The Way Back to Daylight

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to cursedinsanity for delivering another fantastic beta! And thanks to everyone who's left reviews - I'm now replying to all reviews in green.

Night and day lie open the gates of death's dark kingdom:
But to retrace your steps, to find the way back to daylight-
That is the task, the hard thing.

- Virgil, Aeneid, VI. 128-130 (Oxford World Classics Ed.)

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Chapter Ten

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The Lethe was just a river, with overhanging trees and darting insects, and water that ran, slow and clear, over smooth dark stones. A man and woman were embracing on the rocky bank, holding each other and speaking in whispers, dressed in the white-powdered wigs and gold-edged finery of seventeeth-century French courtiers. Further down, a group of children were skimming stones across a deeper, quieter part of the river, and Remus wondered if they'd been taught by Charon.

Then he noticed Sirius, who was leaning up against a pale eucalyptus tree, his face turned towards the children. Remus picked up his pack and walked over, stumbling on tree roots and moss-covered rocks. He'd just opened his mouth to speak when Sirius beat him to it.

"What did Lily tell you?"

"That you're about ready to give up."

Sirius shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. There's nothing to give up."

"There's everything."

"We lost everything years ago."

"That's not true. We still exist, and we're still sane. That's something. Besides, we've always come through together."

"We've just postponed the inevitable."

Remus was already starting to shake with anger, a reaction only Sirius could provoke. If they'd been able to touch, he would have grabbed Sirius by the collar, pinned him back against the tree and bruised him with a kiss.

"Sirius, you're not wading into that river."

Sirius scowled, turning his attention back to the children. One of their mothers had appeared: a Native American with bright beads and long black braids, who was scolding them about playing near the Lethe.

"Why is she speaking English?" Remus wondered.

"She's not. Everyone speaks the same language, here."

"How is that possible? What about concepts that don't translate?"

Sirius folded his arms, prodding a loose stone with his foot. "This is heaven. Everything translates, and almost anything is possible. Even living again -" he gestured to the Lethe. "All I need to do is walk into it. Apparently there's a purification process, which doesn't sound too charming. But after that, I'd be a newborn baby. Maybe I'd have better luck, next time around."

"You'll never find out, because you're not going in the Lethe."

"You're such a stubborn git. What are you going to do about it?"

Remus, fuming, picked up a stone and hurled it into the river. It didn't splash or even ripple, which only increased his frustration. "What would I say to Harry?" he asked, turning on Sirius. He got as close as he could, speaking right up against Sirius's face. "Have you thought about that?"

"Harry has James and Lily; and you, for that matter. He'd get over it."

"He'd never forgive you. I'd never forgive you."

"I'd never know. I wouldn't care."

Remus sat down on a large, flat rock and wondered what would happen if he walked into the river himself. He stared down at his knees, covered by his robe, and thought of how Sirius had kissed them once, one after the other, and said how they were the best knees in the world and Remus was a wanker for always saying how bony and skinny they were.

After a while, Sirius sat next to him. "I can't imagine not caring about you," he said, quietly. "I've never been in love with anyone else."

Remus still couldn't look at him. "I know."

"I was unfaithful when we were young, but not because I was bored, or sick of you, or didn't love you. When you were away on missions, I thought about you all the bloody time. I'd wake up thinking of you, and go to bed thinking of you, and make two cups of tea, and turn the shower to the temperature you liked, waiting for you to get in. I started carrying pictures of you. I kept a stack beside our bed to look at before I went to sleep."

"I know. I cleaned out our flat."

"What did you do with them?"

"Burned them, of course." Remus remembered the curls of smoke and the smell of it, and the thin burn across his index finger he'd forgotten to heal until the next day. "I kept one, and carried it everywhere with me. Now I keep it in my sock drawer. I haven't taken it out in months. I was afraid I'd forget your face, but I never did. I had the opposite problem, actually. I saw you everywhere."

Sirius reached over to give Remus's knee a comforting squeeze, but then he remembered and his hand curled up like a frightened spider. He rested it on the rock between them, and Remus stared at it: the whorls and lines of Sirius's knuckles, his unevenly-bitten fingernails, and the two chocolate-brown freckles above his wrist.

"I want to tell you what happened, in 1981," said Sirius. "Do you want to hear it?"

Remus swallowed. "All right."

"I went to clubs a lot, just for something to do. I hardly had the chance to see Prongs and the old ball-and-chain. It was just me and the rat, and we didn't have that much to talk about; we sat around listening to records and watching Quidditch, stoned out of our minds. So, I went clubbing alone and came home alone. I didn't touch anyone except to dance and snog a bit. Then, one night, I met someone who looked like you. I took him home with me, and pretended he was you, every time. He was practically living with me, in our flat. It was just enough to get me by. Fuck, I was a selfish bastard. Love is insane, isn't it? I've never worked out why you fell in love with me."

Remus smiled and shrugged. "You gave me a ride on your flying motorbike."

It wasn't that funny, but when their eyes met they burst out laughing. Sirius threw his head back, his laugh like the sharp, happy bark of a dog, while Remus doubled over, chuckling. By the time they were done, their cheeks were streaked with tears.

Sirius wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "What happened to the bike, anyway?"

"I don't know. You gave it to Hagrid, who most likely fed it to something. You could get another one now, though, couldn't you?"

"I could wish for one out of thin air, you mean. It wouldn't be the same. I want something to work on, some Muggle machine I can tinker with for months, without magic or anything else. Or ... I don't know, Moony. I want to develop a new spell or a new potion. I want to write a novel or start a band. I want to travel around the world. I want to run around naked in the rain. I can't stay here; not for you, or anyone else. That's just the way it is."

"All right, Padfoot. I understand."

Sirius stared at the river, frowning. "Look at them," he said, gesturing to the pair of French courtiers that Remus had noticed earlier, now kissing desperately as they waded into the river. Remus watched, fascinated. In another moment, they'd disappeared as swiftly as an Apparation, their gold-trimmed lace and ruffles gone forever.

"Incredible," Remus breathed.

"I've spent days, maybe weeks, walking along the Lethe and asking people why they want to wade in," said Sirius. "Most are firm believers in the sanctity of reincarnation, and think of eternal life as an abomination. But others are just seeking oblivion for whatever reason. I suppose oblivion is their heaven."

"And you? Do you want oblivion?"

"No. You know that."

"What if I can get you out of here?"

Sirius smiled then, but it was humourless. "Don't give me hope. That's the worst thing of all."

Remus didn't know what to say to that, so he ignored it. "Look," he said. "I still haven't finished telling you about my journey here, but that can wait, for the moment. All you need to know is that the wizard in the prophecy is probably Dumbledore, and I think we should both pay him a visit. Lily thinks the two valued brothers part might have something to do with you."

"Then she's clutching at straws."

"Maybe so, but it's worth a try. Otherwise, I'll have to learn to play Orpheus's lyre. And you know I can't sing to save my life, let alone yours."

Remus had been hoping to coax another laugh, or at least a smile, but Sirius just gave a solemn nod and got to his feet. "Just remember that I'm only doing this for you, and I'm not making any promises," he said, as he brushed off his robes. "I'll lead you to Dumbledore's house. All you need to do is follow me."

---

Remus had always associated Dumbledore with his Hogwarts office, a circular chamber which could only be accessed via a moving spiral staircase. It had been a true wizard's den, fit to make Muggle jaws drop: crammed with incomprehensible silver implements, snoring portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, and a shimmering phoenix named Fawkes. Dumbledore's home in the Underworld, on the other hand, was a simple brick cottage that resembled the one Remus had rented throughout the summer. It was surrounded by a neat garden of lawn, primroses, petunias, rhododendrons and, to make things a little more interesting, bamboo. There were no signs of magical activity: even the smoke pouring from the chimney was grey and ordinary.

Sirius knocked on the door, four hard raps, and Dumbledore's voice called, "There's no need to knock, Sirius. Please come in and sit down."

The cottage was as plain inside as out, with plush fifties-style furniture and thick beige carpet, and it smelt faintly of lemon drops. Dumbledore was sitting in an armchair by the fire, darning a purple-and-green striped pair of socks. He was dressed in a plain black robe, and looked perhaps fifty years younger, with auburn hair and smooth, heat-flushed cheeks. Remus was oddly disappointed by the scene, until he remembered Moody's words: But peace was just what Albus wanted: an ordinary life, a quiet place by the fire, and maybe a pair of socks to darn. Now that he was dead, Dumbledore could have everything he'd ever wanted; everything, that is, except an ordinary life.

Dumbledore twinkled up at them, setting his socks on the arm of the chair. "Hello, Sirius. And Remus, it is simply marvellous to see you again. I didn't expect to see you alive, but you have my most hearty congratulations."

"How could you tell that I'm alive?"

"There is a scent about you - a vitality that is sorely lacking from the rest of our surroundings." Dumbledore pointed to the couch across from him. "Why don't the two of you sit down, put your feet up, and tell me how you came to be here?"

As Remus sat down, his eyes caught on a series of prints that hung on the wall above Dumbledore's armchair. "Are those by Monet? I thought I'd seen all of his works."

"Monsieur Monet is a Squib, and an old acquaintance of mine," Dumbledore replied. Then, with a wink, he added, "I am afraid his preoccupation with waterlilies may be an eternal affliction, but I must humour him."

Remus gazed at the paintings, wondering why the thought had never occurred to him before. Of course, all the great artists would be continuing their work - and who knew what heights of beauty they could achieve with an eternity?

When Remus shot Sirius an excited glance, however, he was met with a frown of discouragement. "Don't get all excited, Moony. There's nothing to inspire the artists anymore. They keep going through the stuff they liked best: the songs and paintings and stories that made them happiest. There's no progression here. No one to impress, nothing at stake, and no screaming fans. It's all finished with. They're all bloody has-beens."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "Though I think you are putting a rather negative spin on matters, Sirius. Artists who were driven throughout their lives can finally take a rest, and focus on what they loved the most. Art is left to the living, as all struggles must be."

Sirius scowled and picked at the sofa. "I can't stand this place. When I first arrived, I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if I could just meet Lennon and Hendrix and the rest of them. Without those Muggle musicians to keep me sane, I would have torched Grimmauld Place when I was fourteen and gone on the run. But they were all such a disappointment; so content and settled and finished."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I assume Sirius has already explained his predicament?" he asked Remus.

"Yes, he has."

"And have you come to ask my advice on how to be his knight in shining armour?"

Remus blushed, and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with humour.

"Actually, this all started out with a prophecy," Remus began, and then told the story of his journey from beginning to end, mentioning even the tiniest details in case they could somehow have relevance. He remembered to include Moody's message about Minerva, which drew a mysterious, misty-eyed smile to Dumbledore's face. "And so, here we are," Remus concluded. "It all boils down to the identities of the two valued brothers."

Dumbledore stroked his beard and stared into the fire. "Two valued brothers have been lost," he mused. "One roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands."

"I'm impressed, Moony," said Sirius, grinning. "You evaded everything from the trappings of your own subconscious mind to a deadly peanut-butter sandwich."

"It wasn't funny at the time," Remus muttered.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, gentlemen, I will need to give this a great deal of consideration. I have the inkling of an idea; but as always, nothing is certain. In the meantime, feel free to wander wherever you like."

Remus glanced at Sirius. "I think we'll just stay here, if that's all right," he said, and both Sirius and Dumbledore nodded. "I need to get more rest, to build up my strength a little. And I suppose ... well, I'm starting to think it wouldn't be healthy, to explore heaven as a living man."

"I quite agree," said Dumbledore. "As it happens, I have a king-sized bed in my guest room, which Ghandi found quite comfortable, if a trifle extravagant."

---

Later, Remus woke to the sound of rain drumming the window, and Sirius's footsteps pacing back and forth beside the bed.

"Don't you sleep anymore, Padfoot? If your brain's still alive, surely it needs rest."

"I sleep," Sirius said, tersely. "But I can't sleep right now, all right? I don't know how you can, either."

"It's not voluntary, I assure you," Remus yawned, and fell asleep again.

---

"Do you think Dumbledore was serious about Ghandi?" were the next words Remus spoke, when he was roused by Sirius flicking through one of Dumbledore's heavy, leather-bound books on the bed beside him.

"Who's this Ghandi person?" Sirius responded. "I don't think I ever heard of the bloke."

"Didn't you ever pay attention in Muggle Stud -" Remus was cut off by Dumbledore's knock at the door.

"Come in," Sirius called, leaping to his feet and letting the book fall to the floor with a loud crack.

Remus stood up too, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and sat on the end of the bed beside Sirius. Dumbledore stood in front of them, beaming. Remus allowed himself to hope for good news.

"Remus, who are Sirius's brothers?" Dumbledore asked.

"Regulus and James ... and perhaps ... perhaps Peter? I could be too, I suppose, although it would be an awfully incestuous relationship."

"I'm afraid I must respectfully disagree. As human beings, we are all brothers and sisters. We are all of the same kin. That is a truth which, for most of history, has been sadly denied or forgotten."

Sirius shook his head. "But Headmaster - I mean, Dumbledore - I don't see how that's relevant to me, or to any other dead man, for that matter. If we're all brothers, then the prophecy could be speaking about any man on earth."

"You're forgetting that you have a quality most other men lack. You are not only a man: you are also a magical dog. And so, in a way, all magical dogs - and perhaps all dogs - are your brothers. You are of the same kin."

"Oh," Remus gasped, understanding, although he still didn't see how it all fit together.

Sirius was shaking with excitement. "It works," he said. "I mean, if you're going to say what I think you're going to say."

"There is a slim possibility that I am mistaken, but I am fairly certain the prophecy is referring to a creature I purchased, with Hagrid's aid, to guard the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts in the early 1990s. Hagrid named the creature Fluffy; but of course, I knew its true name was Cerberus. After all, as far as I'm aware, there is only one gigantic, three-headed dog in existence."

"But what about the darkest region under daylight?" Remus asked.

"Why, the Forbidden Forest, of course. That's where I asked Hagrid to release Cerberus, after I'd disposed of the Stone. I must admit, at the time I had an inkling that Cerberus might prove useful."

---

Note: I should have said this earlier, but better late than never. Many of my ideas about Dumbledore were inspired by an essay I read at the HP Lexicon: Diersling, Sandra L. 'Thoughts on Socks' (2003) at http://www.hp-lexicon.org/essays/essay-socks-sandra.html

Also, my information about Fluffy/Cerberus comes from Wikipedia, which cites a J.K. Rowling interview: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubeus_Hagrid#Fluffy