Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, it belongs to J.K. Rowling.

AN: Happy 2019, where I continue to follow through on a New Year's Resolution and reread through my chaps, fixing some of my more obvious flubs as best I can while fully committing to others because it's hard keeping up with J.K.'s constantly changing timeline/canon. No worries. Not bitter. Amused. : D


Chapter 1 Through The Veil


Sirius was fighting, he was winning, and then…Bella's spell hit him and he was falling. He heard Harry's scream, saw Bella's sneering grin, and felt the veil pass over him. He had lost.

He had died. He felt a smile twisting his lips and he couldn't help but laugh.

His life and all his familiarity had been snuffed out like some common candle—and now the world was grey, completely grey. It felt like an eternity passed as he fell deeper and deeper into an unending abyss of grey.

But if this was death then, why was he still falling? Unless…panic seized him, would he continue to fall until he reached…? No, he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix—a protector of innocents-a-a good guy. Perhaps not the nicest bloke to everyone to be sure but essentially good, he didn't deserve—

THUD! Sirius groaned, who knew Hell would have such a bloody hard floor. For a moment, he was still—waiting for some sort of clue or revelation. Because after one died they were supposed to be "enlightened" and all that rubbish, right?

He certainly didn't feel any wiser, he only felt like he'd been flattened by a troll. And, wait, what was that? Water sprinkling his face? Where were the flames? And the screams of writhing tormented souls? And the over-dramatic sinister laughter that his frigid mother had warned him of? After all, she was the one who declared that this was where he'd retire when his vile sorry life had ended. Well, it wasn't at all reminiscent of her ghoulish descriptions.

And he couldn't quite believe that her poignant absence in Hell meant she'd ascended in a freak turn of events. She got to head up while he was cast down. Not that he really wanted her there, mind you, but…

He glanced about.

It was overall fairly ordinary, completely silent save the pattering of rain and a low whooshing of wind. His eyes began to focus. Everything was still grey, but it seemed to be the result of an overcast day. He slowly moved his head and noticed looming grey structures. Buildings? Shops! Shops he actually knew. Shops in…he jerked into a sitting position. Knockturn Alley!

He contemplated it. Well, it was slightly fitting. He supposed Knockturn Alley could be likened as a Hell. Maybe this was his own personal Hell. Fate knew he had enough bad memories take place here. Perhaps, that's what the punishment would be: he'd have to experience his worst memories over and over for all eternity.

He painfully stood and stretched, pushing his slowly dampening hair out of his eyes. Fine then, he'd endure this. What was the worst that could happen? Feeling defiant, he let a grin wash over his features; he stuck his hands in his pockets and began strolling down the alley. He soon took to whistling as obnoxiously as possible.

He glanced half-heartedly at the windows brimming with pickled monstrosities and assuredly cursed mementos; mirrors that guaranteed to snare and trap your enemies, hexed jewelry, black candles for a bargain price. He glanced at a display of torture devices and scoffed: yes, that was how civilized Purebloods amused themselves.

For a moment, he was filled with an inexplicable need to destroy the window with that display. He wanted to shatter it. But…this was a memory, so it meant that there was nothing he could do, and there was nothing he couldn't do. His fists slowly unclenched within his pockets.

He might not have any power over changing the past, but he could certainly indulge in some amusing commentary this time. He could tell his parents exactly what he thought, right in their faces for once. He could insult Bella all he wanted. He could-could. He sighed. Eternity was a long time, and even that glorious past time would eventually grow tiresome.

He faintly became aware of frantic footsteps racing closer. He lazily glanced up at the nearing corner. Soon, the owner of that stride would bound into view. It was probably a younger version of himself partaking in some competition that would soon result in a very humiliating, very public, scolding.

His eyes lowered, it was hardly worth paying attention to at all. He'd have plenty of time to acquaint himself with each memory. And it's not like he had to worry about injury—the whole scene would probably treat him like some intangible phantom.

The footsteps grew louder, echoing in the emptiness of the street. The sound of panting was also becoming distinct. It sounded male but Sirius couldn't really be sure. Not that it really mattered.

He himself was now approaching the corner. A few more seconds and he'd know the identity of the mysterious runner. If he'd just lift his gaze off the grey cobblestone road and look. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the trial. He risked a glance just in time to see the shine of wet black hair barreling at him. He landed hard as the figure slammed into him.

Apparently, this idiot had sprinted around the corner without bothering to look and promptly smacked right into him. So much for being free of entanglement or external pain.

For the second time, Sirius found himself lying flat on his back in Knockturn Alley. It was just about pleasant as the first.

He gritted his teeth more than ready to curse the sod to oblivion. But a stream of soft curses was already being uttered and with such fluidity that he felt a little admiration.

Sirius glanced at the unwanted weight sprawled across his front. While it proved that his previous theories of death and damnation were unfounded, it left him with another conundrum. Was the veil really a portkey of some kind?

The form atop of him appeared to be a boy with dark black hair. He wasn't very heavy, but this was more than a little awkward.

"Oi." He prodded the thin shoulder. "You mind getting off?" he asked with a wry grin.

Because if this was just a matter of teleportation, than it wasn't too late. He could apparate himself back to the Ministry and rejoin the battle. He could make sure Harry was alright.

Who knew how his godson was taking his absence? It was his job, his privilege, to look after Prongs' son. And he had to get back there and quick.

He tapped the thin boy again, a little more impatiently. "I have somewhere urgent to-"

The boy sluggishly lifted himself, his wet hair sliding across his face. He spluttered for a moment before roughly brushing the offending strands aside.

Sirius gasped, his heart plummeting at the sight before him. All other thoughts and schemes escaped him as he took in the figure before him. Helplessly, he stared into a pair of identical silver eyes.

Regulus.


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