Rating: K+ ('cause I use a bad word!)
Spoilers: Order of the Phoenix
Disclaimer: ...Yeah. Not mine.
"So what you're saying is I'm..."
"Kicked the bucket, shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain..."
"Yes, yes, I get it." The dark-haired man waved a hand in irritation. "And I can't go back?"
The Voice (as the newly deceased Sirius Black had labeled him--her--it) sounded distinctly exasperated. Sirius was used to that tone. It lent the proceedings a bit of familiarity that he appreciated.
"Can't go back as a ghost, like? Only I've known a few, and it doesn't seem so bad." The Marauder grinned. "Now, a poltergeist, that sounds like fun."
"No! You've crossed over! You can't go back!"
The Voice was going from exasperated to indignant. Well, if this was the only fun he'd have for eternity...
"Well, you see, I didn't actually die. I think." Sirius pondered this. This type of philosophical stuff was more Remus's area. "I mean, my heart didn't stop or anything. I just became... inconveniently disincorporated."
"Mmm." That meant 'shut up before I hex you into next week'. At least, it had when he'd spoken to Molly Weasley. He wasn't sure if the Voice could hex anyone.
"So shouldn't I be allowed to go back? I mean, really, what's the point of having a door to the next world if it doesn't go both ways?"
"Don't blame me. I didn't create any doors. That was your kind," the Voice replied stiffly.
"I'm not blaming you." Sirius looked for a place to sit. "Is their anywhere to sit around here? For that matter, is there light? This infinity of blackness thing isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"You don't have a body! You don't have eyes! You don't need to bloody sit or see!" The Voice was most definitely aggro now.
"You don't have to get all tetchy," Sirius sulked.
If the Voice had a body, its face would have been a lovely shade of puce. "Out!"
Sirius found himself in a dirty, dark room that displayed the scars of a recent battle. Behind him, a veil fluttered as if blown by a nonexistent breeze. He imagined he could hear a voice saying, "Next time, you deal with him."
Sirius smirked. Easier than escaping from Azkaban, that was.
He furrowed his brow in concentration and slowly faded out of sight.
Rating: K+ (for language)
Spoilers: Prisoner of Azkaban
Someone is dreaming.
It's a happy dream, full of sunshine and laughter and bunnies and Chocolate Frogs. And the dreamer thinks, 'What the fuck?'
"Watch your language, young man!" an old woman scolds from her rocking chair.
"Er, sorry." The young man, who is not actually all that young, scowls. It's his dream. He should be allowed to use whatever language he wants.
He hasn't felt sunshine on his face in a long time. Seven years. It's been seven years since he's laughed with his friends (two dead, one a traitor, the last left alone in the world), ate an Acid Pop (he'd met James that way), trounced Slytherin at Quidditch (honestly, Snivellus as a Seeker was pathetic)--
The sun is gone.
It's not concealed by clouds. It's just... gone.
He smells the ozone of discharged spells. People are screaming, and he's surrounded by red, and Peter's gone, and he's laughing, he's laughing, and he's disarmed and Stunned--
The moon is full. There's a howl in the distance, high, keening, lonely. He stumbles toward the sound.
Teeth. Yellow, jagged, dripping with saliva. He bares his own teeth and growls, but it's no match for the wolf.
Bloodthirsty jaws snap at him, and he runs, fleeing through the forest.
He breaks into a clearing, and--
"Sirius Black, you are guilty of the murders of James Potter and Lily Evans Potter. You are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban Prison."
"But I didn't do it! It was Peter! I'm--"
Dark eyes snap open. Whimpers die down. A large black dog curls up tightly inside a filthy, pitch-black cell. The dog shivers as the unnatural cold overtakes it. The man inside the dog huddles in a corner of his mind. Innocent. I'm innocent.
The thought brings him no hope.