"Dead?" Sirius smirked. "Yeah, okay, sure. That was just a stunner Bellatrix hit me with."
"You are correct. The death eater's spell was harmless. But if you are still alive, Sirius, then where are you now?"
And Sirius looked around for the first time. His mind was clearer now, and he saw who really sat before him in this bewitched slumber. In the rear rows dozed people Sirius only knew by connection or reputation, distant relatives and low level death eaters, and a handsome boy Harry's age who Sirius dimly recalled seeing at the Triwizard Tournament. The second row seated a more painful troupe, the members of the Order who had died for the cause during Voldemort's first reign of terror. And his parents.
Rage swelled in Sirius's breast at the notion of his noble fallen comrades sharing their resting place with his despised parents. But this was quickly overshadowed by the sight of James and Lily, napping in the first row.
Sirius fell to his knees before the Potters.
"James?" he whispered, and again with more urgency. "James!"
"Heya Padfoot, long time no see," James muttered without opening his eyes. "Drop in again some time…"
Sirius looked helplessly at the stage manager, who only nodded back at the sleepers.
Lily stirred. With a yawn she awoke halfway, and gazed calmly at the newcomer.
"Sirius, you're here already?"
"I… Yes, Lily, I'm here. Where are we?"
"But if you're here, Sirius, who is watching the baby?"
It took a moment for Sirius to register that the baby in question was his gangly godson.
"Harry is with your sister, Lily."
"Oh yes, my sister, of course. She's really not so bad as she seems, you know." Lily yawned. "I am so very tired."
She closed her eyes and seemed to return to sleep. Sirius gently removed the hand he had placed on her knee, when she suddenly gripped it tightly.
"And Sirius! Tell Harry I love him… And I'll see him when I wake."
And her dark hair drooped over her face as Lily's breathing rejoined the steady rhythm of those around her.
Sirius swallowed hard, and stood to face the stage manager. His eyes were glistening
"Why are they all here?" he demanded.
"They're dead."
"Well yes, I know that, but what the hell sort of heaven is this?"
The Stage Manager stood up. He reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket and removed a pair of small spectacles [not glasses, spectacles], which he placed on the tip of his nose. Had Sirius been an American muggle, he might have been reminded of Mr. Rogers calmly trapped in a dark cabinet to demonstrate claustrophobia. But being a British wizard, he only wondered briefly at the man's idiosyncratic muggle garb.
"What the hell sort of heaven is this?" he repeated. The stage manager put a hand on Sirius's shoulder and gently turned him away from slumbering rows.
"Why Sirius, I did not think you were a Christian."
"A Christian? No, of course not, I'm not a muggle."
"Then why would you think this is heaven at all?"
Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion.
"I… I don't know, I never… then what is it?"
The Stage Manager sighed, and rubbed his spectacles with a checkered handkerchief.
"The wizarding world, though its members consider themselves separate from and often superior to the "muggles," is nevertheless highly steeped in the Judeo-Christian tradition. While witches and wizards prefer to disassociate themselves from muggle religions, many examples of these faiths persist in the magical culture, from the obvious celebration of a secular Christmas to the more archaic adherence to the muggle workweek, which is of course traditionally fashioned around the Sabbath. The archetypes of heaven and hell also hold power with wizards, even those such as yourself who never gave any thought to the matter, which often makes explaining this place to wizards even harder than it is for the typically agnostic muggle."
Sirius blinked. "Okay…"
The stage manager broke out of his didactic fit and again looked at Sirius.
"Sorry, right. What I mean to say is, this is not heaven nor is it hell, in any traditional sense. Otherwise, why would the Potters and your parents be here together, when you clearly think your parents are not fit to kiss James Potter's feet?"
Finally, something that made sense to Sirius.
"So, this is eternity? This is it? Everyone I ever knew just sitting around napping?"
"That's the idea, yes. But they're also waiting. For what, I don't know, don't ask me. It could be the apocalypse, the end of time, a loved one, Godot, I don't know. I have a feeling it might be different for everyone."
Sirius put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously. When he next looked up, his face was drawn and shadowed. He swept his hair out of his face, squared his shoulders, and looked the stage manager in the eye.
"No."
"No?"
"No. I'm not going to spend eternity sitting here, twiddling my thumbs. First of all, I'm not dead. But without even getting into that… Harry needs me. The Order needs me. I have things to do. Maybe I'd go for it if this were some sort of paradise, but it isn't. I'd rather be back in Azkaban. I'm not staying."
"I'm sorry, Sirius," the stage manager said, clearly flustered. "There is no other option."
"Yes," said a voice from behind them, "There is."
Sirius spun around. It was James.
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bum bum BUM! All the comments so far have been really really appreciated. And don't worry, I'll be able to drop this explanatory action-less vein real soon.