seemed significant at the time, but now it seemed laughable that he had even cared about a trivial issue such as that. Although James's body appeared to have lost weight, his face seemed in a way more jovial. His cheeks were rounder, and his skin was flushed and shiny. His hazel eyes were for the most part unchanged, but they opened wider than before.

However, despite these changes, he was still truly himself. Sirius could not comprehend who or what he was to recognize him as, other than James. For he still looked and felt like the James who had died in 1981. He possessed a certain ease with the world, to be sure. He possessed a little more fragility, more innocence. He had not yet been hardened by the sight of his whole world at war. He was James, as he would have been, if he had not been affected by the tragedies that were to befall them all.

He was James at fifteen years of age.

Why would James remain fifteen here, since that is not the age at which death took him? Sirius wondered.

Sirius realized he had spoken for a time. He had also been staring at nothing in particular. All peculiar behavior. Especially since James was not to know of the puzzles and questions forming in Sirius's mind.

He believed this was what led James to say, "Well, I better let you get ready. Eh?"

Sirius nodded gravely, deciding this would give him some much needed thinking time. It was difficult to concentrate with James watching.

With James safely out of the room, Sirius resolved to answer a question that had been irritating him. James did not seem aware that this could not in fact be 1975, or that he was not actually fifteen. So surely he would have noticed when a Sirius as ancient as he himself was, appeared? Which suggested to Sirius, that either this was some twisted figment of his imagination, where this would not matter, or that he too had reverted to his teenage form. He also felt the latter would be much more interesting.

So Sirius searched for a mirror, and peered furtively into it.

He could not help but smile at what he saw.

He was indeed years away from the torture of Askaban. His face displayed no signs of its gauntness or prior starvation. On the contrary, he appeared well fed again –which for Sirius meant the natural beauty he had inherited from being a Black, had returned in full force. His skin was shiny and youthful, and his teeth had brightened to their previous shade of perfect white. His dark hair fell carelessly across his face, inadvertently framing his fathomless eyes so as to make them more striking.

He did not hold himself in the same way as he had at that age, for that was impossible considering the amount of change he had experienced, and the amount of empathy he had gained. Sirius did not realize it himself, but indeed it caused him to appear more attractive than he actually had been at that age. For he was more mature, and this was evident in his posture.

Although Sirius's immediate reaction to this discovery was positive, it only allowed him access to a whole new set of questions. Since he and James were both in their juvenile bodies, did James know that this was not reality too? Or was he the only person aware of this?

Sirius had assumed that he was now dead, and that so was James. That this was in its entirety, just a fabrication that would reveal its meaning in due course.

However, different theories lurked in every corner of Sirius's mind. For there were so many ways to explain this phenomenon. Sirius did not allow himself to linger on the most uplifting of these, for fear that when it was disproved he would be heart broken. He could not let himself think this was real. He could not let himself believe that by some impossible chance he had survived. That would be too much to bear.

Sirius did not think for much longer. It was too taxing for him. He was an impulsive man, not a thinker. Not like Remus. Instead he chose to follow the path he would have taken on this day. There could not be much use in him continually analyzing each aspect of the matter. It would bring him no joy. He had to go and find answers.

So Sirius wandered to the end of his four poster bed in the Gryffindor Boys' dormitory, and opened his chest. He took out the school uniform inside it, and proceeded to change.

He worked hard to stop himself from grinning inanely as he did so. Despite himself, Sirius was rather enjoying himself. He was excited to see his fifth year from his wise eyes. He thought it could be promising entertainment. And, of course he was already dead, so what harm could possibly come to him?

"There's nothing you can do, Harry….nothing…he's gone."

Harry shook his head stubbornly.

"That's not good enough, Sir. Where has he gone?"

The headmaster was silent.

"I would rather you told me if he was dead," he said. He had tried to sound self assured, yet there was a persistent wavering in his voice. Harry felt that he would never be able to dismiss it.

The headmaster bowed his head. It was a gesture that seemed to convey both respect and sympathy, and a tribute to Dumbledore's fine communicational ability. He seemed as if to know another, more pressing issue. It was one which he proceeded to address.

"I wish I did not have to go as far as to say that – I would long for it to be simple as that, Harry."

Harry exhaled sharply. He clenched his hands together, knowing they were soon to grow damp. He was becoming scared now, and quickly pushed the headmaster for an explanation.

I am writing another story at the moment, but this idea would not stop bugging me. I had to write it in self defence. Please review and let me know if you want me to continue, it would be much appreciated. However, if you don't like the story don't! I will continue to focus on my other story. Thank you!

xx