True Grey

Dearborn shook Sirius awake early the next morning.

"Target practice," he said gruffly. "Let's go."

Sirius didn't open his eyes, but managed to frown. "We're stuck here for all of the foreseeable future, and you can't find time for a lie-in?" he grumbled.

"There's no telling how long it will take for you to learn to defend yourself," Dearborn said delicately as he retreated into the kitchen.

The hint of condescension in Dearborn's voice was enough to spur Sirius to action. He threw back the sheets with unnecessary force and got to his feet. He pulled on his robes and joined his host for a breakfast of toast and coffee.

"Not a morning person, are you?" said Dearborn nimbly.

Sirius ignored him and sipped his coffee. His headache from the night before had only worsened, and he was less than keen on spending an entire day with Dearborn, biting his tongue as he listened to his veiled insults.

Half an hour later they were outside, facing the newly risen sun and holding revolvers.

"Now, firearms are far easier to operate than wands--no movements or incantations to remember. But what you must consider is that when Muggles duel with these, they mean to kill or maim. With guns, every curse is an Unforgiveable."

"How do you mean?"

"Crucio," said Dearborn, and pointed his gun at Sirius's kneecaps. Then he raised it to the side of Sirius's head. "Do as I say or I'll blow your fucking brains out. Imperio!"

Sirius instinctively gripped his own weapon. He knew what was coming next...

"Avada Kedavra," Dearborn whispered, taking aim between Sirius's eyes. He mimicked the pull of the trigger, the recoil of the gun, and laughed. "Pow! Got it?"

By way of a response, Sirius raised his gun, focusing hard on the target Dearborn had conjured some thirty feet away. He fired; his bullet sailed wide and lodged itself in the trunk of a tree.

"Could have been worse," Dearborn said indifferently. He proceeded to shoot three bulls-eyes in a row.

'Show-off,' Sirius thought darkly. He grudgingly allowed him to explain the proper way to aim and hold the gun steady. He set his mind on mastering the ridiculous Muggle weapon, more to silence Dearborn than anything else.

Just as he was growing accustomed to the feel of the smooth metal in his hands, however, it was replaced by the cool grip of a knife handle. He practised wielding blades of various sizes, from tiny switchknives to full-length swords. Then, Dearborn insisted on a crash course in techniques for fistfighting. Finally, hours later, Dearborn pronounced himself satisfied with the day's work.

"Muggles are mad," said Sirius, shaking his head as they walked slowly back towards the house. His ears were ringing from repeated gunshots, and every muscle was aching from the rigours of hand-to-hand combat. "It's a wonder they bother duelling at all, considering the effort involved. And no way to heal themselves on the spot!"

"Hence the need for wizarding secrecy," said Dearborn. "But you'd best get used to fighting like a Muggle, because your enemies here are no longer wizards."

"But they're still Death Eaters!" Sirius protested.

"They have no magic. If you use magic against them, you may as well be a Death Eater yourself."

"Fighting them with magic would bring about more good than it would cause harm," said Sirius stubbornly.

Dearborn said lightly, "That's your philosophy. But if you ever return through the veil, you could be held accountable for your actions, and the Ministry will not agree with you. I suppose it comes down to how much you miss Azkaban--"

Sirius whirled round and glared at him. The look on his face was so ugly that even Dearborn seemed cowed.

"Don't talk to me about that place," he snapped, "unless it's to point out that I escaped from there, and so surely I will find a way to escape from here."

Dearborn recovered quickly and said, "I only meant to point out what a shame it would be if you were cleared of Peter's murder, only to be charged with an entirely new crime--"

"Look," said Sirius, his voice shaking with anger. "I witnessed Rosier put three bullets through Wilkes's chest. Not five minutes later, Wilkes was up and about as if nothing had happened. What's the point of guns and knives if the bastards can't even die?"

"Of course they can't die, they're already dead," Dearborn said impatiently.

"Then what's the bloody point?" Sirius yelled.

"The point is that you are not dead, and therefore it is entirely possible that you can die."

"And what would happen then?" asked Sirius, who hadn't seriously considered this.

Dearborn looked at him. "We--we're not sure," he admitted. "Nobody is. Which is why I have taken such great care not to get myself killed, and I strongly advise that you do the same."

"Don't you see how magic could solve this?" Sirius said, frustrated. "If they can't be killed, maybe they could at least be Stunned, or something--something that would at least allow me to escape if I needed to..." His voice trailed off.

Dearborn thought for a moment. Finally, he said, "I have never found myself in a situation here that required magic. You should be able to take care of yourself without using your wand--if you're clever and strong enough, that is," he added, looking sideways at Sirius. He turned and walked into the house.

"That's because you're too scared to try to find a way back! Too lazy! Too apathetic!" Sirius shouted at Dearborn's back, but he received no reply.

He stood in the garden, fuming, for several minutes. How could Dearborn be content to stay in this place? Although he was satisfied that Harry was in no immediate danger, Sirius knew that the war was now well under way. Sooner or later, Harry would need him. And it pained him to think of Remus alone once again, as he had been while Sirius was in Azkaban...

"I've got to get out of here," he muttered to himself.

"What, sick of us already?" said a friendly voice behind him.

Startled, Sirius whipped around and saw Lily and James, hand in hand, making their way up the garden path. He let out a sigh of relief and let go of the knife sheathed in his belt.

"You gave me quite a fright," he told them as he unlocked the gate for them.

"We thought we'd pop by and say hello," Lily said. "Had a good day?"

"I suppose it could've been worse," he grumbled. "I suppose Dearborn could've shot me in the arse for fun."

James laughed. "Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't."

"Don't laugh, I've been half expecting it all day," Sirius said wearily, but he grinned all the same. He felt his spirits rising in the company of his long-absent best friend. "Listen, do I really have to stay here? Are you sure I couldn't crash at your place?"

The smile faded from James's face. "Look, mate, I'd like nothing better than to have you around. But it's just not safe."

"Our neighbours don't take too kindly to the living who stray into heaven," Lily said quietly. "Some just don't want to be bothered with anything earthly anymore. Others feel you're trying to cheat--to get your reward without having to die."

"But that's not it at all!" said Sirius incredulously. "I didn't ask for this, I don't even want to be here! I mean--don't get me wrong, it's been really excellent to see you--"

"We know," James said quickly. "We understand--it's just not your time."

Sirius exhaled vehemently and said, "Exactly." He sat down on a nearby boulder, shoulders sagging, head in his hands.

"Please don't worry, Sirius," Lily said, as she and her husband sat down on a bench opposite. "We're going to do everything we can to help you. And so will Caradoc--I know you don't like him much, but he's really all right."

"Rosier knows," Sirius muttered through his fingers. He looked up at his friends. "Did I tell you that? Rosier reckons he can help me get back through the veil."

When James and Lily looked sceptical, he continued, "It's not that unlikely. We know Voldemort's obsessed with conquering death, right? If anyone knows a way to get out of this place, it's him. And it would make sense for him to tell his followers about it--a live Death Eater is more useful than a dead one, after all."

"But if Rosier knows how to get out of hell, why is he still there?" said James, frowning.

"Maybe it's a spell," Lily suggested, "and he can't do it because he's a Squib now."

Sirius said, "Well, he mentioned some sort of key--asked me to get it for him. Is there a locked door somewhere that leads back through the veil?"

James and Lily exchanged an apprehensive look.

"What?" asked Sirius.

"That key won't bring him back to life," James said slowly.

"You know it?"

"The Sisyphean Keys," Lily said. "You see, everyone in hell is there because they wronged somebody intentionally. It's a fitting punishment that only their victims possess--and have the power to turn--the Keys that will let them into heaven."

"Most everyone there is absolutely obsessed with their Key," James added. "It's their only hope, and it's all they think about. They spend all their time planning and plotting to get it turned..."

"Do many of them get turned?" Sirius asked.

Lily shook her head. "It's not easy to forgive terrible things," she said softly. "And the thing is, no one in heaven has to think about anything unless they want to. It's far easier to simply forget, rather than to feel guilty about keeping someone in hell, or to worry about such a difficult decision."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "So if I want to get back through the veil, I've got to let Rosier into heaven?"

"Please don't," Lily implored. "Remember, he's there for a reason..."

"There must be another way," James agreed. "Let's not count on Death Eaters for help."

Sirius said nothing. Next moment, the door opened and Dearborn emerged from his house, his wet hair indicating that he had just got out of the shower.

"Hello James, Lily," he said, nodding at each in turn. "I thought I heard voices out here."

"We were just discussing the Sisyphean Keys," said James, and Dearborn raised his eyebrows in interest. "Sirius says Rosier promised to show him back through the veil in exchange for his Key."

"Don't," Dearborn said immediately. He conjured a chair and took a seat. "Unless, of course, you wish to prove your idiocy beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Fine," Sirius snapped.

A tense silence followed, in which Lily glared reproachfully at Dearborn. Sirius cast his mind around for something to say. Finally he turned to James and asked, "So... have you got any of these Keys lying around your place?"

"Oh--no. Not yet, anyway."

"We expect we might get Peter's, when the time comes," Lily said. "If he does end up there, that is..."

"He will," said Sirius, with such conviction that James and Lily both winced. "You don't think you'll get Voldemort's?"

"I reckon a lot of Keys will need to be turned before Voldemort ever sets foot in heaven," James said darkly. "It won't happen."

"Well, before we worry about keeping him in hell where he belongs, we ought to focus on killing him first," Sirius said. "That's difficult enough as it is."

"Who wants a drink?" asked Dearborn, standing abruptly. Everyone stared at him, but he did not wait for a response before retreating back into the house.

The rest of the evening was enjoyable. Lily and James stayed for dinner and drinks afterward. Sirius often found himself thinking, 'If only Remus were here instead of Dearborn, this would be perfect'--and once or twice he said it aloud to James, without bothering to check whether Dearborn was within earshot.

But when his friends had left and he lay in bed, his mind drifted back to Rosier's promise and the Sisyphean Keys. It was easy for the others to tell him not to act, to wait for a safer plan; but he would not stand to hear it. Not after a miserable year shut up in that desolate house, a miserable year of being told to be careful, to behave. Now, he had a problem and a plan to solve it, and he was not about to let a bit of danger stand in his way.

He had made up his mind. Silently he got out of bed and got dressed. He slipped a pistol into his left pocket and his wand into his right. The sounds of his footsteps and the door creaking open were safely drowned out by Dearborn's snores drifting from down the hall.

Pulling his robes tighter around him against the windy night, he set off for Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place--his brother's heavenly abode.