Time began to tick a little louder from that moment. A moment, that's all it was; he made a mistake, stepped just in range without thinking about it. He'd felt the consequences of course – a sharp, stabbing pain in his back, like a dozen knives had sliced clean through him. His back had arched, and all breath in his lungs had been punctured; his face had fallen but he didn't notice, for time had started to tick a little louder in his ears. Each tiny second was a deafening thump, the pulse of his already slowing heart echoing painfully within his head.
Everything was a blur to him. Flashes of a myriad of spells swooped by in slow motion, thick lines of green, red, gold and blue dancing giddily in front of his eyes. He knew that Harry was stood beside him, about to turn around to face him – but Sirius couldn't see him. He couldn't see anyone. The streams of magical light were fading, darkness was looming and that sharp pain in his back enveloped all his senses.
Something was calling to him, summoning him over… a hazy glow of light was pulling him over, from just to the side… there were, voices, calling his name…
He blinked, and stumbled back. His eyes, unfocused though they were, managed to catch sight of a face. A familiar face. His scarred friend. He felt compelled to reach out to him, his furry friend, but his feet wouldn't move where he wanted them to. His friend was white, almost ghostly, his eyes wide and misted over, his muscles tensed. He wanted to go over and reassure him; why did he look so sad?
Sirius could feel his knees buckle, and suddenly an overwhelming desire to lie down overtook him. He just wanted to sleep; it would numb the pain spreading from the invisible wound in his back. A small smile crept up at the corner of his lips as he looked over to Remus; he wanted to call out over to him, tell him everything was fine, he didn't need to look so worried. His gaze caught another familiar face – for a moment his brain registered him as James, but Sirius remembered that it had to be Harry, James' son; James was dead. So why could he hear James' voice so loudly in his head?
Harry was shouting; Remus was running over and Sirius lost the last ounce of energy he had left in him as his last second struck. He was swamped in a misty light; he could see Remus grabbing Harry and holding him back, and then looking up, over to him, Sirius: suddenly the sorrow in his friend's eyes seemed to make sense and he wanted to escape, pull away from this mist and jump back into the fight. This wasn't… it, was it? This surely wasn't how it was supposed to end? He needed to look after Remus, and watch over Harry – he needed to help them, he needed… to sleep. Sleep and let the pain seep out of him. Sleep forever more.
Sirius' eyelids fluttered, and he collapsed into the mist and chorus of voices calling his name, in a solemn acceptance of what was to come.
Everything was white, and all was silent. Sirius frowned, feeling claustrophobic in a room without walls nor ceiling… it was ongoing, and he was stuck there, alone…
A sudden burst of noise, a bombardment of hundreds of voices, crashed down onto him and he swung blindly around, hoping to be able to shut it all out. One voice spoke above the rest, and at the sound, all tension was lost from Sirius' shoulders; he even managed a small grin. He glanced up, and his grin widened at the outstretched hand in front of him.
"Hiya, Padfoot. Welcome home."