- Prologue -

The Gates of Time

Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily onto the first tier of stone steps; Neville's legs twitched and jerked and would not support his weight; Harry heaved again with all the strength he possessed and they climbed another step -

A spell hit the stone bench at Harry's heel; it crumbled away and he fell back to the step below. Neville sank to the ground, his legs still jerking and thrashing, and he thrust the prophecy into his pocket.

'Come on!' said Harry desperately, hauling at Neville's robes. 'Just try and push with your legs – '

He gave another stupendous heave and Neville's robes tore all along the left seam – the small spun-glass ball dropped from his pocket, and before either of them could catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicked it: it flew some ten feet to their right and smashed on the step beneath them. As both of them stared at the place where it had broken, appalled at what had happened, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, unnoticed by any but them. Harry could see its mouth moving, but in all the crashes and screams and yells surrounding them, not one word of the prophecy could he hear. The figure stopped speaking and dissolved into nothingness.

'Harry, I'b sorry!' cried Neville, his face anguished as his legs continued to flounder. 'I'b so sorry, Harry, I didn't bean to –'

'It doesn't matter!' Harry shouted. 'Just try and stand, let's get out of –'

'Dubbledore!' Said Neville, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry's shoulder.

'What?'

'DUBBLEDORE!'

Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through his body – they were saved.

Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, who had no more thoughts of leaving. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realised he was there and yelled to the others. One of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line –

Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light; he was laughing at her.

'Come on, you can do better than that!' he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.

Fear and surprise battled for supremacy as Sirius felt himself falling past the strange veil behind him. Shocked as he was that Bellatrix had so easily gotten the better of him, he wasn't prepared for the sudden, hard landing, nor for the soft, feminine laugh which followed.

'Perhaps not the most graceful I've seen, but that was certainly an original entrance, Mr. Black.'

Jumping to his feet, Sirius pivoted quickly, grateful that he was still gripping his wand tightly, and pointed it at the tall woman hidden in the shadowy mist before him. She laughed again, a harsher, mocking sound this time, but he didn't relax his stance. Whatever it was that Bellatrix had hit him with, he was lucky it hadn't done more than throw him into a curtain; he wasn't about to try pushing his luck now, when he had a godson to worry about –

'Harry!' he yelled, turning about wildly, looking for the curtain that would lead him back to the atrium, and to Harry, who still needed him.

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred centuries, he stopped, defeated. Wherever he was, and however his cousin had sent him here, there was no way out. There was nothing, nothing but an eternal reddish-grey haze of swirling fog and mist, and that ever-present woman, watching him.

'You can't go back, you know,' the voice interrupted, sounding infinitely sad this time. It only served to anger Sirius, and he stormed to where the figure waited, shoving his wand against her throat, hard.

'You seem to know so much,' he growled, sounding more like his animagus form than ever, 'tell me how I get out of here; where is the Ministry?'

The woman neither moved nor spoke, and Sirius felt himself slowly intimidated by her strange garnet gaze. She seemed to be measuring him slowly, taking stock of every moment of his life, and deciding for herself his worth. It was then that he noticed her strange attire, and the large rod she held loosely at her side, shaped like a key, with a deep garnet orb on the top.

'How do I get back?' he whispered hoarsely, though he knew the answer already. She had told him, after all: there was no way back.

'I don't know why, exactly, Mr. Black, but the Queen has taken a special interest in you. For her sake alone have I allowed you here; the Gates of Time welcome no visitors.' The red-eyed, black-haired woman continued softly, almost as if she was explaining for her own benefit, rather than his.

The Gates of Time, Sirius wondered to himself, but kept his mouth shut. It would do no good to interrupt the woman before she had a chance to tell him anything. If only there was a way back to the Ministry…

'I am sure you don't appreciate what it cost me to interrupt your own Time Stream and rescue you from the veil, before you were completely destroyed. But for her sake, and with my Lord's permission, I have done so, and you are spared, Mr. Black.' She paused again, seemingly unsure of her next words, then continued. 'Never before have I allowed a mortal to leave one Stream and enter another. Understand that this is a gift, and understand that the life you once lived is no more. Sirius Black, wizard and fugitive is dead. He is mourned by those who loved him, and forgotten by those who did not. It is another Sirius Black I address now, another England for which you are intended. This world into which you will pass is quite different from the one you have left behind, and you will need to become quite used to it: you will spend the rest of your life there.'

The woman began to walk, her long, swift strides forcing Sirius into a quick jog to catch up with her.

'I do not have the time to explain any further, Mr. Black, the rest you will discover on your own, save this. Magic is a thing of the past. Forget it if you will, dwell on it if you cannot, but do not speak of it, and do not attempt it. Spirits you cannot contend with have dominion over this world, and you would undoubtedly be destroyed, whether you realised it or no. For your sake, Mr. Black, let it lie.'

Whatever her intended destination had been, apparently they had reached it, though it looked identical to where they had been standing. Slowly the woman raised her staff, and the garnet orb seemed to glow from within; the mist swirled as though a giant wind had parted it, revealing a magnificent silver gate, more splendid than anything he had ever seen before. From around her waist, the woman removed a belt of keys, selecting a small silver one. It looked old and tarnished, but Sirius didn't refuse it when she handed it to him with a cryptic smile.

'All you need do is unlock the gates, and step through them, Mr. Black. Then you will have a life again; though you may find it quite different from the one you are used to. Oh,' she added suddenly, sounding genuinely surprised, and reaching beside her into thin air, 'these are for you as well.' Here her voice softened once more, and she ignored Sirius's stunned stare as she pulled several aged, leather books from nowhere. 'You can never return from whence you came, but that doesn't mean you have to forget it entirely. Psyche thought you would need these; perhaps they will help you.'

Unsure of himself, Sirius took the stack of books cautiously, then lifted the key to the gates. They opened towards him far more swiftly than he had anticipated, and he had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. There was a strange, fierce wind blowing from behind the gates, and he had to steel himself against it to avoid being sucked past the towering shadows.

His fear must have shown on his face, for the woman stepped towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt suddenly insubstantial, as though she were so much more real than him, and her slim hand was incredibly heavy, painful almost, as it weighed him down. Finally, she broke the contact, and he couldn't help sighing in relief.

'I will try and help you as I am able, Mr. Black, but please understand that I have duties I must attend to, and cannot be called simply on a whim of yours. Should you truly need me, however, I will find you.'

'Yes,' he shouted over the wind, his apprehension increasing a thousand fold as he realised she meant for him to pass through the gate, 'but who are you? I don't even know your name!'

'Saturn,' she replied, pushing him through the gate none too gently, her expression beautiful in its serenity and almost-nostalgia. 'Call me Saturn.'