It is I

What would you do if you knew you were going to die the following day, at half past six in the morning, just as the sun would peak over the hill and bathe the world anew?

Well I, Sirius Black, know what I would have done. I would have started with a fire whisky with my friends, all rounded up for the occasion. "Here here," I would have said. "Do not show me those sorrowful faces, laugh drink and be merry!"

Then I would have patted James on the back, shared a last joke with him, given Remus a friendly shove and a farewell word, and to Peter, an avada Kedavra, for good measure. Turn Lily red with a few but well placed words which would make her say "Sirius, grow up!"

Then I would cross my mother, and she'd smile at me because her prayers would finally come true: her perfidious son would finally be out of her life and buried six feet under. Dear Regulus would stand behind her, and watch me leave with the same enthusiasm. But then I would turn around towards them, send them some rude remark which would make them flush with anger; and off I would go with a good laugh.

I'd share a last kiss with Prissy and then march away down and over the hill, running towards the wild moon, tail waggling, and howl a last time to tell them that I, Sirius Black would be gone for good as soon as the sun would rise over the horizon.

I did not get that chance; my death came as a surprise. No warning, just an endless fall and then I was no more. There were no childhood friends to send me off into the underworld, no family (I could hardly call Bella my cousin), no Prissy.

But Harry was there, he witnessed my fall, down and down and through the veil, never to come forth again.

I've thought about my death many times now- well I do have the time. No more games, no more pranks, nothing to entertain me anymore and sweep any thoughtful questions away. And because of this lack of amusement, I am now obliged to come face to face with metaphysical interrogations about death. How indistinguishably boring it all sounds, I'm afraid.

After have spent so many hours in the halls of Hogwarts, I've started to wonder how much time exactly I've been spending in the company of Harry, Ron and Hermione. Too long is the answer. Shouldn't they have passed their Newts already? Gone and get married? Spawned a couple of kids? For me, it seems as if I've now spent centuries haunting these halls as Harry's shadow trying to find anything to keep me from falling into complete boredom, which has now become a fatality.

Every word Harry speaks I've already seemed to have heard. Every glance that Hermione has for Harry and Ron and about everyone, I can name. Every meal that Ron has ever eaten I seem to know. Is there nothing new to be found? Is there any reason I should be existing? Could you even call this thing, an existence?

I have no power on the outside world, no real voice, no presence, no visible figure. Can I even claim to exist anymore? I know what is living – or more precisely existing - : being considered by your peers. To be seen is to exist. I exist for no one but myself. It was enough at the beginning when I could sustain the illusion that I was still something of this world, but now I crave attention, and I feel as if I am truly no more, that I am nothing. I now wish I could wink out like a flame on a too short candlestick.

Sirius does not want to be Sirius anymore. Sirius has known death, but he now wishes for more than death itself, he wishes for complete and utter destruction: to become nothing at all, leave the illusion that he is still Sirius and make his inner voice hushed.

Once again I am standing, or so it seems, behind Harry's chair. It's Binns' class, history of magic, I know his speech by heart. The goblin wars. The goblins' names that seemed so foreign when I was alive now seem awfully familiar and come easily to my mind. I could count the freckles on Ron's nose. Harry for who I laid my soul down, who I love so dearly like my own son has become – to my horror – a subject of boredom.

This must end now, I think to myself. Today I still know my name, but tomorrow… who knows? I dread and desire at the same time such a day.

Without me realising it, class has finished, the students have left and I have still not moved. The sun has disappeared, the room is now dark.

I did not fear dying. But this whole life after death has been a great disappointment. I am scared of this emptiness, just like this room, bland and boring.

Someone enters the classroom, wand lit. Three students trickle in, it is Mafoy, Crabb and Goyle. I do not feel the same hate as before towards them, I feel indifferent. Why they've come in here? I do not care. Probably to steal the next essay they'll have to work on, set a prank for next day… I've seen it all before.

But something catches my attention. A man in a bowler hat.

As the three boys leave, he chooses not to follow. He stands there still, without a word. Should I feel curious? Something does scream that I should. This man I have seen before, yet no name comes to my mind.

I shift a little, getting rid of my torpor.

Yes, there is something particular about this man. What is it? I search franticly, but nothing comes. But I do not need to search any farther, because he gives me the answer to my wondering.

"Are you, are you…" he stutters, speaking to the empty room. I hardly notice. "Are you Sirius Black?"

I look at him, I truly look at him with all the surprise I can muster. It is as if I've gained my body again, and the air has been swept from my lungs by a powerful blow. It's been awhile since I've felt as alive.

"Yes, it is I." Words like a balm to the soul.

Sorry, but I changed this chapter all around. Very melancholic chapter for Sirius which is starting to have difficulties with the fact that he is no more.