True Grey

When Sirius came to, all he could see was white.

Or, rather, off-white.

A dirty, foul smelling off-white that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be the bottom of the same filthy bath in which he had awoken after he first emerged from the veil. That had been a very long time ago, and evidently the Death Eaters had allowed the resident community of moulds to flourish ever since.

As quietly as he could, Sirius pushed himself up from the grimy porcelain to stand in front of the mirror. Still groggy from being Stunned, he swayed slightly as he observed his reflection. On the whole, he looked much healthier than he had been the last time he had woken in this bathroom; but this was small comfort, as he realised suddenly that he had been almost entirely disarmed. The only weapon left on his person was a small knife that he had concealed in his shoe.

Sirius stood for quite a while, turning the knife over absentmindedly in his hands, deep in thought about his predicament. He was certain of one thing: he needed to return to James and Lily, Dearborn and Dumbledore. He needed to regroup, to think of a new plan. He was sure that Rosier was long gone by now, enjoying the relative comfort of his new state of living death; if Rosier was lucky, they would never cross paths again. He could hear low voices coming from down the hall; Wyman and Wilkes were probably debating what to do with him.

He weighed his options. He could try to overpower the Death Eaters and escape back into heaven; but although he was well trained, he didn't like his chances against two much more heavily armed, immortal Death Eaters. Could he talk them into letting him go? Would they be hostile, or sympathetic? After all, Rosier had abandoned them, as well.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius pocketed the knife and opened the bathroom door. The voices stopped. He walked down the narrow hallway, feeling much calmer than he had expected; perhaps he realised that his situation could hardly get much worse.

He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and his eyes swept the scene--Wyman sitting at the small table, across from Wilkes, whose leg was heavily bandaged; his guns and larger knives, laid out neatly on the counter; his sword, propped up against a battered bookshelf.

As he nodded at Wilkes and Wyman in turn, Rosier's parting words rang through his mind. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater--even in death. But what choice did he have?

"Morning," said Sirius.

"Morning," replied Wyman. "Coffee?"

"No thanks," Sirius answered. He would, in fact, have loved a cup; but he didn't think he could stomach the brew from hell.

Wilkes pulled out a chair, and gestured to Sirius to take a seat. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Not bad, considering," said Sirius. "I suppose you're the ones who found me?"

Wyman nodded. "Well, Byron was still laid up, but I went out looking for you and Rosier. Knew there was something suspicious going on, when you didn't come back. I found you a couple streets over--out cold, you know. Dragged you back here, waited for the spell to wear out. Couldn't lift it myself--haven't got a wand, you see."

"Rosier has, though," Sirius told him. "He's got mine, too."

"Sorry to hear it. At least you've still got magic in you; God, I miss that feeling. So, Rosier scarpered, did he?"

Sirius nodded.

"I hate to say it, but I'm not surprised," Wilkes said. "Like I told you, he thinks too highly of himself. No one else matters to him, no one at all. So he lied to get what he wanted from you, and then didn't think twice about reneging. The real question is, why didn't he kill you?"

"Maybe it just didn't occur to him," said Sirius with a shrug. In fact, he was sure that Rosier had suspected he was hiding something--the true nature of the Sisyphean Keys, which would explain why he hadn't become an entirely heavenly being. But Sirius had already decided not to share this secret with the others.

"Maybe." Wyman leaned forward and continued in a half-whisper, "Or maybe, there's something else he wants from you."

"Like what?" asked Wilkes. "His Key has been turned, apparently. What more could he want?"

Wyman gave him a significant look. "Maybe Rosier didn't want to ditch us entirely. You know, by killing the one who could help us..."

Wilkes snorted and said, "Since when has Evan Rosier ever given a damn about either of us? I suppose you think he was feeling sorry about shooting me for the thousandth time?"

"Good point. But still..." Wyman looked shrewdly at Sirius. "The fact is, you are alive, and you can help us."

Sirius held up his hands and said, "No, no, no. Look, Regulus was my brother--asking him for a favour was one thing; asking the Prewetts, or Ben Fenwick, is quite another."

"What a shame." The pleasant smile that lingered on Wyman's face did not match the coldness of his voice. "I was so sure that you'd be willing to help us, like you helped dear Rosier."

"I thought the same," said Wilkes; he, too, was now gazing cannily at Sirius. "Perhaps you'd like to reconsider."

"No, not really--"

"Perhaps you'd like to reconsider," repeated Wilkes, and he calmly drew a handgun from beneath his robes and aimed it at Sirius's head.

Sirius closed a sweaty hand over the knife in his pocket, but he knew it could hardly help him now. "Look, it took me more than a year to get Regulus to turn that Key, can you imagine how long it would take me to get the others to turn yours?"

"Oh, we don't mind waiting," said Wyman. "We've got all the time in the world."

"Well, I haven't."

"That's not our problem, is it? This is the deal: if you get our Keys, we won't kill you. You can take it or leave it."

Sirius looked from one Death Eater to the other, and a wonderful realisation hit him--he could escape into heaven under the pretence of searching for two more Sisyphean Keys. He could return to James and the others for help, devise a new plan that had nothing to do with Death Eaters, and Wilkes and Wyman would be none the wiser.

He stood up and said, "I'll take it."

The Death Eaters grinned at each other.

"But first I want my weapons back."

"Of course," said Wyman, and he started handing them down from the counter--revolver, pistol, long dagger, short dagger...

"My sword," Sirius said.

Wilkes reached behind him and lifted the sword by its hilt. "I trust you, Black," he said, handing it over to its owner. "If you were a Slytherin I'd be more worried, but I know you Gryffindors were always the decent ones."

"Bloody do-gooders, you mean," added Wyman. "But still... we're letting you walk free, so you owe us a favour. I know we'll see you again."

He patted Sirius on the back as he showed him to the door. Wilkes limped over to see him off, as well. He was barely over the threshold before Wyman called him back.

"Let's shake on it," he said. "So I can be a bit easier in my mind, you know? God, I miss the days when I could count on binding magical contracts. Nothing like an Unbreakable Vow to keep a bloke honest..."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, trying to remember whether Rosier had shaken his hand when he agreed to help him. Even if he hadn't, what did it matter? What was a handshake worth in such a situation, anyway?

He reached out and grasped Wyman's hand. Maybe lying was wrong, but he was doing it to save his own life--and many others, if he managed to get back through the veil.

"Godspeed!" called Wilkes, as Sirius turned and strode down the dingy lane.

He broke into a run as soon as the house was out of sight. Elated and eager to see his friends once again, he sped up when he reached the long, dark alley that marked the boundary between hell and heaven. He rounded the corner and took in the welcome sight of neat, spacious homes, well-groomed lawns, trees and clean streets....

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, panting a bit. A creepy, foreboding sensation slowly stole over him; the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. Something was very wrong here. He looked wildly around, expecting to see Rosier waiting for him, perhaps right behind him, with a loaded gun.

But the sight that greeted his eyes was worse, far worse, than he could have imagined. All around him, front doors and garden gates were swinging open; the houses' residents were swarming into the road, clamouring angrily as they stormed in his direction...

"SIRIUS!"

He turned at the sound of his name to see James fighting his way through the crowd, trying to get to him. Right beside him was Lily, apparently trying to usher Dearborn to safety.

"Turn back, Sirius!" Lily shouted, as she shoved away a fierce-looking man who was advancing on Dearborn. "You're not safe here anymore, they've had it with the living ever since Rosier came!"

"No--no, I've got nowhere to go!" Sirius yelled after her. "Send Dearborn over here to help me, at least--"

"Padfoot, over here! Come on, make a run for it--"

"No, James!" screamed Lily. "Are you an idiot, do you want him to die? He'll never--"

James cut across his wife, "Just do it, Padfoot!"

Sirius made up his mind at once. He drew his sword and plunged into the advancing horde. He slashed his way through the crowd, knowing that he couldn't harm them, but that he might be able to keep them at bay long enough to reach the safety of James and his house. A confusion of noise burst in his ears--James's cheers, Lily's shouted admonishments, the steady roar of hundreds trying and failing to do him in...

"Look out!" yelled James.

A flash of red, and a grunt of frustration behind him; Lily, who was closest to Sirius, had dived to stop a small woman swinging a garden spade at his head.

"Lily, thanks!" Sirius said, wielding his sword and pressing on.

"Get back!" hissed Lily, shielding him from another blow. "I can't believe you listened to James... Back where you came from, quickly now--"

But Sirius had stopped listening; he had even stopped moving. A few yards ahead of him stood Dearborn, left alone when Lily had come to Sirius's rescue. He was revolving on the spot, brandishing a knife in each hand to stave off his attackers. For a while, he stood undisturbed; but at last a stoic young man forged ahead, and Dearborn struck out in desperation.

Sirius watched in horror as the man did not flinch, but plucked the dagger from his bloodless arm and plunged it into Dearborn's heart as easily as he might have swatted and squashed a bothersome fly.

The mob stepped over and around Dearborn as he sank to the ground, blood darkening his shirt and robes. Sirius roared with fury and struggled towards him, but Lily was dragging him backwards; the entire multitude was now focused on him alone. James had jumped forward to hold the crowd back, giving him time and space to escape.

"Run, Padfoot!"

Finally forced to admit defeat, he backed out of the throng and fled. He did not pause to say goodbye to Lily and James, or even to look at them. The crowd's angry jeers followed him as he ran, summoning all the strength and speed he possessed, towards the stench and shelter of hell.