Disclaimer: I do not own any characters created by J.K. Rowling. I also do not share her homophobic views.

Chapter Fifty-Five

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The silence was too absolute to be comforting.

White light pressed down upon him from all sides, creeping beneath his eyelids and making him jolt awake.

Gasping for air, body burning from the inside out, Harry blinked up at the ceiling soaring far above him. He fumbled blindly and scrambled up to his feet, breathing heavily as he spun around, taking everything in. Shapes began to peel away out of the overwhelming whiteness, taking form through the mist and solidifying into iron benches, hanging signs and railway tracks.

Was this … was this Kings Cross station?

Squinting, he noted the platform numbers and the fact that there were no trains on the tracks.

A tremor rumbled its way through his chest. He ran a hand down his face and flinched upon feeling nothing, where were his glasses? How could he see so perfectly without them? He glanced down at himself; worn out jeans, a basic tee and his old, scuffed muggle converses. Where were his formal robes he'd worn for Draco's graduation? What the fuck was going on?

He walked along the platform, desperately seeking for something, anything that would stand out to him for what he's meant to do next or why he was even there. He heard a dry, rasping sound and followed it to a bench further down the platform and crouched down -only to flinch back, his mouth filling with bile. Beneath the bench was a shrivelled, wrinkled old thing slathered in a thin sheen of blood. It looked emaciated and grotesque, the way it heaved and wheezed, trembling as though it was cold.

Voldemort.

Then something emerged through the hazy whiteness. His breath hitched in his throat. "You can't help it, Harry." He straightened up as Professor Dumbledore drew closer. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."

Casting one last look at the snivelling creature beneath the bench, Harry found himself pulled towards Dumbledore and falling into step alongside the elderly man as the meandered along the seemingly endless platform. Harry kept glancing back over his shoulder at the creature. Although, logically, he knew what it was, he'd seen it before, but why was it here? Why was it in this place with him? What could that mean?

Coming to a stop, eyes drawn back to where they'd come, Harry asked, "Professor … what is that?"

Dumbledore stopped and turned slowly, his watchful gaze falling on the bench in the far distance. "Something beyond either of our help," he stated. He caught Harry's eye and turned abruptly, resuming their walk. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands in front of his pale robes and said, "It is a part of Voldemort's soul, sent here to die."

"And exactly where are we?" Harry asked, striding to catch up.

"I was going to ask you that," Dumbledore mused with that glint in his eye. "Where would you say we are?"

"Well … it looks like King's Cross station. Only … cleaner? And without all the trains."

"King's Cross station is that right?" he gave an amused sort of smile, seemingly unsurprised by this turn of events. Harry frowned up at the man, as elusive in this moment as he had been all of Harry's life. "This is, as they say, your parting."

Harry frowned at the words, wishing he could make sense of them.

"I assume that by now you are aware that you and Voldemort were connecting by something other than fate. Since that night in Godric's Hollow all those years ago."

"So, it's true then, sir? A part of him lives within me, doesn't it?"

Even though the knowledge was not new to him, not really, speaking the words out loud and reliving such a moment was enough to make him want to throw up. He swallowed against the wave of nausea as he walked alongside the old man.

"It did," Dumbledore sighed. "It was just destroyed many moments ago by, none other, than Voldemort himself. You were the Horcrux he never meant to make, Harry."

The words hit him like a blow, even though he had anticipated it this time. Apparently, some things just didn't get any easier with time or repetition. He sighed with relief when Dumbledore came upon a bench a few yards ahead and walked over to it, seating himself down on the pearly iron. Harry hesitated, fearing that he'd fall straight through to the floor if he'd dared try. After a moment he sat down, the bench holding his weight without any strain. He didn't feel able to relax, though.

Casting a look up and down the platform, he swallowed against the lump in his throat, "I have to go back, haven't I?"

"Oh, that's up to you," Dumbledore smiled down at him, blue eyes twinkling.

"I have a choice?"

"Oh, yes," he nodded. He cast his gaze out across the platform and mused, "Kings Cross you say? I think if you so desired, you'll be able to board a train."

Harry grimaced, "And where would it take me?"

Dumbledore huffed, a mischievous smile quirking his lips up. "On," he announced, before jumping up to his feet and began his stroll along the platform, seemingly having no direction in mind.

Harry slumped back against the bench, his muscles aching with the remembered motions. He had a choice? How many others were able to get such a privilege? How many people were on the very brink of death and came to such a place, only to be pulled right back? What about if they chose to go on? What lied at the end of the platform? Did he just walk on and on until he made up his mind? Was there a wrong or right choice? His chest and head felt tight with the pressure and he could feel his eyes misting over.

Jumping to his feet he called out, "Voldemort has the Elder wand!"

Dumbledore stopped, though he didn't appear shocked by the news. He turned and gave a nod, "Yes."

"And the snake's still alive."

"Yes."

And I've nothing to kill it with."

"Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it," he turned to face Harry completely, standing tall and regal, hands clasped before him as their reality glowing white around him. "I've always prized myself on my ability to turn a phrase. Words are, in my not so humble opinion, are a most inexhaustible source of magic."

He advanced as his spoke, his eyes shimmering blue with an unfathomable sea of knowledge and power and understanding. It was a fine balance, but in that moment, Harry felt oddly comforted by it.

"Capable of both inflicting injury and remedy, yes. What I would, in this case, amend in my original statement is this; help would always be given at Hogwarts by those who deserve it."

Harry swallowed as the words sunk in, his body thrumming with an energy he didn't know what to do with.

Dumbledore gave him a calm, understanding smile that was tinged with melancholy. Stepping backwards he continued, "Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living. And above all, all those that live without love."

"Professor!" Harry gasped out, a sudden fear gripping him. He didn't want the headmaster to go, not when there was still so much left to ask, to understand, to do! How could he leave now, as such a perilous time? "My -my mother's patronus was a doe … wasn't it? Th-that's the same as Professor Snapes. It's curious … don't you think?"

"Actually, if I think about it, it doesn't seem curious at all," Dumbledore tilted his head thoughtfully. He gave a sincere, if sad smile. "I'll be going now, Harry."

Harry watched in a daze as his old headmaster glided away down the platform, the distance between them stretching like a chasm. His mouth felt like cotton wool as he called out, "Professor! Is -is this all real? Or it is just happening inside my head?"

"Of course, it's happening inside your head, Harry!" Dumbledore chided gently. "Why should that mean that it's not real?"

Within moments he had drifted so far away into the hazy mist that he'd all but vanished before Harry found his voice, pleading into the void; "Professor? Professor! What should I do?"

Nothing but silence met his ears.

He was officially alone on the ghostly platform; his only company was Voldemort under the bench -would it still even be there? He turned from one way to the other, feeling as a loose end. What was he to do now? He rubbed at his lip and scanned the rest of the platform, letting his feet idly drag him along the walkway between platform nine and ten. He didn't know how long he strolled with his hands in his pockets, looking left and right and trying to find a way out, a sign, anything that could tell him what to do next.

Glancing up at the tracks, he hummed thoughtfully. Could he really conjure up a train to come and take him to wherever he wanted to be?

Slumping down onto the bench -did that just materialise behind him? -he dropped his hands into his lap and tipped his head back. Somehow, he felt physically exhausted.

'Perhaps that's what happens when you die?' he mused to himself, 'All the exhaustion you feel in your earthly body collapses on top of you once you pass over.'

"If you fancy a train, you might be waiting for a while."

Harry lurched to his feet and fell backwards onto his arse, hearting hammering in his chest. He scrambled away, hand instinctively reaching for his wand only to grasp at nothing but air. As the adrenaline rush simmered down, he focused in on the man before him.

"Sirius?" he asked disbelievingly, scrambling to his feet. His eyes were misting up again as he watched his godfather walk around the bench, hands clasped behind his back, his moustache broadening as he gave a tentative smile. "Sirius!"

The man embraced Harry as he barrelled into his chest, clutching at him tightly. "Oh, Harry, my boy," he squeezed him tightly, his facial hair tickling Harry's cheek and neck. Leaning back, he cupped the teenagers face in his hands and looked down at him with a conflicted expression on his face. "Harry, I -w-what are you doing here?"

Harry felt his smile fall of his face. "I -I'm sorry I didn't mean -"

"Shh, shh, don't worry about that," Sirius shook his head, bringing Harry against his chest, protective arms wrapping around his shoulders. "I've got you, it's okay. You don't need to do anything you don't want to."

"That's just it," Harry felt himself relax into the embrace. "I -I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Sirius?"

"Yes, pup?"

"What -um -what are you doing here?"

"Oh, that's charming," Sirius teased as he unwound himself from around his godson. "First day on a new spiritual plane and you're chastising your favourite godfather for coming to see you? Terrible manners, Harry, who taught you those?"

"You did," Harry grinned shyly as his godfather led him back to the bench and took a seat.

Sirius threw his head back and loud laughter rang out along the platform. Harry felt his chest overflow with love; how long had it been since he'd heard Sirius' laugh? Was it stupid to think that it felt like forever? He shifted closer on the bench until he was close enough for them to be pressed up from shoulder to ankle, Sirius' arm automatically coming to wrap around his shoulder and drawing him closer.

"Sirius, what is this place?" Harry asked meekly. "How are you even here?"

Sirius inhaled deeply, "I'm not entirely sure. From what I'm aware, everyone has a place of pacing, the crossing, a fracture of time where your life changed for the better."

Harry supposed that made some poetic sort of sense. Turning his head from where it was pressed against Sirius' waistcoat, he looked around. Kings Cross was where his life had changed for the better, although so had that measly little hut he'd been in on his birthday, when Hagrid had smashed down the door. But this was where he'd taken his literal first steps into the next phase of his life. Sirius dropped a kiss to his head, a rough press of his lips.

"Is this your place as well? Your crossing?"

"I suppose technically it is, but you have to remember my parents were also at Kings Cross, so I didn't feel cut from their ties until the train had left the station."

"Then … why aren't you on the train?" Harry peered up at him with a frown.

Sirius chuckled, "It would be rude of me not to accompany my godson."

"But … Sirius … I don't understand. How are you here? What about my parents?"

Sirius drew in a deep breath and exhaled, his arm tightening fractionally around his godson. "We all have someone who meets us at the parting place. For you, it was Dumbledore. For me, it was my brother."

Harry lurched up, "You saw Regulus? What did he say? What happened?"

Sirius' eyes shone as he looked at Harry, the smile completely gone from his face, "he told me of what happened with the locket in the cave. He -he died a hero's death and got no glory from it. In the end, in his final moments when it mattered most, he did the right thing. I will always have a deep respect for that. He -he forgave me for being a bad brother. He told me that, despite my ways, he was proud that I'd burnt the bridges from our family. He'd only wished he hadn't been on the other side of it."

Harry drew in a shaking breath. He took Sirius' hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "I'm glad you got to see him."

"So am I."

"Why didn't you go with him?" Harry looked up, eyes glistening. "To the other side? How are you still here?"

"Like you, Harry, I had a choice. I could either go on into the next realm and rest, or I could remain here. I did not die a natural death, Harry. Not even by magical means. I went through the veil."

"B-but … Bellatrix …"

"Didn't hit me with the killing curse," Sirius stated. "She hit me with stupefy. I stumbled back into the veil, and it pulled me through."

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, the memory resurfacing. The flash of red, the look on Sirius' face, how raw his throat and magic had been as he'd desperately tried to get to that arch. A secure arm held him close, another kiss dropped to his head.

"Hey, hey, it's alright."

"I don't understand how you're here and my parents aren't, though."

"They were killed. Clean and simple. But in complicated deaths like ours, we come here, to the parting place, where we are given a choice. A choice to come back or a choice to go forward."

"Right?"

"You remember where I was killed, Harry?"

"At the Ministry of Magic."

"Well, that particular room was built specifically on top of a ley-line."

Harry frowned, "What's a ley-line?"

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, "You've never heard Hermione mention them?" Harry shook his head. "Well, a ley-line in magical lore is lines that connect ancient sites around the world. The ancient's used to believe they would run through magically barren lands and provide healing properties. However, on the solstice and Samhain, over the ley-lines was where the division between worlds was at its thinnest, allowing spirits to pass through. Apparently stumbling through to the other world, over a ley-line, lands you in this purgatory."

Harry's head was reeling. "I just … I don't understand how you're … how you … c-come back?"

For a moment, Sirius' face was blank, as though he didn't understand the question. "Magic has always been convoluted. In ancient times, when magic was known as the Old Religion, there was a consensus that in order to save a life, a life would have to be sacrificed."

Harry frowned, taking in the soft grey pinstriped suit, and pearly silver pocket watch train tucked into his jacket. He stroked the fabric with his fingers, surprised that it felt so very real and soft. A shiver ran through his hand as he tried to breathe his godfather in, trying to recognise him. He smelled nothing. He frowned, but there was no comforting aroma, no musky tint or aftershave or even a hint of dog! The notion broke his heart. In his head or not, otherworldly or not, he should always, always remember how his godfather smelled.

Then the words sank in.

A life for a life?

He'd died in the middle of the war, hundreds of witches and wizards had died, how was it possible to decide which soul would pass through, leaving a space for Sirius to return? It would make sense if the person in question had sacrificed themselves for the greater good, someone who wasn't meant to be in the midst of it in the first place.

A cold weight settled in his stomach. "Tonks?"

Sirius pressed his lips together. "I don't know. But perhaps. It could be anyone dying in this very moment. I don't get to choose who it is."

"But then … if Tonks dies, wouldn't she just go back?"

"No," Sirius shook his head. "This path is open only to those who are capable of having the choice. I was not technically killed; therefore, I have been suspended in this place for years. You are here, in this place, because Voldemort's soul was also in your body. Only one soul need die, but that is your own choice. For those who were murdered -Tonks, your parents, my brother -there is no way back for them."

He knew it, of course he knew it. If there had been a way for them to come back, it wouldn't have taken them seventeen years to cross over to him. Still, that finality of the statement made his heart ache.

"I'm sorry, pup."

Harry shook his head, trying to blink away the tears. "It's not your fault."

Sirius squeezed his hand. "How were things? A-after I …?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "It was hard. I -I struggled. All my new dreams of being free of the Dursley's, enjoying my summers and Christmas' away from the castle … it all went up in smoke. I … I know I miss my parents. I don't even know them, and I miss what could have been. But you? I'd gotten to experience happiness, true happiness, and it was taken from me."

"You know I never meant to leave you, right?"

"I know …" Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

The silence between them was soft and comfortable, their hands clasped together between them, not wanting to let go for fear they would never get another chance to get it back. A shrill whistle trilled out across the platform drawing both men's attention to the train track opposite. Through the pearly mist the familiar chug-chug-chug of a train grew louder as an old fashioned steam engine emerged. They watched as it eased to a stop, the expectant red and black palette was muted now to a soft grey, similar to Sirius' suit.

"Ahh, I did wonder when this would be coming for me," Sirius mused, a small smile gracing his lips.

Harry frowned, "Is this … your crossing?"

"Well, how else would I get to my destination from a train station?" he teased. Giving Harry a calm look, he squeezed the teens hand and stood up, tugging Harry up to his feet. "Shall we?"

Hesitating, Harry looked from Sirius to the smoky train windows, and back again. He didn't know where this train was going, how on earth was he going to decide? If he got on that train, there would be no third chances, no opportunities to change his mind and come back. He didn't even know which way was back, but the moment he sat on that train, and it started to move, that was it. Final.

"I -I don't know. Shouldn't I go back? I died in the middle of the battle. I can't just leave everyone up there."

Sirius furrowed his brow. "You are just one boy, Harry. As far as that old coot is concerned, you did your part. Voldemort is almost entirely vulnerable. What more can you do?"

"I have a chance to help. I -I need to try." Sirius looked as though he wanted to protest, but Harry beat him to it. "Remus is still there. He deserves a chance. What about his son?"

Sirius closed his eyes and shook with a strangled sound. He pressed a fist against his mouth and trembled as he fought to keep his composure. It was the first time Harry had ever seen Sirius so wracked with guilt and fear, it twisted his heart. Harry edged closer and wrapped his arms around Sirius, burying his face into the older man's shoulder.

"I have to go back, Sirius."

Sirius nodded, his scruff grazing Harry's skin. He squeezed his godson tighter. "Then we go back, son."

Breaking apart, Sirius turned towards the train and slowly mounted the steps. Harry climbed up after him, his heart thudding in his chest. He cast one last look out of the window at the white platform fading into nothingness in the distance. Nodding resolutely to himself, he mounted the last step and followed Sirius down the narrow corridor and slipped into an empty compartment halfway down. It was surreal walking down the corridor and seeing that every compartment was devoid of other students, the sound of merry laughter, jokes, exploding snap and the bright house colours and summer souvenirs.

The settled downside by side, and Sirius gripped one of Harry's hands in his own. "We go together, yes?"

Harry squeezed his hand back, smiling for the first time. "Together."

With a shrill whistle, the train signalled it was ready to depart. With a lurch, they felt the familiar rumble and pull as the train began to crawl away from the platform. As the engine gained momentum, Harry felt any fears and doubts melt away as he sat, pressed side-by-side with his godfather, finally feeling as though he was heading to the right place. For once he was in control of his destiny, and he was choosing this. He was choosing to go back, to fight, to end this once and for all.

A glance up at the curly haired man made his resolution iron-clad.

With Sirius at his side, there wasn't anything he couldn't do. He was going to win this, he just knew it.

A/N: So what did you guys think? X