True Grey

A year passed, during which Sirius neither saw nor heard from his brother. He never abandoned the idea of using Rosier's Key as leverage in his quest to get back through the veil, though he took care not to mention it to James, Lily, or Dearborn. He knew they would insist that he shouldn't trust Rosier, that the risk was far too great and that the Death Eater simply shouldn't be allowed into heaven.

But the fact remained that he was now dwelling on Rosier's Key as much as Rosier himself must have been doing. After all, it represented freedom for both of them. And while the others would never approve of such a plan, it grew more attractive to Sirius each day. He couldn't shake the feeling that the Key was his only hope.

They had made precious little progress towards an alternative plan. Lily and James had asked everyone they knew for advice--other deceased members of the Order of the Phoenix, old friends and relatives, and even Nicolas Flamel. They had been sure that no wizard knew more about life and death than the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, but the best he could do was to share the little he knew about the veil.

"He worked in the Department of Mysteries when he was much younger," Lily reported to Sirius and Dearborn as they sat down to drinks in her tidy sitting room. She and James had invited the others over for dinner. "In the Death Room, no less."

"He never went through the veil himself, but some of his colleagues did," said James. "Brave blokes. Most only reappeared decades later, very old or very ill or both. None of them knew how they'd got back, and they all died of natural causes soon afterwards."

Sirius exhaled loudly, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not staying here for decades."

"God help us if you do," muttered Dearborn.

Sirius glared, and Lily said, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Caradoc."

"I'm content to live out the rest of my days here," Dearborn retorted. "I don't fancy spending all of them helping Reckless Black here find his way out."

Sirius slammed his glass down on the table. Dearborn narrowed his eyes, seized a pack of cigarettes and stormed out of the kitchen.

"What's with him?" Sirius snarled, with a year's worth of pent-up frustration.

"Oh, Sirius... please don't take it personally," said Lily. "Don't you see? Ever since you arrived, he's been a bit ashamed for wanting to stay here. He sees how eager you are to get back and help the Order, and he feels guilty for not wanting to do the same."

"Well, he should!"

"You can't blame him," Lily said gently. "He doesn't have a Remus to go home to, nor a Harry..."

Sirius looked out the window to see Dearborn holding a pistol out in front of him, dangling a cigarette between his lips, aiming at a row of empty bottles he had arranged on the garden fence. Even in the dark, he didn't miss a single one.

Lily implored, "Just try to put up with him. He doesn't really hate you. He's even told me he's impressed to see how good you are with the knives now. And after all, he wouldn't be helping us if he didn't want to... I think this is his way of helping the Order without having to actually leave this place."

"Lily, look," said James suddenly. His voice was strained, his eyes were closed, and he looked rather pale.

Frowning, Lily closed her eyes as well.

"What?" said Sirius at once. "What's happening?"

Lily waved her hand to shush him, concentrating on whatever vision was before her eyes.

Concerned, Sirius got up and went outside to where Dearborn was magically repairing the shattered bottles and placing them back on the fence.

"Dearborn," he said, carefully keeping his voice polite, "you may want to come back inside."

"What's up?" Dearborn replied, with equal civility. Clearly, target practice had done wonders to relieve his tension.

"I don't know. Something's wrong, though. Lily and James are watching."

"Alright. The neighbours were starting to glare at me, anyway."

Dearborn abandoned his bottles and followed Sirius back into the kitchen. James looked worried, but Lily looked almost sick with apprehension. Her eyes were still shut tight.

"Dumbledore's ill," James told them as they sat down. "Very ill. Drank some sort of Dark potion--"

"A Dark potion?" Sirius said loudly. "Why? Did Snape trick him into it? I knew he wasn't to be trusted!"

Lily opened her eyes just long enough to give him a pained look and shake her head.

"Snape had nothing to do with it," James confirmed. "It was Voldemort. He used a potion to guard one of his Horcruxes. Dumbledore and Harry went looking for it--"

"Hang on," interrupted Sirius. "Horcruxes?" The term sounded vaguely familiar.

"Shards of soul, encased in inanimate objects," James explained. "The only reason Voldemort didn't die the same night we did, is because a part of his soul lived on in the locket that Dumbledore is carrying at this very moment."

"Where are they now?" asked Sirius, too concerned about Harry to give much more thought to Horcruxes at the moment.

"They've just managed to escape a horde of angry Inferi. Now they're flying back to Hogwarts," Lily answered weakly. "But there are Death Eaters in Hogwarts..."

Sirius nervously ran a hand through his hair. His heart was racing, and all he could do was to sit and wait for news. It was worse, a million times worse, than being confined to Grimmauld Place. There, at least he had been in the same dimension as everyone else, and always knew he could leave to help Harry if he was needed...

"Harry's been immobilised, Dumbledore's been Disarmed--" said James.

"By whom?" asked Dearborn, sounding dubious.

"The Malfoy boy. He's talking to Dumbledore, saying he's going to kill him--"

Sirius laughed aloud in relief. "You had me worried there, I thought there was a real Death Eater to deal with, not just Lucius Malfoy's brat."

But no sooner had the words left his mouth than James said, "Looks like Dumbledore talked him out of it--wait--oh, bugger, the Carrows are there, and Fenrir Greyback--"

Sirius's mouth instantly went dry. "Greyback? With Harry?"

"Harry's under the Invisibility Cloak. They don't know he's there. And so far no one's touched Dumbledore, either..."

Minutes passed in silence. Sirius waited, gripping the arms of his chair as hard as he could. Dearborn had wrapped a sweaty palm around his glass as if trying to crush it.

Without warning, James and Lily gasped.

"What? What is it?" demanded Sirius, standing abruptly.

But both of his friends seemed too shaken to speak.

Slowly the shock on James's face gave way to anger. Looking up at Sirius, at last he managed to say, "Snape."

"What about him?"

"Dumbledore... he's dead."

"What?"

James swallowed. "Snape killed Dumbledore."

Beside him, Lily sat with her head in her hands. Apparently, she could no longer bear to watch--tears dropped silently from her wide open eyes. James reached over to dry them.

Meanwhile, a sort of dull horror washed slowly over Sirius. At a loss for words, he looked over at Dearborn, who seemed nothing short of flabbergasted. Sirius understood his astonishment--it was quite surreal to hear that the best wizard in the world had been murdered. And by Snivellus, no less! Sirius's blood began to boil at the very thought. The old hatred that had never really disappeared now ran unchecked through his veins, no longer suppressed by the grudging belief that they were on the same side. Dumbledore had insisted that they cooperate with each other--well, Snape had taken Dumbledore out of the picture...

"Traitorous, murdering bastard!" he growled, slamming his fist on the table. "I'll kill him someday!"

"Sirius, don't," pleaded Lily through her fingers.

"How can you possibly defend him after what he's done?" said James, looking at his wife in disbelief.

"You don't know--things aren't always what they seem..."

Dearborn shook his head. "Lily, think of the Order. Think what kind of shape they're going to be in without their founder! And think of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with his greatest enemy out of the way."

Lily sighed; but glancing at Sirius, she said, "You're right. You're absolutely right, it was a terrible thing to have done." Perhaps just to have something to do, she got up to make tea.

Satisfied, James and Sirius engaged at once in the harshest verbal abuse of Snape that had been heard in twenty-odd years. It was like old times; Sirius took a strange comfort in cursing his name. They were interrupted, however, by a sharp knock at the door. Bewildered, James rose to answer it.

"Dumbledore!"

James held the door open and Albus Dumbledore, clad in magnificent purple and silver robes, stepped inside. Sirius's jaw dropped; the Headmaster's face was barely lined, and his hair and beard were a youthful auburn. Clearly, this was a Dumbledore in the prime of his life.

"James, Lily," said Dumbledore, with a nod and a serene smile. But when he caught sight of Sirius, he looked quite as shocked as Sirius felt, and even more so when he saw Dearborn sitting beside him. A moment later, however, the smile had returned.

Looking between them, he said, "I must admit, I had not expected to see either of you here. Caradoc, because we never found evidence of your death. And Sirius, because the veil has never been well understood--"

"It's not well understood from this side of it either," Sirius said bitterly.

"I'm afraid a newcomer like myself cannot offer much insight. But no matter--what's done is done. We are but spectators now; and this is no place for regrets. We can only--" he stopped suddenly, now looking shrewdly between James and Dearborn. At last he said softly, "Caradoc. You have aged."

Everybody nodded. Dumbledore chuckled and said, "It appears that I am more of a tenderfoot than I thought. How fortunate that I find myself in the presence of four most able teachers."

With that, he dropped into a chair and folded his hands, looking around with the air of a schoolboy eager to learn. The others, seated around the table, exchanged incredulous glances, entirely flummoxed at being asked to lecture Albus Dumbledore.

At last Lily, being the first to recover from the shock, spoke.

"You see, Professor," she said, "we think that Caradoc and Sirius aren't quite dead. James and I found Caradoc here shortly after we died; but before long we noticed that he didn't perceive things in the same way we did. His experience seemed more fitting for a living person than a dead one. It made more sense when he told us he hadn't been killed, exactly, but rather thrown through the veil."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, closing his eyes. "And naturally, Sirius has found himself in the same state."

James replied, "Yes. Of course, we're not entirely sure what that state entails. But we have no reason to believe that Sirius and Dearborn are dead at all. It seems more likely that they are still alive, and merely misplaced in the afterlife."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said with enthusiasm. "Then--if that is indeed the case--I was quite wrong to claim that we are merely spectators."

"Not necessarily, Professor," Dearborn said. "I've been here eighteen years, and haven't heard so much as a whisper of how to get back through the veil. We may be spectators yet."

"I've heard a whisper," Sirius said, out of the blue. He couldn't wait any longer--and perhaps, he thought, Dumbledore would have a different view of the matter.

"I've spoken to Evan Rosier," he continued, ignoring the others' looks of exasperation. "The Death Eater. He knows how I can get out of here, and he'll tell me in exchange for a favour..."

Sirius described Rosier's request, talking more and more loudly to drown out the three voices now shouting objections. Dumbledore listened thoughtfully, unfazed by the commotion, and soon the arguing subsided in interest of hearing what the Headmaster had to say.

"I think," he said slowly, "that we do not yet have enough cause to hand over one of the Sisyphean Keys. Quite apart from the ethical implications of such an act, we must consider the consequences of disturbing the natural order of the magical afterlife. I shall be happy to research this topic so we can continue to make informed decisions.

"In the meantime, we do no harm by waiting. I have left our cause in good hands--several of them, in fact. We shall watch as the war unfolds, and we shall reserve this drastic solution for case of emergency. Otherwise, we simply wait for the opportune moment. Now, Lily, if I could have a word?"

He rose and left the room; Lily followed him. James and Dearborn were nodding in agreement with Dumbledore's decision.

Sirius slumped onto the table, head in his hands. He hated being a spectator.

"Cheer up, mate," said James. "Here, have another rum."

Sirius accepted it without a word. He knew what was in store: waiting, indefinite waiting, all the while watching his life pass him by.

Just like in Azkaban.

When everything was quiet, when he lay awake at night thinking of his empty future, he heard it--like a malevolent ghost haunting his mind, the disembodied sound of a clock. It was mocking him.

Just like in Azkaban.

Tick, tock.