Chapter Twenty-Eight: Road to Hell (Reprise)

'Cause here's the thing: to know how it ends and still begin to sing it again—as if it might turn out this time.

I told you this was not a happy story.

I told you—there is no happily ever after.

Not for Sirius. Not for Remus.

I did warn you.

I stayed and watched over Sirius for a long time. He raged and sobbed. Fought to get back down to the Underworld, to go back to rescue his beloved, to try again and again until he either succeeded or died. But he found the way was barred.

There would be no second chances.

That, after all, was the bargain. Walk all the way up to the world above—with no help or guidance—walk through a forest of your own doubts and fears—your own aching loneliness—and to not look back.

Sirius looked back.

He failed.

That is how the story goes.

I told you before—I am a mere ghost. There is only so much I can do. To watch and listen, to feel and fear—but have no power to change the story—that is what it means to be a ghost.

Sirius stayed at the entrance to the Underworld for hours. The sun went down. The air hardened into a cold and brittle thing. But no wolves howled in the night—for once, the night was safe.

Sirius did that. He made a world where wolves didn't fight tooth and nail to survive—where they didn't hurt every human they could—where Greyback didn't force them to hunt and terrorize. The world was a better place for Sirius Black.

But he still wasn't able to save Remus.

"Sirius…" I floated to him, but he hardly moved. I wasn't even sure if he saw me—or if his vigil had taken him to a realm beyond hearing, beyond hope.

I couldn't leave him out here. Happy story or not, he was still my brother. "Sirius, come on. It's time to go."

Sirius looked up at me. His eyes told the whole story.

Grief is a lonely planet. We mourn together, but the bone deep ache of loss is all our own.

It would not be easy to heal from this. A loss like this—there is only so much healing possible. Sirius had found he love of his life—had fought with every ounce of courage he had to save him—and still—and still—he had lost him.

He would never see Remus again.

At least, not in this lifetime.

It was true.

Their great love story was over.

But Sirius was not alone.

No matter what mistakes he made, no matter what he lost—he would not be alone. I would make sure of it.

"Sirius," I said, my voice gentle. "You are loved."

How could I get him to believe me? Marlene and Dumbledore, Madam Marsh and Mrs. Figg—every customer at Orpheus Coffee and every wolf he freed down below.

Ylva. Me.

Remus.

No matter what happened. In any story—in any universe—Sirius Black was so deeply loved.

"Come on," I said again—and this time Sirius did not look at me—his grey eyes deep wells of sorrow.

It would take a long time to give him his spark again—my brave, reckless, beautiful brother. It would take a long time to bring him back.

And maybe he would never come back—not completely.

"Marlene will be home now," I said, and moved as if to put my hand around his shoulder—as if to comfort him, as if to hug him. I couldn't really touch him—we both knew that—but I could do my best. "I bet she'll make you a cup of tea. Come on now."

And, together, my brother and I walked into the night. Street lamps sparked to life to guide our way—golden, gilded—all the way back home.

What does it mean to be a ghost? All those moons ago, bleeding out in the Underworld, forgotten and alone—I made the choice to come back. I had been dimming, my atoms drifting apart, moving toward a great, golden light—and then I changed course.

Back.

I wanted to go back. I had something I needed to do here, on this earth. I had some task I knew could only be done by me.

So I returned. From the sweet haze of the firmament, I called myself home—my atoms reforming, my soul recentering—taking shape in something almost like my body—almost like me. But not quite.

I was a ghost. Immaterial. Nearly invisible. I had no heartbeat, no breath. I could not feel the rain on my face or smell the fog rolling off the river. I was a half thing—a forgotten thing.

And the sentence was eternal. As long as there was a planet in our galaxy, I would be tethered to it—living my ghostly existence. Stuck. Unseen. Unloved.

I had chosen to come back, knowing what it meant—knowing what I was sacrificing—knowing that I would never get the comfort of a good death. I had chosen an eternity as a ghost… for what?

It must have been important.

And now—at the end of our tale—I finally understand.

As ghosts, we cannot change stories.

But stories can change us.

I have told you this story, reader, because it is the destiny I chose for myself. To watch. To listen. To be moved. And to share with others.

It is not a happy story. It is not a story where the good guys win. It is not a story where love triumphs over all.

It is a tragedy.

But here's the thing—the most important thing: to tell the story and be moved. To hear it and feel in your bones the deep stirrings of grief, the deeper stirrings of hope. To watch it and be changed. To tell the story again and again—and each time, start afresh with a daring and reckless hope. To believe in a world that can get better. To believe in a world with happy endings.

Sirius taught me that.

So, let us go back to the beginning. Before the wolf fights, before the long journey through the Underworld, before these boys fell in love.

Let's start fresh. Start new.

Sirius Black worked in a coffee shop. He talked with his mentor, Dumbledore, bickering fondly over a triple espresso. It was early—the dawn was only just showing its first blush.

Sirius was a dreamer. A brave and reckless boy who believed in a better future. He drank his coffee and thought of the day ahead.

Then the door opened. And a stranger walked in. He was the most beautiful man Sirius had ever seen. With a melancholy smile and endless eyes.

Remus held Sirius's gaze—a soul stirring rush of love filling him.

Remember this moment, reader. Our story is long and dark and bitterly hopeful. Remember the sweet crystal moment before it all changes.

It is an old story. It is a sad story. It is a love story.

It's a story with the power to change the world.

I hope it changed you. I know it changed me.