*
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...
Note: Capital 'M' in 'the Man' indicates that the man is the main, nameless character
**
*
Road to Redemption
Chapter One: Heaven and Hell
*
**
It had been dark, so very dark. The Man had fallen, and he had watched as nameless faces and shadows had sucked the last of life from him, watching as darkness swooped in to steal away all the light. But now, suddenly, it was as if he was moving once again. He could feel liquid around him, a strange, light sort of liquid that he was being propelled through. Some force was pushing him, fast, through this liquid, and as he felt his eyes open, he saw twinkles of light, rays of light. They were intertwining, flowing, making a sort of web that he was flying through.
Where was he? What incredibly unfamiliar, puzzling, almost frightening place was this? Was it a tunnel of some sort of nightmare? Had he really dreamed the entire thing, the fall, the death ... was he indeed dead? Of course he had to be dead. He had felt the life leave him, hadn't he?
So what was this?
The lights were growing brighter. The Man blinked, and saw that he was in indeed some sort of tunnel, a mysterious place. He was powerless to stop his furious onslaught into this mass. Up ahead, he could see what looked like the end of the tunnel. No – there were TWO ends to the tunnel. There was a tube leading downwards, into something red and fiery. And there was a tube leading upwards, to where soft music tinkled from. If he had been confused before, he was downright flummoxed now. Music and fire? This was utterly ridiculous. Why, if he wasn't smarter, he would think he was in –
// Merlin's beard! //
He would think he was going through a tunnel of death, heading for either Heaven or Hell. But surely wizards didn't go to heaven and hell. At least, the Man had never heard of anyone who had. Of course, that assumption might be due to the fact that nobody who had ever died had actually come back to inform the living of where they had been. Except for ghosts, who had been too cowardly to even enter this tunnel.
The Man felt a shiver of fear electrocute his spine. He felt solid, sort of. His limbs seemed sort of translucent, but they still moved. But he couldn't control them, and this furious force was taking him closer to those tunnels. He felt the heat of Hell's tube, and perspiration broke out on his forehead and neck. Dear stars above, was he going to hell? He realized the force was dipping him lower. He WAS going to hell! The Man was horrified, and not a little alarmed. How could he watch over the people he had left behind from hell? His non-alive heart thumped a little faster.
He was scared.
Hell. Oh God, no, not hell. I haven't committed so many crimes, have I?
Then, as he approached the terrifying tube, the fierce force pushing him yanked him upwards, so abruptly that he felt the breath knocked out of him. The Man gasped, startled as he collided straight into the wall between heaven and hell. Merciful demons! He was dead, but that didn't stop the impact from hurting.
Groaning in his mind, he felt the force pry him off the wall. It seemed to be confused, as if it had not expected the victim's inability to be taken to hell. Or in fact, the victim's inability to be taken anywhere. The Afterlife-Bearer who had been forcing the Man along was confused. How could it be that this human could not go to either heaven or hell? The Man himself lay pinned against the wall, stunned, feeling sick. His emotions were coming back, now that the initial shock of death had faded. He had failed them, failed his friends, failed them all ... he deserved to go to hell.
The Afterlife-Bearer was invisible, and surveyed this broken Man with a half-pitying, half-exasperated look. As if his work wasn't hard enough, meeting dead people all the time ... but look at him. He was so miserable. He couldn't leave this Man here for the rest of eternity. It was his duty –
Damn duty, thought the Bearer, sighing. He closed his eyes and sent thought waves up to Saint Peter, who was the authority on all dead people, and the Bearer's employer. "Sorry to disturb you, sir – " (Saint Peter was known to be crabby and disliked being awakened from a good nap) "– But we have a problem in the Tunnel of Just-After-Dying."
"What problem?" came Peter's puzzled response in his mind.
"There's a dead human here, sir, who isn't going to hell – or to heaven. In- between."
"WHAT?"
"It's true, sir."
"Who is he?" demanded Saint Peter. "Give me his vital statistics. I must run a cross-reference on this human being. It's downright ridiculous. Why, I haven't heard of anyone going to the in-between wall in over four centuries. The last was that girl – Joan of Arc – or something. Unusual one, that."
"He's a wizard, sir, of the English variety. Died over an hour ago, by unusual circumstances, even by wizarding standards." The Bearer was worried. "He seems to be undergoing great emotion torture."
Peter's sigh echoed in the Bearer's head. "Bring him to my chamber."
The Bearer reached invisible tendrils down to the Man, and yanked him upwards, via a special portal, to where Saint Peter awaited him. The Man fell to smooth, marble ground and climbed to his feet, clenching his jaw as he observed the room around him. White pillars, clouds and gold gates in the distance. The Man rolled his eyes. Why did he think Hogwarts was so much more fun?
"So," said a funny-looking man in a white loin cloth, with fluffy white hair and a golden halo over his head.
The Man shuddered. He would hate to have a halo. "So?" He inquired, as politely as his volatile temper would allow.
"Do you understand our problem, Mr – er – oh dear. I have a record here in the book for you, right under your highly interesting name. You see, you seem to be a rare one indeed. You're not good enough for heaven, but you're not bad enough for hell either. Your points on either side equal perfectly."
"Oh?" The Man was surprised, and a little baffled.
"Do you see your good deeds and your misdeeds, young man? You are to be praised for noble acts, such as that of attempting to save your best friends' lives, such as rescuing innocent teenagers from a misguided werewolf and such as fighting off Death Eaters, and being quite a notable member of the magical society. However, you are guilty of a terrible reputation – murder, betrayal, threat, breaking out of the gaol, etc, etc. You are guilty of theft, vandalism and – "
The Man looked at the marble floor and had the grace to blush. He shrugged, and looked up again with a typical rakish grin. Had Saint Peter been a woman, he might have succeeded in wiping off the stern look on that worthy saint's face, but this was not to be.
"So what happens to me now?" He demanded.
"That is the problem," Peter sighed, and tapped his forehead irritably. "I don't have the brains for matters like these. Satan would laugh at me if he could see me now. What in heaven am I to do with you? If only there was some wise person to ask. Going to Judas is quite out of the question."
The Man cleared his throat, unable to quell a grin. "What about – uh – your Lord Almighty?"
"The Almighty mustn't be disturbed with mundane things such as these," snapped Peter loftily, narrowing his saintly eyes in a very un-saintly manner. He groaned. "I suppose I'll have to make this decision myself – "
At that moment, a telephone rang. The Man looked up in interest; as a pureblood wizard, he had rarely seen Muggle-like telephones, and had certainly never used one. He watched as Saint Peter tapped a button labelled 'speaker phone' and said sharply, "Yes? Is that you, Cerberus?"
A very gruff, canine-like voice whined, "Peter, I have a problem, sir. I know we work for opposite sides, but surely you can do an old acquaintance a favor, please. Lord Hades/Satan is driving me crazy with his bad temper. Apparently, there's been some mess-up somewhere in the Tunnel."
Peter frowned at the phone. "Yes?"
"There was a man who was supposed to come to us, but at the last minute, he disappeared right out of our trace and all my three heads will be starved if I don't retrieve the soul for him. Hades is particularly determined to have this man's soul, because not only is this human a wizard and very powerful, but he has a remarkably shrewd and creative side."
The Man was flattered; Peter glared quellingly at him. Then the saint said slowly, "What is this man's name?"
Cerberus told him.
"According to my files, Cerberus," Peter said wryly, "This Man was once a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but incidentally, he was sorted into Gryffindor. That House is one of noble and heroic sorts. Surely Hades cannot one of good to possess! Why does he really want it?"
"This one's an original, Peter," whined the three-headed crony, "And he's SUPPOSED to be here in Hell with us. His points were even but he tipped the scales with mistreatment of a lesser creature – a house-elf, I believe. Have you seen his soul anywhere?"
Peter hesitated. Saints were not supposed to lie, even to demons. He frowned at the Man, who was waiting curiously, and said, "No, Cerberus, I haven't seen him. I'll let you know." He clicked off the phone, and looked up at the Man. "He's right, you know. Your mistreatment of a house-elf should have tipped the scales. But something evened them out again. What was it, what was it ..." he froze, staring at the Man's file. "Dear me."
"What?" the Man demanded, patience never one of his virtues. "What is it?"
"You're – you're supposed to go back."
"Excuse me?"
"You're supposed to go back down to earth. No, you can't be alive again, but because of your sincerely noble character and your capacity for love, mortal desire and courage, the Fates have decided that you deserve another chance to redeem yourself. You, my dear man, will go to Hell. The Fates have chosen to give you one last chance to save yourself from damnation. You are a damned man."
The Man was silent. How could he have expected anything else? Of course he was damned. Think of the things he had done, his experiences, the things he had seen, the people he had helped and trusted and betrayed, all that he had done. But it hurt, to know that he was a damned soul.
But here there was a chance for hope. A chance for redemption, to enter Heaven. Heaven ... where he would see his friends again, all those he had already lost. He was actually being offered a chance to go back and see those he loved, whom he had left behind – and after that, he would be able to see those he had lost years ago. It was incredible. But there had to be some kind of catch –
Peter looked at him thoughtfully. "So you understand you will have a difficult task to complete in order to redeem yourself," he smiled slightly.
The Man nodded.
"Look here," Peter waved a hand and a pool opened up in the floor. They both peered in; they could see three young teenagers. One was a black- haired boy with glasses, a redhaired boy, and a pretty brunette girl. "I believe you know these three young magical people. They are in grave danger."
"Merlin's beard," the Man swore. Of course, he knew they were in danger, but something in Saint Peter's tone made him afraid.
"The two boys are well-protected by others of their kind, and by fate," continued Peter, "But the future of the girl is not so clear. She is in danger, for dark forces seek to claim her as their own. There is a man of evil – Hades' dream soul, no doubt, and he'll probably take over the throne of Hell when he dies – a man you call 'the Dark Lord'. He seeks her, this girl you know so well."
"Hermione ..." the Man looked down into the vortex, angry and astonished. How could this be happening? He'd always thought Harry Potter was the one the Dark Lord sought out the most, not Harry's clever, bushy-haired young best friend. He looked up at Peter. "What's my task, Peter?"
"It is your task to protect her. There will come a moment when the Dark Lord will come to claim her, and there will be danger shrouding her. You must save her from that danger, for there will be no one else, and she will not see these subtle dangers until it is too late. She is a valuable soul for Heaven, but it is not her time. She can do much good. You must ensure she survives the Dark Lord's threat. If you can do that, you will gain passage into Heaven. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," the Man said without hesitation. He had never considered going to Heaven, but knowing that they would be waiting for him there ... "I want to enter Heaven. There – there are people there – " His voice caught, and he looked at the ground, once more reflecting over the nightmare his life had been, the terrible things he had allowed to happen. "I'll protect her, Peter. You can trust me with this task."
"Be careful," Peter said gently. "Hades seeks your soul. If Cerberus finds out that your spirit is on earth with the girl, they will stop at nothing to sabotage your plans and destroy everything for you, damning your soul forever."
The Man was silent, and then asked, "I'll be a spirit?"
"Only the girl, Hermione, will be able to see and hear you. Nobody else."
"Oh."
"You'd better be on your way," Peter said, "When you reach earth again, it will be one month into their new school year – their sixth year, I believe. I believe you can manage after you reach there. Take care of her, and take care of yourself." He raised a hand. "Before you go, I think you need a haircut, a shave and some new clothes. You're in a terrible state. Have you been drinking? Yes, you have, don't bother lying. Yet another black mark against you. When will you learn?"
Peter reminded the Man forcibly of a certain Professor Minerva McGonagall. He grinned, sorely wishing she could see and hear him as well. It would be great to scare the tartan dressing gown off her!
"Get ready, young man."
Peter snapped his fingers, and a rush of force seized the Man and he felt as if he was whirling through time and space, whirling backwards by some magical force. He was going back ... his heart lifted with elation ... he was going back, he was going back ... and he disappeared from the marble room.
The saint sat staring at the spot on which this rare man had stood for so long. He smiled to himself, and murmured, "Good luck, Sirius Black."
**
TBC.
**
*
A/N: Well, this is a new idea of mine and I'm hoping to see how it works. Please review and let me know whether you think I should go on with it!
*
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...
Note: Capital 'M' in 'the Man' indicates that the man is the main, nameless character
**
*
Road to Redemption
Chapter One: Heaven and Hell
*
**
It had been dark, so very dark. The Man had fallen, and he had watched as nameless faces and shadows had sucked the last of life from him, watching as darkness swooped in to steal away all the light. But now, suddenly, it was as if he was moving once again. He could feel liquid around him, a strange, light sort of liquid that he was being propelled through. Some force was pushing him, fast, through this liquid, and as he felt his eyes open, he saw twinkles of light, rays of light. They were intertwining, flowing, making a sort of web that he was flying through.
Where was he? What incredibly unfamiliar, puzzling, almost frightening place was this? Was it a tunnel of some sort of nightmare? Had he really dreamed the entire thing, the fall, the death ... was he indeed dead? Of course he had to be dead. He had felt the life leave him, hadn't he?
So what was this?
The lights were growing brighter. The Man blinked, and saw that he was in indeed some sort of tunnel, a mysterious place. He was powerless to stop his furious onslaught into this mass. Up ahead, he could see what looked like the end of the tunnel. No – there were TWO ends to the tunnel. There was a tube leading downwards, into something red and fiery. And there was a tube leading upwards, to where soft music tinkled from. If he had been confused before, he was downright flummoxed now. Music and fire? This was utterly ridiculous. Why, if he wasn't smarter, he would think he was in –
// Merlin's beard! //
He would think he was going through a tunnel of death, heading for either Heaven or Hell. But surely wizards didn't go to heaven and hell. At least, the Man had never heard of anyone who had. Of course, that assumption might be due to the fact that nobody who had ever died had actually come back to inform the living of where they had been. Except for ghosts, who had been too cowardly to even enter this tunnel.
The Man felt a shiver of fear electrocute his spine. He felt solid, sort of. His limbs seemed sort of translucent, but they still moved. But he couldn't control them, and this furious force was taking him closer to those tunnels. He felt the heat of Hell's tube, and perspiration broke out on his forehead and neck. Dear stars above, was he going to hell? He realized the force was dipping him lower. He WAS going to hell! The Man was horrified, and not a little alarmed. How could he watch over the people he had left behind from hell? His non-alive heart thumped a little faster.
He was scared.
Hell. Oh God, no, not hell. I haven't committed so many crimes, have I?
Then, as he approached the terrifying tube, the fierce force pushing him yanked him upwards, so abruptly that he felt the breath knocked out of him. The Man gasped, startled as he collided straight into the wall between heaven and hell. Merciful demons! He was dead, but that didn't stop the impact from hurting.
Groaning in his mind, he felt the force pry him off the wall. It seemed to be confused, as if it had not expected the victim's inability to be taken to hell. Or in fact, the victim's inability to be taken anywhere. The Afterlife-Bearer who had been forcing the Man along was confused. How could it be that this human could not go to either heaven or hell? The Man himself lay pinned against the wall, stunned, feeling sick. His emotions were coming back, now that the initial shock of death had faded. He had failed them, failed his friends, failed them all ... he deserved to go to hell.
The Afterlife-Bearer was invisible, and surveyed this broken Man with a half-pitying, half-exasperated look. As if his work wasn't hard enough, meeting dead people all the time ... but look at him. He was so miserable. He couldn't leave this Man here for the rest of eternity. It was his duty –
Damn duty, thought the Bearer, sighing. He closed his eyes and sent thought waves up to Saint Peter, who was the authority on all dead people, and the Bearer's employer. "Sorry to disturb you, sir – " (Saint Peter was known to be crabby and disliked being awakened from a good nap) "– But we have a problem in the Tunnel of Just-After-Dying."
"What problem?" came Peter's puzzled response in his mind.
"There's a dead human here, sir, who isn't going to hell – or to heaven. In- between."
"WHAT?"
"It's true, sir."
"Who is he?" demanded Saint Peter. "Give me his vital statistics. I must run a cross-reference on this human being. It's downright ridiculous. Why, I haven't heard of anyone going to the in-between wall in over four centuries. The last was that girl – Joan of Arc – or something. Unusual one, that."
"He's a wizard, sir, of the English variety. Died over an hour ago, by unusual circumstances, even by wizarding standards." The Bearer was worried. "He seems to be undergoing great emotion torture."
Peter's sigh echoed in the Bearer's head. "Bring him to my chamber."
The Bearer reached invisible tendrils down to the Man, and yanked him upwards, via a special portal, to where Saint Peter awaited him. The Man fell to smooth, marble ground and climbed to his feet, clenching his jaw as he observed the room around him. White pillars, clouds and gold gates in the distance. The Man rolled his eyes. Why did he think Hogwarts was so much more fun?
"So," said a funny-looking man in a white loin cloth, with fluffy white hair and a golden halo over his head.
The Man shuddered. He would hate to have a halo. "So?" He inquired, as politely as his volatile temper would allow.
"Do you understand our problem, Mr – er – oh dear. I have a record here in the book for you, right under your highly interesting name. You see, you seem to be a rare one indeed. You're not good enough for heaven, but you're not bad enough for hell either. Your points on either side equal perfectly."
"Oh?" The Man was surprised, and a little baffled.
"Do you see your good deeds and your misdeeds, young man? You are to be praised for noble acts, such as that of attempting to save your best friends' lives, such as rescuing innocent teenagers from a misguided werewolf and such as fighting off Death Eaters, and being quite a notable member of the magical society. However, you are guilty of a terrible reputation – murder, betrayal, threat, breaking out of the gaol, etc, etc. You are guilty of theft, vandalism and – "
The Man looked at the marble floor and had the grace to blush. He shrugged, and looked up again with a typical rakish grin. Had Saint Peter been a woman, he might have succeeded in wiping off the stern look on that worthy saint's face, but this was not to be.
"So what happens to me now?" He demanded.
"That is the problem," Peter sighed, and tapped his forehead irritably. "I don't have the brains for matters like these. Satan would laugh at me if he could see me now. What in heaven am I to do with you? If only there was some wise person to ask. Going to Judas is quite out of the question."
The Man cleared his throat, unable to quell a grin. "What about – uh – your Lord Almighty?"
"The Almighty mustn't be disturbed with mundane things such as these," snapped Peter loftily, narrowing his saintly eyes in a very un-saintly manner. He groaned. "I suppose I'll have to make this decision myself – "
At that moment, a telephone rang. The Man looked up in interest; as a pureblood wizard, he had rarely seen Muggle-like telephones, and had certainly never used one. He watched as Saint Peter tapped a button labelled 'speaker phone' and said sharply, "Yes? Is that you, Cerberus?"
A very gruff, canine-like voice whined, "Peter, I have a problem, sir. I know we work for opposite sides, but surely you can do an old acquaintance a favor, please. Lord Hades/Satan is driving me crazy with his bad temper. Apparently, there's been some mess-up somewhere in the Tunnel."
Peter frowned at the phone. "Yes?"
"There was a man who was supposed to come to us, but at the last minute, he disappeared right out of our trace and all my three heads will be starved if I don't retrieve the soul for him. Hades is particularly determined to have this man's soul, because not only is this human a wizard and very powerful, but he has a remarkably shrewd and creative side."
The Man was flattered; Peter glared quellingly at him. Then the saint said slowly, "What is this man's name?"
Cerberus told him.
"According to my files, Cerberus," Peter said wryly, "This Man was once a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but incidentally, he was sorted into Gryffindor. That House is one of noble and heroic sorts. Surely Hades cannot one of good to possess! Why does he really want it?"
"This one's an original, Peter," whined the three-headed crony, "And he's SUPPOSED to be here in Hell with us. His points were even but he tipped the scales with mistreatment of a lesser creature – a house-elf, I believe. Have you seen his soul anywhere?"
Peter hesitated. Saints were not supposed to lie, even to demons. He frowned at the Man, who was waiting curiously, and said, "No, Cerberus, I haven't seen him. I'll let you know." He clicked off the phone, and looked up at the Man. "He's right, you know. Your mistreatment of a house-elf should have tipped the scales. But something evened them out again. What was it, what was it ..." he froze, staring at the Man's file. "Dear me."
"What?" the Man demanded, patience never one of his virtues. "What is it?"
"You're – you're supposed to go back."
"Excuse me?"
"You're supposed to go back down to earth. No, you can't be alive again, but because of your sincerely noble character and your capacity for love, mortal desire and courage, the Fates have decided that you deserve another chance to redeem yourself. You, my dear man, will go to Hell. The Fates have chosen to give you one last chance to save yourself from damnation. You are a damned man."
The Man was silent. How could he have expected anything else? Of course he was damned. Think of the things he had done, his experiences, the things he had seen, the people he had helped and trusted and betrayed, all that he had done. But it hurt, to know that he was a damned soul.
But here there was a chance for hope. A chance for redemption, to enter Heaven. Heaven ... where he would see his friends again, all those he had already lost. He was actually being offered a chance to go back and see those he loved, whom he had left behind – and after that, he would be able to see those he had lost years ago. It was incredible. But there had to be some kind of catch –
Peter looked at him thoughtfully. "So you understand you will have a difficult task to complete in order to redeem yourself," he smiled slightly.
The Man nodded.
"Look here," Peter waved a hand and a pool opened up in the floor. They both peered in; they could see three young teenagers. One was a black- haired boy with glasses, a redhaired boy, and a pretty brunette girl. "I believe you know these three young magical people. They are in grave danger."
"Merlin's beard," the Man swore. Of course, he knew they were in danger, but something in Saint Peter's tone made him afraid.
"The two boys are well-protected by others of their kind, and by fate," continued Peter, "But the future of the girl is not so clear. She is in danger, for dark forces seek to claim her as their own. There is a man of evil – Hades' dream soul, no doubt, and he'll probably take over the throne of Hell when he dies – a man you call 'the Dark Lord'. He seeks her, this girl you know so well."
"Hermione ..." the Man looked down into the vortex, angry and astonished. How could this be happening? He'd always thought Harry Potter was the one the Dark Lord sought out the most, not Harry's clever, bushy-haired young best friend. He looked up at Peter. "What's my task, Peter?"
"It is your task to protect her. There will come a moment when the Dark Lord will come to claim her, and there will be danger shrouding her. You must save her from that danger, for there will be no one else, and she will not see these subtle dangers until it is too late. She is a valuable soul for Heaven, but it is not her time. She can do much good. You must ensure she survives the Dark Lord's threat. If you can do that, you will gain passage into Heaven. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," the Man said without hesitation. He had never considered going to Heaven, but knowing that they would be waiting for him there ... "I want to enter Heaven. There – there are people there – " His voice caught, and he looked at the ground, once more reflecting over the nightmare his life had been, the terrible things he had allowed to happen. "I'll protect her, Peter. You can trust me with this task."
"Be careful," Peter said gently. "Hades seeks your soul. If Cerberus finds out that your spirit is on earth with the girl, they will stop at nothing to sabotage your plans and destroy everything for you, damning your soul forever."
The Man was silent, and then asked, "I'll be a spirit?"
"Only the girl, Hermione, will be able to see and hear you. Nobody else."
"Oh."
"You'd better be on your way," Peter said, "When you reach earth again, it will be one month into their new school year – their sixth year, I believe. I believe you can manage after you reach there. Take care of her, and take care of yourself." He raised a hand. "Before you go, I think you need a haircut, a shave and some new clothes. You're in a terrible state. Have you been drinking? Yes, you have, don't bother lying. Yet another black mark against you. When will you learn?"
Peter reminded the Man forcibly of a certain Professor Minerva McGonagall. He grinned, sorely wishing she could see and hear him as well. It would be great to scare the tartan dressing gown off her!
"Get ready, young man."
Peter snapped his fingers, and a rush of force seized the Man and he felt as if he was whirling through time and space, whirling backwards by some magical force. He was going back ... his heart lifted with elation ... he was going back, he was going back ... and he disappeared from the marble room.
The saint sat staring at the spot on which this rare man had stood for so long. He smiled to himself, and murmured, "Good luck, Sirius Black."
**
TBC.
**
*
A/N: Well, this is a new idea of mine and I'm hoping to see how it works. Please review and let me know whether you think I should go on with it!
*