A/N Yes, I know you weren't expecting that one. /smirk/ To be utterly truthful, I wasn't expecting that one either. Seems like Dee hasn't told me all her secrets yet.

Chapter the Seventh

Taking a deep breath, Harry slowly forced his feet to carry him into the kitchen. Dee was sitting at the table, sipping absently at a cup of cocoa; there was another cup of it across the table.

"Sit," she said when he had entered, and she gestured to the chair in front of the other cup. "Start asking whenever you want, though I must tell you that I might not answer all of them."

Harry nodded and sat. Picking up the cup, he took a sip, then another. He had no idea where to start.

The minutes ticked by. Dee got up and re-filled her cup, then sat back down, patiently waiting. Finally Harry blurted out, "What's going to happen to Sirius?"

Dee raised an eyebrow. "You mean Black?" She shrugged. "Absolutely nothing."

"But—but—I heard—"

"Yes, I know what you heard, and what you heard was what the Dark Lord thinks is going to happen. But it won't, you know."

"Why not?"

"You can't resurrect someone who's not dead," she said calmly.

"But he is dead." The words felt like they were ripped from his throat.

"No, he isn't," she replied simply. Harry stared at her dully.

"Yes, he is. I saw him—" Harry's voice cracked, and he tried again. "I saw him die."

"You saw him, all right, but you didn't see him die." Dee leaned forward, her gaze intent on his face. "Harry, not everything you see is what's real. You saw him hit by a curse and then fall into the black curtain, the other side of which is the realm of death. But you didn't see him die."

"How is that possible, if he's in the realm of death?" Harry argued.

"Ghosts are dead, yet they walk the realm of the living." She shrugged lightly. "What makes you think that the living can't walk in the realm of the dead?"

Harry's mind began whirling with the possibilities…Sirius wasn't dead! But…

"How do you know he's still alive?" he asked suspiciously. "Maybe that curse killed him."

"I know because I saw him."

"You—you saw him?"

Dee nodded. "Yes." She sighed and leaned forward a bit again. "Harry, I haven't been completely truthful to you. The real reason I'm here, in this house next to yours, is because I made a promise to Black." Her eyes held his gaze. "The case I was working on, the one my superiors are investigating, dealt with the black curtain. A rogue band of wizards in the U.S. were using it to send people into the realm of the dead and then pluck them back out again in a different location. They sent me into that other world, to wait for one of the wizards and track him, to kill him, to emerge from that different location, and to kill anyone else there.

"Then I ran across Black. He obviously wasn't a part of the band—well, obviously to me, anyway. It wasn't so obvious to my superiors, however, and they didn't agree with my actions when I mentioned in my report that I let him live. What my superiors don't know, however, is that there is a greater power controlling the wizarding band—I have reason to believe that that greater power is your Lord Voldemort.

"Black and I cut a deal. If I were to keep you safe and out of Voldemort's hands while over here, then he would give me all the help I asked for if I could get him out."

"If?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Dee nodded. "No one's ever pulled a living person from the black curtain before."

"But how…?"

Dee held one hand up, already knowing his question. "Only those who have the training can pull themselves from the black curtain. I can do so, as can precious few other people; namely, those who were in the band of rogue wizards. But Black does not have that talent, so I will have to pull him out myself." For a moment, Dee looked frightened, something that very much scared Harry.

"Is it possible to pull them out?" he asked hesitantly.

"No one knows," Dee replied helplessly. "It's been tried, certainly, but no one's yet succeeded."

"Is that why even Dumbledore believes that he's well and truly dead? Because no one's ever been pulled from the other side before?"

Dee nodded. "That's right." She sighed, slumping in her chair. "I have no idea if I can do it or not," she said, almost to herself. "If I can't do it, we'll both be dead. If I can do it…" Her gaze searched his out. "That could be just as dangerous."

Silence fell in Dee's kitchen. After a while, Dee stirred and straightened. "Any more questions, Harry?"

He blew out a breath and looked at her. He suddenly remembered what she had said, about being sent to kill people.

"How many people have you killed?"

"You don't want the answer to that," she replied, her voice flat and her lips thinning as she pressed them together. "No, Harry," she said when he opened his mouth, "All you need to know that I have killed in the past, and I will kill again. That's all you need to know."

"Does it get easier?" The question popped out of Harry's mouth before he could stop it. Dee looked at him with shuttered eyes and a blank face.

"For some. Not all."

"Why?"

She stared at him. Harry clarified his question. "Why does it get easier for some?"

"Because they forget," she said in a low voice, "They forget that the lives they take are indeed that: lives. They force it to the back of their minds, and kill."

"Why?" Harry forced the question past his restricted throat. "Why do they force it back?"

"Because otherwise they go insane." Her voice was strained. "To think too much, Harry, is to go insane?"

Harry had felt like he was walking up to a cliff edge. With his next question, he felt like he was throwing himself off it.

"Does it get easier for you?"

A shudder ran through her body, and she abruptly stood and carried her mug to the sink.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry followed her to bed a long time later.

A/N Well, that turned into a sobering conversation. Wonder what'll happen the next chapter.