A Comedy of Errors

The first moments of life were cold and jolting as, very suddenly, I fell to the cold floor, my forehead striking into it, sending a jab of pain through my head.

Where were they? Remus? Harry? Everyone was gone, all movement had died away. I got the oddest feeling that time had passed in my absence. And there was truth to that - there had to be. I couldn't explain the cold, smiling ghost who had found me, taken me through that icy veil, and deposited me here.

You can't be dead. Those were the words that escaped me first. We lose everything if you're dead.

His head moved patiently from side to side. Everything has never depended on me. His hand was cool on my arm, somehow solid, though he appeared as pearly and transparent as any spirit that I'd seen. You know as well as I do that it all rests on one teenage boy's shoulders. He smiled, then, briefly. I only pray that Harry can cope better than the rest of us can.

I stared at him, suddenly confused. But how...? You, Albus. How can you be dead?

I am mortal, you know. Even if others would love to forget that fact. He reached out, placing both hands on my shoulders. It was Severus, Sirius.

I recoiled then, anger welling from somewhere. I actually saw red. Snape! You let him kill you? The words flew from me with enough rage that they blurred after the first few, unintelligible until he clapped a hand over my mouth, effectively cutting off the stream of obscenities with which I named Snape.

Sirius. It's been more than a year since you fell into this place. Harry is leaving his sixth year now. He and everyone else believes you have been dead all this time. You've been deceased too long.

I shook my head this time. I'm not dead...I don't think. I'm lost and confused as all hell, but I'm not dead.

He nodded. Precisely. And while I can't help Harry directly, not now, it's the least I can do to send you back to him. He took my arm, leading me along, speaking softly about all that had happened since my 'demise'.

The veil loomed before is, and I turned to look at him. His expression said it all so clearly. He was staying here, beyond life, presumably moving farther than I had. His death was a sacrifice, though no one else might know just how. He reached out, shoving my forward, and my last glimpse of his saw the peaceful, benign look of wisdom I couldn't have.

I drew my first breath in far too long, my head lifting. The wand was still clutched in my hand, my next spell on my lips. Of course, Bellatrix was long gone, as were the rest of them. And Harry - I choked to think of the emptiness I would have endured if he'd been the one to die. And Remus...

My breath caught to think of him, his image sliding across my mind. I had left him to cope with my loss. How, I wondered suddenly, had he coped, exactly? I prayed he hadn't drowned his sorrows in liquor, the way Harry couldn't, but I had no control over him. Being dead did tend to impair your communication skills.

I lifted my head. The Burrow. The wedding. I had to find them, all of them. No one knew that I was alive yet, and worse, I was deep in the heart of the Ministry. My innocence might have spread, but I couldn't be sure. Albus's words were faint, except for the basic facts, the account of his death, the reassurance that Harry had survived.

My heart fluttered into overdrive, forcing chilled blood through my veins. I really had been in Death, but alive in it...I thought. How I had returned was a mystery even to me. Resurrections aren't something you come across every day. It was painful at first, chest unused to the throb of a pulse and the feeling of breath in my lungs. Not to mention the splitting headache I now had, thanks to my fall from the veil.

There was the familiar feeling of Apparition, and then I felt brilliant sunlight again. It washed over me, and my eyes shut for a moment, enjoying the warmth. I had come out just in front of the Weasleys' front door, though judging by the noise, its occupants were all in the garden.

I turned to pursue those I needed to see, and I saw him standing behind me, eyes widening, frozen as I looked at him. He blinked, green eyes suddenly watering, and seemed to have decided that he was just hallucinating. Harry. I stepped closer, and the process repeated. Look, stare, disregard, until I came to stand directly in front of him, overflowing with pent-up guilt. He did so look like James in the light.

He stared at me until I spoke his name. "Harry." At this, a sort of strangled sound escaped him. I smiled. "No, this isn't a dream." Though it sure as hell feels like one. I reached out, noted that he was still in shock, and decided to help the process along by embracing him. Only then did he seem to realize I existed.

"Sirius." He looked at me when I released him, and then let out a cry that was indescribable, happiness and shock at the same time. "I don't believe it!"

I smiled wryly. "You think it confuses you, try being me." But already, my gaze was wandering and I began to walk around the side of the house, searching out a familiar form among the guests. Most of the Order was there already. It was disorienting, seeing all of them a year older. Ron must have grown a foot, McGonagall looked greyer than ever, and Tonks no longer looked quite so young.

And then, there he was, talking with Hermione. I looked for some sign of grief in him, but could find little. He, too, was a bit greyer, had gained a scar or two, but his bright eyes showed no signs of sorrow. Good. He, of all people, didn't need added stress, thought Albus had said he had been oddly moody and reclusive through the year. So what had changed now?

A hush fell over the crowd as I walked forward, all of them in states of shock similar to the one Harry had been in. Hermione looked up, her mouth falling open, but he didn't notice until I was inches from him.

"Remus." I reached out, hands on his shoulders, turning him to face me, smiling. I longed to say something, do something that would mend the time gone past, but all eyes were on us as I caught his gaze. He looked up at me with apprehension, as if I would be foolish enough to do something blatant.

At last, I placed a hand one cheek, so much warmer than my own icy hands, tipping his chin up as I leaned down. His breath caught. At the last instant, I turned so that my lips brushed his ear instead. "Sorry I'm late, love," I murmured. "I was a bit held up."

I pulled back just as he went limp, passing out from the sheer shock of seeing me again. I caught him, holding his immobile form tightly, lifting it up into my arms and moving back to the house. Wordlessly, I signaled to Harry with a jerk of my head. He understood and followed me.

The rest of them were left to stare in wonder, and ask how the dead carried men through the garden.