Chapter Seven: Dead and Alive


The night embraced Harry. His green eyes, brimmed with tears, followed the descent of a leaf, inches from his nose. The great oak whence it had slipped off swayed almost morosely, as it saw it land on the tombstone. Harry stood rooted to the spot, waiting perhaps to see if more leaves would follow suit. None did.

With a slow sweeping movement, he pushed the auburn leaf off his godfather’s tombstone. His fingers traced the outline of the small writing, his own.

Sirius Black


Loving friend and godfather


To the end, and beyond…



And beyond…

Sirius had come back from the dead to help him win the Last Great Battle, to support him, to tell him how proud he was of what Harry had accomplished. Two years had passed, and Harry was nowhere near abandoning hope. The hope that he would see Sirius again, even if for just a fleeting minute.

He hadn’t had time to ask his godfather how he had managed to return. Was it because of the veil? Did it perhaps send him somewhere else than the place where souls usually journeyed to after death? What about his parents? Would Harry ever have the chance to see them again? His mind was stirring with questions, the same questions that had sprang into being two years ago, at the end of Voldemort’s era. Questions that would never gain an answer, he thought, as he glanced at the name before him, engraved in stone and in his heart.

The graveyard was deserted. It was late into the night, and the inhabitants of Godric’s Hollow were probably all wrapped up in warm blankets, in their own beds, or otherwise drinking their last goblet of mead at the inn. Harry, who visited his parents’ tombs every other day, preferred the cover of darkness to come there. Yet this night, he had stopped at Sirius’ tomb first. Something inside him had drawn him to it the moment he placed foot in the tranquil graveyard. He stared intently at the tombstone, almost urging his godfather to show himself.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.”

Dumbledore’s words rang clearly in his head, a wake-up call. Sirius wouldn’t have wanted him to linger there, prey to unwanted hope and pipe dreams. Voldemort had been defeated, to great risk. And while Harry had picked up the threads of his life, and formed a family, his heart had never fully forgotten that night two years ago.

His gaze travelled to a tomb on his far right. He briefly wondered whether Sirius would have wanted to be buried in Godric’s Hollow. He thought of Grimmauld Place, of the family his godfather had loathed so much, the house-elf that had sold him to Voldemort. The Potters had been Sirius’ true family, and even in death, Harry thought, taking his eyes off his parents’ tomb, they would find refuge together. A tear escaped his cheek.

At the exact moment Harry brought his hand to his face, wiping his eyes, he discerned a sound coming from the rose bushes on his far left. The hedge separating the graveyard from the sloping hill rustled still, and to his astonishment, Harry saw a huge form erupt against the moonlit sky. His pulse quickened. Could it be---?

“Sirius,” he whispered without thinking. “Sirius!”

The black dog seemed to draw nearer to the hedge, and Harry could have sworn it was looking straight at him. Barely restraining his heart from jumping out of his chest, Harry got up. He called for Sirius again. But the dog didn’t approach, nor was it indeed glancing in Harry’s direction. As a cloud shifted, the pearly silhouette of the moon took over, revealing the form of the huge dog more clearly. It was gazing up at the stars.

Harry inadvertently followed its gaze. But not even the pristine beauty of the stars could distract him. Lowering his eyes back to earth, Harry searched for the dog. His first thought was that it had run away, or even worse, that he had imagined it all. An angry cry of frustration stood at the back of his throat, waiting to be released.

The dog hadn’t left, however. Harry’s hungry gaze found it once more, projected against the nightsky, as it stood at the top of the hill. He wanted to scream Sirius’ name again, but something inside him held his tongue. The black beast raised its head once more, ignoring Harry still. This time Harry didn’t follow lead, and a silent moment passed in which he glanced at the dog that kept staring at the sky.

And then it hit him. That dog wasn’t Sirius. He was imagining things, was he not? If it had been his godfather, he would have wasted no moment in coming to him, embracing Harry, talking to him. Harry took a couple of steps towards the hedge. The dog tore its gaze from the stars at last, and lingered for a single second more on top of the hill. Then it turned its back on Harry and vanished down the other side of the valley.

In its wake, perfect silence, broken only by the descent of another leaf. Harry turned round in time to witness it settling on Sirius’ tombstone, as its predecessor had. He returned by the side of his godfather, and gazed at the oddly-shaped leaf. It had landed precisely upon the word ‘beyond’.

Harry did not bend down to sweep it away, but glanced at the sky instead, his eyes no longer filled with tears. Above, a star flickered faintly.