Death is a strange place.

For one thing, it's all grey - the only colour is Sirius, his blue shirt, his torn jeans, his dark hair. He suspects that it's because he hasn't been here long; already, he is certain, his skin is greyer than it was.

He paces the cobbled footpath steadily. Movement, for him, has always been easier than stillness, and so the street scrolls away beneath his bare feet as he walks. It is a grey, stony city, full of narrow streets and high walls, and he cannot see a door anywhere. Occasionally, he hears things - a snatch of conversation, a half-heard gust of laughter - but as soon as he stops to listen, the silence falls again, deadening his ears.

And there is no cold. Despite the wintry greyness of everything, the dark sky with the frozen, unfamiliar constellations, the cobbles are the same temperature as his bare feet - either that, or his feet are the same temperature as the cobbles. He suspects the latter, but there is nobody else around to compare body temperatures with. It is utterly empty, apart from the fleeting snippets of noise.

The road seems to stretch forever; he would wonder, if he could, but he feels unusually incurious, uncertain of even what it is he ought to be wondering about. He feels displaced, off-keel - and yet, in a strange way, he feels at peace.

There is a thump. A man, suddenly, is crouched in the centre of the cobbled street; as he rises, shaking back white-streaked hair from his lined face, Sirius recognises Remus and breaks into a run toward him. "Remus! Remus, what are you doing here? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," says Remus, brushing down his shabby robes and looking around him with interest. His words sound absurdly loud in the silent street, and yet curiously distant at the same time. "This isn't your place, not yet."

Sirius pauses, one hand outstretched. "I - I don't think I have a choice, Remus." But he isn't certain, and the sudden hope that flutters in his chest is frighteningly powerful.

The street, suddenly, is full of movement and sound - grey shapes, like wisps of smoke, converge on the two men from all directions, buzzing angrily. "Will you at least try?" Remus asks, and the hissing increases. "I have an anchor. I should be able to pull you through." And indeed, there is a cord that appears to be made of braided fire, white-hot, reaching from Remus back into the distance.

"I don't think I can, Remus. I think my time is up." Sirius grins, the lopsided grin that always used to come so easily, and hopes Remus doesn't notice how false it is this time.

No. He will not go. He is ours. You live. Go back, living. The shades melt and divide, until they are surrounded by a whirling dance of shadows. They are no more than grey smoke against the greyer street, but they are not pleased. Living, you cannot be here. Go.

"I had to try," says Remus. "He would have done the same for me."

You do not impress us, living. Leave.

"You're an idiot," Sirius mutters, but he cannot help his traitor heart from feeling slightly pleased. "You can't just waltz into Death and grab someone. Get out of here."

Remus ignores him and speaks to the shades. "He, too, is living. He belongs here no more than I do."

No. The buzz is final. He is ours. He is ours. You are still theirs, living one. Go back.

"Why?" asks Remus, ever the calm teacher. "We both came through the veil, body and soul. Surely, we should both be able to leave the same way?"

No. He is ours. Go back. The buzzing becomes more intense, and the shadows press in. Or we will take you too.

"It's true, you know," says a new voice, separate from the buzzing that is the collective voice of the gathered shades. There is a disturbance among the spirits, and one shadow pushes toward the front. Sirius stares wide-eyed - for the shifting smoke is forming and re-forming the familiar features of James Potter. "The longer you stay here, the harder it is to leave."

"James!" Remus and Sirius cry together, and the spirit smiles wryly.

"Go. It's great to see you, Remus, but you have to leave."

"Yes-" says Remus, still staring, "but why can't Sirius come too? It's not his time, it can't be - he fell through body and soul too, he didn't die-"

This, Sirius realises, must be why he is more solid than the ever-moving shades surrounding him. But looking down at himself, he can see that colour is leeching out of his skin even as he watches; it won't be long until he is one of them. "Remus," he interrupts, and Remus halts and looks at him. Sirius holds up his colourless hands. "I think it's too late."

"Only one of you could get back through that anchor anyway," James says, regretfully. "Remus, please. It is Sirius's time, but it's not yours, not yet."

"Then I'll stay," says Remus, defiantly. "And if only one of us can get back, then you-"

"No, don't be ridiculous. They need you up there, Remus. Go back. Please?"

Remus turns his head away, but not before Sirius catches the glint of tears. The shades choose this moment to weigh in again, and their airless buzzing thickens the air. Go back, living, go back, go back. Go back.

"Remus?" James says. "You're not alone up there, you know. They care about you. We care about you. You didn't think we'd left, not truly, did you?"

Remus refuses to meet his eyes, instead gazing into the distance, where the grey road fades into the night, and the strange constellations come down to meet it. "It's peaceful here," he says, unhappily. "I could just stay."

Sirius and James exchange glances. Then Sirius steps forward, noting as he does so that his feet no longer quite meet the ground. To his shock, he realises that the colour has faded from Remus's hair - where there was once brown is now all grey. "Give Harry my love," he says firmly. "And James's, too. Tell him we're still with him." And he seizes the cord of white fire in both hands and pulls, hard, so that when he lets go it snaps fiercely upwards. Remus turns a betrayed glare on them both; and then he fades, the magic fading with him, so that Sirius and James are left alone in the centre of the circle.

The gathering of shadows fades, until only a few are left; Sirius recognises Lily, among other old friends, and tears spring unbidden to his eyes.

"Well," he says, and turns to face the road that stretches ahead. He would say more, but his throat is unaccountably choked.

James smiles, and together, they walk on.

author's note: The first piece I wrote after the release of Phoenix. Very disturbed and wibbly was I. Refused to post this until I was certain it wasn't just pathetic fangirl reactions. I have now realised that it is, in fact, just pathetic fangirl reactions; but I'm posting it anyway, because it isn't as bad as I thought it was at first.
disclaimer: You know the drill. JKR, not me.