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Note- Well, things seem to make more sense now, at least. I managed to fix the apostrophe thing with this chapter, but the line break problem is still here, sorry... I'll work on it. ^^;
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"Come back to life."
The tone of his voice was skeptical, at best. There was no way. He didn't know how many times he had heard it from Madame Pomfrey... Magic could heal almost any wound in hours or days, but no magic could bring you back to life. That was a lesson any child knew. Death was death.
"Aren't you up to the challenge, Padfoot?" Jamess eyes sparkled. "The ultimate barrier to break down. You could-"
"Are you joking?!" Sirius sprang from the chair, hands steadying the shawl wrapped precariously about his hips. "Prongs, that's impossible. Once you die, you're dead! I know that!" The tightness in his chest clenched painfully, but he swallowed it back and stared this apparition of his best friend in the eyes. "It can't be done."
"That doesn't sound at all like you." James pouted at him.
Sirius stared at the floor, fingers clenching into the thin shawl. It didn't sound like him... Not like the him he had been so long ago. Not like the him that had died in the depths of Azkaban. He'd tried so hard to bring him back, tried to bring back his recklessness and cheer, but how well had that worked, when Harry...
"I had to change," he said softly. "I had to be careful, I had to be cautious. I had to be there for him, I had to be safe so I could protect him."
"Worked quite well for a while."
The cool observation stung, and Sirius turned to glare daggers at the easy chair, fighting the desperate need to clench his muscles and fight back with fists. His anger froze in the pit of his stomach when he was faced with simply the chair. James was gone.
"Prongs...?" he whispered, baffled.
"Mr. Black, I will thank you to sit and pay quiet attention to what I have to say."
"Yes ma'am!" Sirius yelped, falling back firmly into the chair that had been provided for him. The piercing gaze of Minerva McGonagall followed him disapprovingly, then returned to the clean blackboard that had materialized against the far wall.
He was growing used to the bewildering switching of casts. His dreams had always run like this, after all; random people who interacted with him by day informing him of the sheer importance of butterflies to the world's ecosystem. Why should death be any different, if he was only alone with his own mind...?
"This is your present situation," the lady professor said sharply, attacking the once-pristine board with chalk. "You are-" she drew a quick stick figure, "presently beyond the veil of life." A line was drawn in front of the Sirius-stick. "But your final resting place, what is known as death, is past here." Another white line appeared, this time behind him. "This area here, which houses you, is known in common terminology as 'limbo'. Also, those who subscribe to the common Muggle religion of Catholicism would term it 'purgatory'. As you should know from History of Magic, some wizards agree with this method of belief."
Sirius sank back into his chair, feeling uncomfortably like he should be taking notes.
"Are you grasping all this, Mr. Black?"
"Yes, ma'am."
McGonagall nodded crisply and continued. "As you have been informed, you have not crossed beyond this veil-" she indicated the line behind him, "because there is a great force in the living world holding your spirit close."
Sirius nodded dumbly.
She pursed her lips and eyed him, setting the chalk down on the ledge and lacing her wizened fingers together before her. "The power of magic is one we know well and understand," she lectured. "The studies have been intensive, and as a whole, we believe we comprehend how it moves. However, from instance to instance, wizards are reminded that magic is not the only powerful force in our world."
Sirius watched her raptly as the apparition of his old professor moved to pacing, her eyes avoiding his as she would always during an uncomfortable lecture. "As has been observed in the case of young Harry Potter, the power of a sacrifice has the ability to save lives that should otherwise have been taken. That sort of sacrifice forever binds the saviour to the saved, even through the furthest boundaries of death." She coughed softly, and continued. "That sort of emotion has been known, in extreme cases, to even raise the dead. This is best illustrated by Voldemorts return to life and power one year ago."
Sirius blinked, impressed at her casual use of the name. Then again, she was always a tough old bird. He raised his hand meekly, not feeling it right to just talk out in the middle of her lecture. It wasnt as though she could take House points away... or give him detention... but you never did know.
"Yes, Mr. Black?"
"Hadn't Voldemort really returned before that?" he asked quietly. "With the Philosopher's Stone?"
A glimmer of a smile passed her thin lips. "You've done your homework, even while inside Azkaban. Ten points to Gryffindor."
Somehow, no matter how odd the feeling was, Sirius was sure points had indeed been added to Harrys house.
"Yes, Mr. Black, you are correct. Voldemort had never truly died; the reflection of the Killing Curse had been enough to incapacitate and nearly destroy him, until he had found a willing host. He had been at the brink of death-" here she paused to indicate slightly before the first line on her diagram, "but not truly gone. For, if he had been truly dead, it would have taken much more than a few drops of blood for his return."
Sirius nodded, shifting again. This was why he had never taken private lessons: too much pressure when there was only one student. But he listened nonetheless. This was more important than O.W.L.s or anything else. This was life or death.
"Voldemort was revived, among other things, by the blood of a wizard who despised him. He was thus conceived in hate, the opposite of that emotion that had destroyed him. Hate is an exceedingly powerful human emotion, Mr. Black; hate can move a mountain as surely as love can." McGonagall gazed at him soberly, and Sirius found it difficult to meet her eyes.
"And yet, it is not hate that ties you still to the living world; it is love. There is a great love that refuses to let you go."
Sirius parted his lips to ask who, knowing already the question was futile. He knew who.
"There were two loves in your life, Mr. Black. These were the two loves you died for, who you sacrificed your life for. This sacrifice binds their souls to you, unalterably, as we have discussed."
He nodded mutely.
"However, their binding to your soul has forced you into purgatory. In a sense..." McGonagall pushed her small glasses further up her nose. "You gave them your life, and they refused to accept it."
"Yes, ma'am." It was too much. Too much, to think that his death was that much of a trauma, a trauma to measure up with Lily's sacrifice? It wasn't the same; it wasn't the same at all. And yet... and yet, here he was.
"Do you wish to remain here, Mr. Black?"
It was the same look she had given him when asking 'are you sure you want to continue on in Arithmancy?' It was obviously an option, but if he had any sense, he would say no.
And the damnable thing, she was always right.
"No, ma'am, I dont think that I do."
"I see." She cleared her throat in a familiar and businesslike fashion. "So, I assume you are familiar with Voldemort's second attempt at resurrection."
Sirius blinked stupidly.
She scowled down at him. "The diary, Mr. Black...?"
"Right!" He slammed a fist into his palm, then hastily returned it to holding up the shawl. "The Weasley girl, Ginny. Voldemort left part of his spirit in the diary, and he absorbed her soul to gain his sixteen-year-old form."
"Very good. Five points."
Sirius fairly glowed.
"So, this would be an easy route for you, Mr. Black. To alter the resurrection process used last year with the addition of the one two years previous." With a quick wave of a wand he hadn't noticed before, the blackboard was cleared. "A holding object of part of your spirit-" she dashed off a quick box, "in simple addition to-" a plus sign, "the blood of a wizard tied to you who loves you and earnestly wishes your return."
Sirius cleared his throat to protest.
"As you died from hate, you will conceived in love. A rather hasty preparation, but I daresay a logical one." Her eyes focused on his uncertain frown. "Do you foresee a difficulty, Mr. Black?"
"I, um..." Sirius winced. "It's a magnificent plan, professor, except I didnt leave anything like that... I mean, I didn't have any grand plan, or see this happening. And even if I had... how are we supposed to communicate this to anyone alive so they can do it? At least Voldemort was half-alive and had loyal followers..."
"That, Mr. Black, is your homework."
Sirius groaned and slumped over, head falling into his hands as the lady professor saw fit to dematerialize. Of course. Even in purgatory, no professor was ever going to cut him a favor. Why change in death what was a pattern all through life?
In his morose self-pity, he failed to notice a curious lightness in his torso, a strange prickling sensation throughout his veins. After all, how could he know...
...That a dimension or so away, a fist had slammed into a tear-stained hand mirror he had given him, blood staining the glass fragments, all as a sobbing young man earnestly wished his return?