"Let me see them one more time, please. I'd give everything I have—anything at all…
If your great plan ever requires a sacrifice, then remember me."
Sirius stared straight at Sean. Sean didn't understand why he was so ready to throw himself into danger for another wizard.
Unless… he was already dead.
And was only lingering now, like a ghost.
But as it happened, Sean knew exactly what could set a soul ablaze.
"You still have Peter to deal with,"
Sean said.
"Oh, of course. But there's Lupin too. He works in your bookshop, doesn't he?"
Sirius replied.
"All right. Then what about Harry?"
Sean said slowly.
"Harry… he has his aunt and uncle…"
Sirius hesitated.
"Why not ask him? If you don't ask, then he never gets the right to choose.
Sir, that doesn't seem like a very good decision."
Sean said quietly.
"I…"
Sirius completely lost the strength to argue.
"You're his godfather, aren't you?"
Sean added the final weight.
"Of course. Of course I am…"
Sirius's voice came out rough.
"Well then, think of it as being for Harry's sake. If your name is cleared, he might be very happy to live with you."
Sean smiled.
Sirius was still staring blankly at the wall. In a room of the Leaky Cauldron not far away, there was a face he knew better than almost any other.
"I've seen him. His face looks just like his father's—just like his grandfather's too.
And his eyes… his mother's eyes."
Sirius murmured, then suddenly turned back to the young wizard.
"I owe him everything, sir. But I know this much better than anyone: if we can't stop You-Know-Who from rising again… then everything else is meaningless.
What's the point of fighting the most evil wizard in the world?"
Sirius's expression turned terribly resolute.
"It's to save innocent lives."
Sean looked at the man before him—gaunt, worn, a man who had spent decades in prison—and yet he still held fast to courage and decency, like a flame that simply would not go out.
"I think you're the same as I am. A wizard like you, one You-Know-Who cannot afford to ignore, could easily have stayed out of this long and bitter struggle.
So I can only come to one conclusion: you fight for conscience and for the weak."
Sirius said each word with care.
"So please—let me see them again, sir. Honored sir.
If death comes for me tomorrow, I can't go without knowing whether I can still face them. What if they don't want to see me? What if they hate me?"
He was almost pleading by the time he finished.
At last, Sean let out a sigh.
"Sir, everyone makes mistakes.
But I do have to remind you: for some wizards, the world beyond the Veil is not necessarily a pleasant place."
"Even if it's a mountain of blades and a sea of fire, it doesn't matter."
Sirius's eyes lit up.
"Then I hope you have a good dream."
Sean said it sincerely.
A moment later, a Pukwudgie popped out from the book-shaped pendant on Sean's chest.
It shot Sirius a disdainful glance, then respectfully vanished with the young wizard.
Sirius felt no anger at all. Instead, he was overwhelmed by a violent rush of joy.
He walked over to the tapestry and began clearing out the glass-fronted cabinets.
It took absolute concentration, because many of the things inside seemed deeply unwilling to leave their dusty shelves.
He needed to work himself to exhaustion. Only then, he thought, would he be able to sleep.
To welcome either a beautiful dream—or a trip to hell.
As he was clearing things, a silver snuffbox bit him viciously. Within seconds, the hand it had bitten developed a thick, ugly crust, as though he'd put on a rough brown glove.
"Oh, that's fine, that's fine."
He said it with a foolish little grin, even studying the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand. The skin immediately returned to normal.
"Must've had wart powder in it."
He sounded oddly pleased, then tossed the snuffbox into the sack meant for all the cabinet rubbish.
There was still plenty left inside.
There were Bundimuns, which Sirius smashed flat with a book titled Pure-Blood Lineages: A Wizarding Genealogy.
There was a heavy keepsake box no one could open, stuffed with old-fashioned seals.
There was also a dusty case containing an Order of Merlin, First Class, awarded to Sirius's grandfather for "services to the Ministry."
"That means he gave them a lot of money."
Sirius said with a snort, tossing the medal into the rubbish sack.
Then there was a music box. When he wound it up, it began to chime out a faint, ominous tune, and Sirius found himself suddenly growing weak and drowsy for no apparent reason.
Fortunately, he was still clear-headed enough to grab a horn and blast it—
before promptly collapsing onto the floor.
Mist began to rise.
Sirius woke groggily in a white, featureless place.
The first thing he did was punch himself hard, then grin like an idiot and say,
"Merlin, that actually hurts!"
He looked around wildly, and sure enough, there it was: a cat black as ink and shadow.
It looked exactly like the one Master Scamander had drawn.
"Dear Mr. Black Cat—or perhaps, my honored and beloved god."
Sirius bowed deeply.
"Good evening, Mr. Black."
the black cat said.
At the same time, several clumps of mist drifted naturally toward Sirius.
The cat leapt over and flopped down on them, keeping them from touching him right away.
Then with a flick of its tail, it sent a few of the other mist-clumps drifting away.
"I—I—what am I supposed to do? What should I…"
Sirius stared all around at the bright white mist.
This mist was nothing like any mist he had ever seen before.
It wasn't that the scenery around him was hidden in some cloudy vapor.
It was that the vapor itself had not yet become scenery.
The ground beneath him seemed white, neither warm nor cold—just something that existed, flat and empty.
"Please give me some memories, sir."
The black cat's furry ears twitched.
"What memories? Oh, I should…"
Sirius fumbled helplessly, until he saw the black cat shape a Pensieve out of mist.
"That can actually be done…"
He stood there with his mouth hanging open. Here, he was no different from a child just starting to learn magic.
But soon he smiled again and moved slowly toward the black cat, which was staring into the silver threads.
On a night he had never once imagined possible, dreams became the secret passage back to the past.
~~~
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