True Grey

Months passed with no word from Dumbledore. Sirius's impatience, which had been so acute the night of the Headmaster's death, ripened into constant and consuming frustration. The thought of Snape running free while he, Sirius, was more hopelessly trapped than he had been in either Azkaban or Grimmauld Place put him in such a foul mood that even Dearborn went out of his way to cheer him up.

"Look at it this way," said Dearborn one evening, as he and Sirius sat down on a fallen tree to rest after an hour's swordplay practice. "If we haven't heard from Dumbledore, it means he must still be confident in the Order's chances. Things must be going well."

Sirius sheathed his sword with the ferocity of a rabid dog. "It's the difference between being remembered as a hero, and being remembered as just one of many casualties along the way."

"Rubbish. You're already in the history books--"

"For getting framed for James and Lily's murder, and escaping only to die two years later. What have I accomplished? Nothing!"

Dearborn leaned forward. "Look. From what I've heard from Lily and James, you meant the world to Harry. Or rather, you do mean the world to him--he just doesn't know you're still alive. You will always be remembered for what you meant to Harry..."

"Only if he survives to tell his story."

"Then all the more reason to be ready to fight. If you are called to act, you must be prepared to do so. It won't matter if you're given the chance to finish your story, if you've nothing left to write." Dearborn jumped to his feet and drew his sword. "Come on, you've been a bit slow to parry today. Pretend I am He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Grudgingly, Sirius got to his feet as well. He had to admit--mastering the sword, knife and gun was a useful distraction from his troubles.

He found solace in James and Lily, as well. Sympathetic to his plight, and as eager as he was to see Harry succeed, they could always be counted on for a word of consolation. The happiness of their company was enough to mask--if only temporarily--the anxiety that gnawed restlessly at his gut. At times, when he was joking and reminiscing with his old friends, he even forgot that anything was wrong at all.

It was during one such moment that Sirius was forcefully reminded that something was very wrong indeed.

He had been lounging on a grassy hill outside Dearborn's house with James and Lily beside him, watching the sun set and the night arrive. The October air was cold, but refreshingly so. The foliage around them waved in the crisp breeze; as the evening progressed its wealth of colours faded into a thousand shades of grey.

Sirius sighed as he reclined in the cold grass, looking up at the brilliant lights that dappled the sky.

"Isn't it wonderful," he said, "to think that one day Remus will be here with us? And he'll be able to look up at the full moon without any fear. He'll be able to appreciate its beauty, enjoy it just like everyone else..."

Sirius felt, rather than saw, James's eyes upon him in the dark.

"It is," James said quietly.

"Of course, we'd still have Harry to worry about," Sirius mused.

"And our grandchildren after that," agreed Lily. "You know, I've often wondered how long we will concern ourselves with everything happening on earth. Surely not for ever; at some point we must leave all life behind and simply rest."

"I suppose we concern ourselves with the people we care about, who are still alive," James said to her. "And once they're with us, we can stop watching the world."

"I suppose. After all, the rest of its people won't miss us..."

Sirius tried not to listen. He felt as though he was intruding on something he might never be a part of. In his mind's eye he saw everyone he knew and loved, looking forward to an eternity of youth and happiness in heaven, while he, Sirius, tried to join in, tried to keep up with the others as he grew old, tried to smile with them and not worry about his uncertain present and unthinkable future...

The trees were now so black that they were indistinguishable from the night sky. They might not have been there at all, if not for the faint sound of their leaves still rustling in the autumn wind.

"Sirius Black!" shouted a voice in the darkness.

"Lumos," said Sirius, in chorus with Lily and James.

Albus Dumbledore was striding up the hill, his arms overflowing with ancient-looking books and scrolls. Dearborn was following close behind.

As they approached, Sirius began to fire questions at Dumbledore at a rapid pace. "What's going on? Is Harry in trouble? Did you figure out how I can get out of here?"

Dumbledore waved a hand impatiently; a few scrolls fell from his arms and hovered above the ground.

"No, Harry is in not in immediate danger, which is fortunate because no, I have not found a way for you to get back through the veil." When Sirius's face fell, Dumbledore waved his hand again and continued, "I have, however, obtained some long lost information that might... open some doors for us, so to speak."

"Is it to do with the Sisyphean Keys?" asked Lily.

"As a matter of fact, it does," said Dumbledore. "It seems that their consequences are not as dire as I had suspected. From our point of view, that is--for Evan Rosier and his peers, the Keys' effects are rather worse than they believe."

"Well, that's excellent news, isn't it?" said Sirius.

"Yes and no," Dumbledore replied. He settled himself on the grass beside the others and his wand hung in the air above them, bathing them all in gentle light. "You see, the effects of the Sisyphean Keys are generally only temporary. Now, as you know, the common belief is that by turning a Sisyphean Key, one can grant an afterlife in heaven to somebody already imprisoned in hell. The purpose of such an act of forgiveness, however, is not to erase a misdeed from memory and consideration; it is to grant a second chance."

"So in other words, forgive but not forget?" James said.

"More or less. And all the better--forgetting is a most unwise thing to do."

"But how can they have a second chance, if they're already dead?" asked Sirius.

"Ah. Therein lies the dilemma." Dumbledore selected a crumbling book and opened it to a page containing a long series of odd, intricate symbols. Sirius and James glanced at each other and shrugged, but Dearborn and Lily both raised their eyebrows in interest. "The ancients' consensus was that a neatly ordered afterlife does indeed exist. This view was widely accepted for centuries, until something--perhaps their researches using the veil--suggested that these ethereal boundaries were not so clear cut. These Harappan runes indicate an infinite number of separate planes of existence, arranged along a spectrum or gradient."

"And they say here that no soul is fixed in one plane," said Lily, pointing to a line of runes at the bottom of the page. "It's possible to move between them."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "An idea that was also considered by Rowena Ravenclaw in her treatise on the nature of magical souls, written in 1033 but destroyed during Grindelwald's second raid on Hogwarts early this century. I was ever so delighted to find a copy intact here." He smiled fondly at one of the scrolls still floating just above the grass.

"So, what does all this mean for us?" Sirius asked.

"It means only what we can conjecture from all that we have read. No one has yet solved this mystery, and I doubt that we will be able to, either. Nevertheless, we can, at the very least, make some interesting predictions.

"The Sisyphean Keys do indeed allow migration between the various planes of the hereafter. Their powers are, however, limited. Imagine the magical afterlife not as a vague, undefined expanse, but as a line that stretches out in two directions from a single midpoint. In this way, although it is infinite, it has two halves that are strictly separated from each other. I surmise that this midpoint is a state of uncertainty, of perfect neutrality."

"You mean, that's where Sirius and I are?" asked Dearborn.

"Yes, it seems so. It is my belief that the veil truly is a gateway to the world of the dead. The reason it causes so much confusion for those who study it is that it leads to the very centre of this world, and this middle plane is the one from which there can be no movement in either direction. Only a natural death can place a soul into a dimension that is conclusively in one half or the other. It follows, then, that the Sisyphean Keys might lead a soul to this middle place, but no further."

"So Rosier wouldn't get into heaven after all!" Sirius said.

"Very good. I expect that he would find himself in precisely the same condition that you are in right now," said Dumbledore.

"But, Professor," James said, frowning, "we have it from Nicolas Flamel that everyone who has gone through the veil eventually got back through. If Rosier is put on the same plane as them, doesn't that mean he will come back to life?"

"I see no reason to think otherwise, even though we have no idea how they went back through the veil," Dumbledore replied. "But do not forget that all of these people died naturally soon after they returned to the world of the living."

"Good point," said James. "I suppose that doesn't leave much time to do more damage on earth. Of course, it doesn't leave much time for a second chance to get into heaven, either..."

"Sisyphean, indeed," muttered Dearborn.

Sirius watched Dumbledore shuffling through his many rolls of parchment. The others were silent, presumably letting all this new information sink in. He, however, was not yet satisfied; after a few minutes he said, "Professor, even if all this is true, I'm no closer to finding my way out of here. If anything, it seems even more impossible."

Dumbledore looked up.

"You are quite right," he said, and for the first time he sounded troubled. "Unless you are more able than I am to put together the pieces of this puzzle, their only real value is that they clear us to use the Sisyphean Keys as leverage. It seems that the dangers of doing so are not more significant than the good that might come of it; therefore, we can only hope that Lord Voldemort knows more about the matter than I do."

"And that Rosier will keep his word," said James.

"And that he doesn't get too violent," added Dearborn.

"And this is all assuming I manage to get the Key from my brother, in the first place," Sirius pointed out. "He didn't seem too keen, when I asked him."

"Regulus has Rosier's Key?" asked James, surprised. "And you've spoken with him here?"

"Yeah, last summer."

Dumbledore turned to face Sirius.

"It is a tall order," he said, "but you must do your best. The sooner you return to help Harry, the better; he too has a long and difficult journey ahead of him. Just... be careful, and remember that you are dealing with the enemy."

Sirius hesitated before asking the question that had been looming in the back of his mind for more than a year, a question that chilled him to the core whenever he thought of it.

"If Rosier were to--if I were to die, I mean..." He swallowed. "Do you know what would happen to me?"

Dumbledore looked more serious than ever.

"I do not know," said the Headmaster quietly. "None of the texts I have studied broach the topic. It is possible that an entirely new dimension awaits those whom death snatches from this one. It could be better, or it could be worse than here. It could be peaceful or perilous, familiar or very strange. I simply do not know."

Sirius felt rather ill; everyone was watching him, looking worried.

"I never was afraid to die," he mumbled, "but this is a hippogriff of a different colour, isn't it?"

Dumbledore chuckled and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "As I told your godson, death is just another adventure. Sirius, you are an outstanding wizard--and rumour has it you've become quite handy with Muggle weapons as well. You have proven your cleverness and courage time and time again. I have every confidence in you."

He stood to go. Sirius stood as well, his heart pounding as the weight of his task settled upon him. Dumbledore snatched his wand from the air and waved it; his books and scrolls vanished with a puff of green smoke.

"Good luck," he said, shaking Sirius's hand; the next moment, he was gone.

An uneasy silence followed Dumbledore's departure. Sirius couldn't seem to look any of his friends in the eye. At last he said, "Well... I suppose I'd better get ready."

Without a backwards glance, he set off down the hill alone.