Straight on Till Morning

It's a crisp January evening, and peace and quiet has descended upon the Ministry of Magic. The fireplaces are deserted, although the fires still burn. Their flames reflect off the spotless floor of the atrium. The gleaming gold statues in the pool are brand new, and depict a wizard and witch shaking hands with a house-elf and a goblin. A centaur and a giant look on benevolently. The sculptor has called his creation Unity, but many think that Foolish Optimism might be a better name.

Down in the Department of Mysteries, in a large rectangular room, a shaft of light falls onto an old stone floor, as if a curtain has been lifted for a moment to reveal the sun. The smell of freshly mown grass fills the room, pungent and heady with the promise of summer.

The veil in the sunken pit at the centre of the room flutters once, and a man tumbles gracelessly through it and falls flat on the floor. There is a scraping sound behind him, like the shutting of a door, and the shaft of light vanishes

Sirius Black sits up and rubs his head. Remembering where he is, he whips out his wand, crouching and rolling off the dais. He looks around, wondering why the room seems to be deserted. Sirius shakes his head to clear it and listens for a moment. Hearing nothing untoward, he transforms and speeds out of the room on four swift legs.

--

He taps softly on the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place and whispers the words that will bring down the warding spells. On the other side of the door he hears the bolts draw back. Padlocks spring open and the great black door swings slowly inwards to admit him. He closes the door behind him and pauses for a moment to catch his breath.

'Sirius Black!' A crash accompanies the scream as Molly drops the tea tray. There is a moment of perfect silence, so complete it feels like Sirius' ears are ringing. And then all hell breaks loose. Shouts come from the floor above, and the sound of doors slamming and running feet. Above it all, Mrs. Black adds her voice to the cacophony.

Sirius closes his eyes and leans back against the door. It is too much.

--

In the chaos that ensues, there are some things that Sirius knows he will never forget, if he lives to be as old as Dumbledore. The smile that breaks on Arthur Weasley's face, as he hurries into the hall to find out why his wife is screaming. Molly's tears. Harry's amazement as he pelts downstairs and stops - just stops - to stare at Sirius before crashing into his arms.

Remus' eyes.

--

He is astonished to find just how much time has passed in his absence. Everyone - Snape and Dumbledore in particular - wants to know what is behind the veil, but Sirius finds that he has nothing to tell them. It seems as if he were only gone for a moment, blinded by the golden dazzle of sunlight. He remembers a voice filling his head, telling him that this is not his time, but when he tries to describe the voice, he can find no words. Eventually, they stop asking. Mostly.

'What was it like?' Remus asks one day, long after the others have given up.

Sirius shrugs. 'Summer,' he says. He wants to tell Remus that he thought he heard James, there behind the veil, but that is ridiculous, and Sirius is a practical man. One day, he thinks, he will tell Remus. One day, when he knows what to say.

--

Time passes. In his absence, Sirius' pardon has come through from the Ministry. There is some dispute as to whether a posthumous pardon is valid when its subject is no longer dead. Dumbledore visits the Ministry and sorts everything out. For the first time in years, Sirius lazes in the garden and feels the sun warm his skin. Harry grows into a young man, taller than either Remus or Sirius, with his father's voice and his mother's eyes.

In the week before Harry's twentieth birthday, he, Remus and Sirius are ambushed by Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. As a jet of green light slices towards Harry, Sirius bowls him over and takes the curse full in the chest. This is what I was born to do, he thinks absently as he falls, this is why I was sent back. It isn't until he hears Remus' and Harry's voices, low and frightened above him, that he realises he isn't dead.

--

A month later, Harry kills Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley. Two days after that, Neville kills Bellatrix Lestrange. Things are coming full circle, Sirius thinks, as if everything is happening for a purpose. The losses pile up on either side - Bellatrix, Malfoy, Dolohov; Moody, Bill Weasley, Hestia - exquisitely balanced. The end is coming.

And come it does, on an ice-cold, grave-cold February day. Frost tips the trees around the lake and snowflakes whirl towards them from a sullen sky. By evening, the churned snow is red with blood.

Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley bring down Lucius Malfoy between them. Luna laughs across at Ginny in triumph and delight. Sirius knows he will always remember her like this. A second later she stiffens and topples, eyes glazed and sightless. Sirius and Remus never find out which of them casts the killing curse that cuts down Peter Pettigrew as he casts around for another target. Sirius thinks it is better that way.

For something which has dominated their lives for more than twenty years, it ends quickly. A flash of white light, so bright it hurts the eyes. When the afterimage fades, Voldemort is lying motionless on the ground. Harry stands unsteadily over him, wand hand outstretched. As Sirius races towards him, Harry sways and falls, covering his adversary's body with his own.

--

They leave Voldemort's corpse where it has fallen. Harry is rushed to St. Mungo's, more dead than alive. Sirius stays with him, holding the cold hand while the surgeon amputates Harry's ruined leg, stroking the unblemished brow while Harry sleeps. When Harry wakes a month later, and stares at him with unblinking green eyes, Sirius is horrified to find himself crying.

--

Weddings are next, more weddings than anyone could have imagined. First, Ron and Hermione, faces glowing with joy. Neville and Ginny follow a week later. Charlie astonishes everyone by proposing to Tonks. And more, and more. Suddenly, everybody is getting married. Sirius and Remus attend all the ceremonies. When everyone is safely married off, the two of them move quietly into Remus' cottage.

--

Spring follows winter. Summer follows spring. Harry visits them often, leaning heavily on his stick, the artificial leg still heavy and unfamiliar. The cold hits him hard, Sirius notices, watching Harry crouch beside the fire as if he will never be warm again. When Sirius asks about it, Harry laughs. The pain, he says, is in the leg that isn't there, and what can anyone do about that? But the shadow never leaves his eyes.

--

And so the years pass. Until one morning, Remus is too ill to get out of bed and Sirius looks at him and knows. It has been coming for a while - full moons that leave him aching and stiff, transformations that wreak havoc on an exhausted body. Moony is dying and there is nothing Padfoot can do.

Except.

--

It doesn't take long to put their affairs in order. When it's done, they leave a note on the kitchen table for Harry.

Harry,

This is your world now. Look after it. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll be able to come after us. We'll see you there.

They both sign it.

--

Remus leans heavily on Sirius as they stagger into the Department of Mysteries. Eyelids droop shut over dull eyes and his breathing is shallow and ragged. Sirius keeps him awake by talking to him, gentle murmurs of encouragement for a dying man. He wonders if he has left it too late, but finally they arrive. The veil ripples gently in the still air. Sirius fancies he can hear whispering behind it.

'Come on, Moony,' he cajoles. 'Second star to the right, then straight on till morning.'

Remus mumbles something. Sirius bends his head to hear and Remus surprises him with a kiss, sweet, passionate and strong.

A shaft of sunlight, impossibly bright...

...and then the room is empty once more, apart from the flickering of the veil as it moves to a distant breeze, and, everywhere, the smell of freshly mown grass.