Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to J.K. Rowling. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Comfort When It's Cold
A/N: Set during Order of the Phoenix. I didn't care who was watching that night in the theater. I bawled my eyes out over this man...
It wasn't quite so bad as he'd always imagined, death.
He hung between time, caught in some form of suspended animation that made him think it was a dream. Then he saw it again. The veil, almost reaching out for him with cold, empty hands that looked like smoke. Slowly, they took hold of him, pulling.
The last thing he saw was the look of horror on the boy's face. And then nothing.
There were no bright tunnels of light as described in the near-death stories told by Muggles. No booming voice of heaven, nor darkened pits of hell to welcome him. Not even a loved one or a friend waiting there to take his hand. Just a wide-open expanse of nothing.
Perhaps he was blinded by his unwillingness, the promise made in years past to spare and save. Even knowing them, his friends, he couldn't be certain how they'd react to seeing him, and much sooner than anticipated. In a crucial moment, he'd fallen, breaking any hope he'd had of being his godson's shield.
The idea pulled hard at his heartstrings.
For a moment, he felt like he'd breathed air for the first time, having pushed himself out of the swell of the sea. And he could hear it pervading the air, the screaming. His name, over and over again.
"Sirius... Sirius..."
But it wasn't his godson's voice that called out to him. No, that would have crushed him, pulled him back under that pressure. It was relieving, somehow. Even calm.
Then he saw them, smiling.
Her hair burned like a blaze set over the woods, eclipsed only by the sunset. It was a quiet tone that came from her, a hand waiting to meet him.
"He'll be fine. He's my boy."