True Grey

Sirius stepped over the threshold without hesitation. He felt nothing would surprise him anymore; he had given up trying to anticipate and predict. As much as it hurt his pride, he found it easier to simply accept that he knew nothing about his new existence.

The house was quite ordinary, and he found that it suited Dearborn's personality. Like Lily and James's home, it contained both magical and Muggle appliances. A massive, filled gun rack hung on the wall next to a towering bookshelf. Sirius inhaled the scent of old laundry, dirty dishes, and smoke-- a smell to be expected from a young male bachelor, living in solitude. Indeed, the smell was quite familiar to Sirius from his years living alone after running away from home.

"You've lived here for how long?" Sirius asked.

"Nearly seventeen years," answered Dearborn, untying his shoes.

"So you've had a lot of time to learn about... about... wherever we are."

"You could say that," said Dearborn. He gestured at a leather armchair in front of the fireplace. "Have a seat. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"That's an understatement," muttered Sirius, rubbing his eyes as he sank into his seat. He was sure his head would combust from the shock and confusion. He sympathized completely with Harry, whom no one had ever told what was going on, until it was too late. Harry...

"Can you tell me how to get back to... to Harry, and Remus?" Sirius said loudly.

Dearborn did not answer; he had disappeared momentarily in the full-sized bar that took up half his kitchen. When he returned, he placed a tall glass bottle, a pair of shot glasses, and a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table in front of Sirius.

"I don't know how you can get back," Dearborn said, taking a seat on the couch. "To be honest, I've never tried. But together, maybe with a little more help, we can figure it out. But to do that, you need to understand where you are. And to do that, you need to clear your mind..." Dearborn poured Sirius a drink, and then poured one for himself.

"Thanks," mumbled Sirius, helping himself to a cigarette as well.

For a while the only sound was muffled noise floating in from a TV in another room. With shaking hands Sirius struck a match and lit the cigarette dangling from his lips. He took an enormous drag and watched the smoke curve and swirl gracefully around his head.

After a few minutes, Dearborn spoke. "Relaxed now? Mind a little clearer?"

Sirius nodded.

"Then fire away."

Sirius fished a question at random out of his mind. "Why have you aged these past seventeen years, but James and Lily haven't?"

"They're dead. I'm not. Neither are you."

"But we can see them, and talk to them. So are we in heaven with them?"

Dearborn frowned, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Yes, and no."

"We're in hell, then?" Sirius asked hastily.

"Belt up for once, will you, and let me explain." Dearborn took a deep breath and leaned back. "I suppose purgatory or limbo would be the best words to describe where we are, but they're not quite accurate. Purgatory and limbo are for the dead.

"We're still alive. We're... we're in the afterlife early. The realm of the dead, if you want to be poetic. It's divided into heaven and hell, simple as that for the dead, but for us... the dividing line is unclear."

"So we're in neither heaven nor hell?" Sirius said slowly.

"Or both heaven and hell, however you want to look at it," agreed Dearborn. "Either way, we experience both, and it blends to become something quite similar to our lives on earth. Or on the other side of the veil, I should say."

"Are we on earth?"

"No idea. I haven't quite figured out the whole physical aspect of things. It's like trying to understand magic. You can't-- you just have to accept it."

Sirius downed another shot. Asking all these questions deeply annoying and debasing, not to mention unfair. Just because Caradoc Dearborn had all the answers didn't mean he was cleverer than Sirius was-- yet Sirius was sure Dearborn was loving every minute of this.

"You drink like a champ, mate," Dearborn said dryly.

"Mate, my arse," snarled Sirius. "Get on with it, Dearborn."

"I'll get on with it when I want to, Black," Dearborn retorted. He cleared his throat and continued. "Right. Wherever we are, it's more or less the same as the other side of the veil. Whereas heaven only includes the good things of our world, and hell only the bad."

"Who decides whether a thing is bad or good?"

"Everyone--"

"You mean... they vote?" Sirius said, furrowing his brow.

"Stop interrupting me," Dearborn snapped. "It's no democracy. If heaven has got a government, though, it's a bloody amazing system. Everyone has what he wants, what he thinks is good."

"So heaven is different for everyone."

"Bingo," said Dearborn. "It's fascinating, really. The afterlife is so simple-- heaven and hell, black and white. Yet within heaven there must be billions of shades of white. And a billion shades of black in hell."

Sirius closed his eyes, shook his head-- anything to help him absorb this reality faster. "It's all very strange to me to find that heaven isn't some cloud-land in the sky, everything soft and nice and serene and divine, like little kids always imagine...."

Dearborn exhaled sharply in frustration. "I thought you were bright, Black!" he said churlishly. Sirius bit his tongue. "Maybe that is heaven for someone-- someone who clung very passionately to hopes of someday living in that idealistic vision of heaven. Or someone who loved clouds.

"Lily and James loved life," Dearborn continued. "That's why their heaven so closely resembles what they should have had on earth-- a very normal, happy family life. They're just waiting for Harry to join them, now."

Sirius took another drink. Hopefully, they'll be waiting a long while... he thought.

"If everyone's heaven and hell are different," Sirius said, "then why are we experiencing the same things?"

Dearborn snorted. "Are you sure?"

"What are you talking about?" said Sirius loudly, losing patience.

Dearborn nodded at the glass in Sirius's hand. "What's in that bottle? What are you drinking?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Rum..." he said slowly, glancing at the label on the bottle in front of him. "BacardiTM Gold. You should know, you're drinking it too--"

"Wrong," said Dearborn, so quickly that Sirius jumped. "I'm drinking Ogden's. Sure, it came from the same bottle, but... shades of white, you know. Ogden's is my favourite."

"And rum mine," Sirius said. "Picked up a taste for it while I spent some time in Jamaica two years back--"

"Yes," Dearborn said lightly. "So... where were we?"

"How is this-- what do you call this place that we are?"

"Well, I used to call it Caradoc Land, when I was the only one here. Now, I guess I would call it the grey. The true grey, actually."

"Right, then, how's thishellip; grey different from pure heaven?"

Dearborn sat back, looking thoughtful. For one triumphant minute Sirius was sure he had stumped him; but soon Dearborn answered. "As far as I can tell... well, it's hard to explain. Take this as an example."

He held up his cigarette. "As far as I'm concerned, cigarettes are a good thing. That's why I have some in my heaven."

Sirius nodded his agreement.

"However," Dearborn said, voice raised slightly, "they are also dangerous. The fact that this cigarette is giving me cancer is the part of my hell that is showing through my heaven. Like I said, it mirrors real life." He paused in his speech to show his cigarette his middle finger.

"If James were still a smoker," Dearborn continued, "I'm sure that since he's in heaven, he could light up whenever he wanted and still be in perfect health. Wouldn't get addicted, either."

"So he'll never get sick, or hurt?"

"Not unless he wanted to. But James never struck me as the masochistic type."

"Far from it," Sirius said quickly. Somehow, he was annoyed that Dearborn was trying to tell him about James, as though he knew James better than Sirius himself did. "So in hell, does smoking automatically kill? Or does it not have its good effects, but only the bad?"

"I've never stopped a Death Eater to ask," said Dearborn.

Death Eaters... A muted anger filled Sirius's chest. "Do all Death Eaters go to hell?" he asked, trying not to sound bitter.

"No more than all Christians go to heaven," said Dearborn lightly. "In fact--"

"But, then, couldn't they attack Lily and James and the others?" Sirius interrupted. "What happens if you die in the afterlife, anyway?"

"The Death Eaters that made it into heaven don't want to kill. Take your brother, for example. He's in heaven because he stuck to what he believed was right-- even if that belief was the superiority of purebloods, something that is wrong to you and I. Regulus chose the hard path of servitude to Voldemort because he believed he was doing good for the world."
Sirius stood up abruptly. "You're lying."

Dearborn stared up at him incredulously. "Of course I'm not lying. Sit your arse down, Black."

Sirius did not sit his arse down, but rather remained standing. "That little wanker made my parents hate me, became a Death Eater, and got himself killed out of stupid cowardice, and he still gets into heaven?" he fumed.

"Stupid, perhaps," said Dearborn. "But not a coward, no... It took him as much bravery to fight for Voldemort as it takes the Order of the Phoenix to fight against him. Do you think being a Death Eater is easy and fun?"

"Trixieseemed to have a bloody good time killing me--" Sirius growled.

"Bellatrix Lestrange kills and tortures for sport. Your brother died because he refused to kill and torture."

"Evil, whiny, spoiled little brat--"

"Nobody truly, honestly, thinks killing and torturing are doing good in the world," Dearborn continued, ignoring Sirius.

"Mummy and daddy's precious ickle Death Eater--"

"Just remember that the dead are judged not on what they believe, but on how they act according to their beliefs."

Sirius stopped rambling as an entirely new question surfaced in his mind. "Who does the judging?"

Dearborn shrugged. "I've never been judged, and I aim to never be."

The new silence was broken by the sound of the TV. Dearborn rose to turn it off, and left Sirius alone with his rum, his anger, and his pounding headache.