>This is my first fanfict, so please read & review. Constructive critism please. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them.
Note: Sirius does not die in this, the title will be explained in the next chapter.
Death Beyond the Grave: Behind the Veil
You are all alone. The wind is blowing lightly through the dense fog, hard enough to chill you, but light enough to barely move the dense white cloud surrounding you. Through this fog, you know you could find the end, the key. But the key is lost to you. It is nowhere to be found, gone forever, because you are dead. In this world, everything is gone, and only the spirits of those who have something to hold on to remain, dying, living, dying. In this wasteland, you are one of the few who still have a purpose, and so your death must be drawn out because it is not your time. Not your time. Doomed to search endlessly for that which you cannot achieve.
"Who are you?" Sirius cried out, panicking. He was fighting, and then, this. This fog, this dead place. This voice, which was speaking from a source he could not identify.
"Harry..." the word escaped from his lips.
"Yes, Harry." the voice replied. "Your beloved godson. But you really don't love him, do you? Because if you did, you would be living a lie. That's not who you are. That's not who you were born to be."
"I wanted to leave!" he cried out. He ranted at the voice, telling it they killed innocents. His father killed innocents. The voice did not reply; it left him alone. The wasteland and him. Sirius and the wasteland. Nothing was alive, not even him. He felt like he was trapped in Azkaban again. Soulless, and impenetrable. He wandered for what seemed like days, never dying never living. The voice did not reply, though he begged to know where he was, where Harry was, when he was. Time passed endlessly, and still, the silence lay too thickly to breathe.
Some time later, hours, days, seconds, he didn't know, Sirius woke up. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but panic was crowding his mind. He stood up quickly. Was it his ever-active imagination, or did he hear footsteps? He stumbled forward, and then stopped short. He dared to think, but no, no one else could be here. There it was again! The curtain of fog lifted just long enough for him to see a shadow.
"Wait!" he cried to the fleeing figure. Yet, she ran on. He followed, for in all his time here, in this eternal prison, he had not seen life. He had come across dead trees, brown, dead land, and nothing more. He wanted to stop, for he felt very weary, a deep down weariness that settled into his very bones, turning them into dust, yet he could not stop. He tried to leave, but something, something pulled him forward. And then he heard it. "Sirius…" the voice called for him, it was not the voice that had taunted him, but one he knew, somehow he knew it. Then, he realized he didn't just know the voice, it knew him. He gasped, for suddenly he knew who it was. He knew who was calling him. He looked up, and looked for the first time in 15 years into the face of his sister.
