Genre: Alternative Universe

Rating: R (some violence, nudity, swearing, disturbing flashbacks, torture, and two love scenes).

Slash: None, unless you count an illusion or two to a gay marriage.

Ships: Read and find out.

Disclaimer: This fanfic was written prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. As such, it does not take the events of Book Six into consideration.

Kia, Glynna, Marsha, Jamie, Judy, and any other spells, objects, or people that never before appeared in the Harry Potter series are my own creations. The lyrics to "Black Dog," "Magic Bus," "Candles in the Rain," and "Leather and Lace" were written by Led Zeppelin, The Who, Melanie Safka, and Stevie Nicks, respectively. "The Starry Asylum" was written by Mendyl Sharden. The rest belong to J.K. Rowling and/or Warner Brothers.

Dedication: Written by a Sirius fan, for Sirius fans.

Chapter 1: Glimpses of Paradise

"When did you say the boy returns to St. Brutus's, Vernon?" Harry heard Aunt Marge bellow downstairs.

"September first!" Uncle Vernon bellowed back. "Hardly soon enough for me!"

"Me either," said Harry, staring dismally at his bedroom ceiling.

As usual, none of the Dursleys remembered that tomorrow was his birthday. No one came upstairs with a present, a card, or even to congratulate him for surviving sixteen years–an accomplishment in itself in Harry's case. He planned to spend the day as he had any other this summer: in his bedroom reading The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet, writing Professor Snape's nasty essay, and perhaps catching up on some letters. At least his friends would remember his birthday, although the Dursleys never did. Not that he expected differently, not after fifteen years.

Harry spent a great deal of time in his bedroom these days, which he did quite willingly rather than subject himself to Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's constant badgering. This week, due to Aunt Marge's visit, he sought refuge there even more than usual. While the Dursleys devoured a sumptuous salmon dinner downstairs, Harry sat at his desk nibbling a cheese sandwich and canned tomato soup, which Aunt Petunia had pushed through the cat flap in the door.

There were several improvements over past summers, which led Harry to believe that the Dursleys had taken the warnings of his fellow wizards to heart. Uncle Vernon remained his usual nasty self, but at least he didn't try to lock Harry in his room anymore, although he strongly encouraged him to stay there. Aunt Petunia now grilled the sandwiches and heated his soup rather than serving them to him as cold ingredients, and icily ordered him to push a note through the cat flap if he fancied seconds. Dudley avoided him like the plague whenever he was home, which wasn't often, because he, Malcolm, Gordon, and Piers spent most of their evenings terrorizing the neighborhood (Harry kept hoping that they would be arrested for some of their shenanigans, but he somehow doubted this would ever happen). Aunt Marge and Ripper also avoided Harry, but while he couldn't avoid hearing the insults she trumpeted from below, he could hardly repress his laughter at the fearful expression that crossed her face whenever he came into the room. Not that she was exactly aware of why she suddenly felt frightened in Harry's presence; the Ministry of Magic had seen to that. Harry suspected, however, that deep in her subconscious lurked a memory of expanding like a beach ball and sailing over Little Whinging like a dirigible.

The only other thing that Harry found amusing these days were some of the articles published in The Quibbler, which he had subscribed to out of gratitude for the article they printed about him during the previous school year. Much to his surprise, Harry found a strange kind of solace in reading the increasingly outrageous scoops. "Umbridge Gives Birth to Space Alien's Baby! Fudge in Denial, as Usual!" blinked one set of headlines above a foul photograph of an even fouler Umbridge, who sat on a park bench pulling ludicrous faces as she bounced an insect-like infant on her knee. Meanwhile, off to the side, an irritated Fudge chewed his bowler hat. Another article featured a group of house elves building a rocket out of tin cans and firecrackers beneath the headline: "Disgruntled House Elves Escape to Uranus." But the article Harry found most amusing had appeared in this morning's edition . On the front page was Lucius Malfoy, attired in a set of emerald robes, while Rodolphus LeStrange stood beside him in a wedding dress, batting his eyes and smiling lovingly into Lucius' face. "Wizardly Wedding of the Century: Lucius and Rodolphus wed in Azkaban. Bellatrix and Narcissa Enraged," twinkled the headlines, first in red, then in green.

Hermione had always said that The Quibbler was full of rubbish, but it was one of the few things that seemed to take Harry's mind of the recent death of his godfather. He thought of Sirius often, trying to remember the happier times, like the night that he and Hermione had rescued him from the dementors. Hermione had been terrified of flying, even on Buckbeak, but Harry still remembered how Sirius' laughter rang out through the night, like that of a muggle kid on a roller coaster. Not surprisingly, Harry rarely heard this sound since, because the last fifteen years of Sirius' life had been far worse than the first eleven of his own.

Twelve of these years, Sirius had spent locked up in Azkaban for a crime he never committed. Two he had lived on the run, occasionally eating rats in order to survive. And his final year he'd spent as a virtual prisoner in his childhood home–a place that held nothing but unpleasant memories for him.

The pain Harry felt over the loss of Sirius had only intensified once the initial shock wore off. Some days, it hurt worse than it had in the beginning. Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid all avoided mentioning him in their letters, which relieved and annoyed Harry at the same time. On one hand, he found talking about Sirius far more painful than thinking about him. On the other, it sometimes seemed as though Sirius never existed to any of them, which saddened and angered Harry all the more. Only Luna Lovegood seemed to understand how he felt, and she wasn't even his closest friend. "Look at it this way, Harry," she'd written recently. "At least he died in battle, which is how everybody said he wanted to go. And where he is now, the death eaters and dementors can't bother him anymore. He's free, probably having a grand time with your dad and mum, and I'm sure that all three of them are watching over you now, as my own mum is watching over me." She closed the letter by asking him to send her regards to Neville Longbottom should he happen to hear from him over the summer.

The thought gave Harry a bit of comfort, and he once again turned to The Quibbler. On page three, he found an article that caught his eye:

Dementors Reject First Kiss

For the first time in the history of wizardkind, dementors have rejected a human soul. The victim, who shall remain anonymous at the request of his family, is alleged to be one of the many death eaters who recently escaped Azkaban under the leadership of the Sirius Black.

The man was attacked on July 23 by no less than thirty dementors, each of whom spewed the man's soul from under his hood after performing what is commonly known as the Kiss. Strangely enough, after every instance, eyewitnesses stated that the soul found its way back to its owner, sputtering through the air like a deflating balloon.

No one at the Ministry of Magic knows for certain what caused this strange occurrence, although Amelia Bones seems to believe that the man's family may have placed him under an ancient Egyptian spell. Bones also stated that this spell hasn't been practiced since the days of the Pharaohs and is said to be dangerous.

The man is currently being held in an undisclosed location, where he shall remain until he regains consciousness, although the healers in charge of his case are questioning the likelihood of such an occurrence. Should he recover, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, stated that the man will be returned to Azkaban, where he will finish the remainder of his life sentence.

Harry knew that Fred and George would find this article hysterical, but he found it disturbing. This was partly because of his own gruesome encounters with dementors, and partly because they had tormented Sirius during his imprisonment in Azkaban and relentlessly hunted him after his escape. As unhappy as he was with his headmaster at the moment, Harry had to agree with Dumbledore on one thing: there were worse things than death, and a dementor's kiss was one of them.

Harry wadded up The Quibbler, threw it across the room,and then picked up the morning's edition of The Daily Prophet. He still thumbed through it every day for news about Lord Voldemort, but rarely read further than the headlines. No news on Voldemort today. In fact, the most newsworthy thing happening in his world right now was that the head of St. Mungo's was retiring, and they were looking for someone to fill his position. And that was reported three days ago.

Harry looked at the clock on his dresser and realized it was two in the morning. He'd been sixteen for two hours, not that he cared, since the one thing that would make him happy–to see Sirius alive again-was the one thing he couldn't have. Angry and frustrated, he tossed The Daily Prophet aside and crawled into bed.

For a long time, he looked at a picture he had taken from the album Hagrid had given him, which he now kept in a frame on his night stand. It was a picture of his parents dancing at their wedding. Sirius, their best man, stood beside them with a dark-haired woman on his arm, who gazed up at him with adoration in her eyes. The three of them smiled at him and waved.

How beautiful his mother and this woman had looked! How happy his father and Sirius seemed! Was it possible that, when the photograph had been taken, his parents had already been marked for death? Had Sirius had any idea of what the future held for him? Tears stung the corner of Harry's eyes, but he was too proud to let them fall.

"Keep an eye on them, Mum," he whispered, before taking off his glasses and turning out the lamp.

Harry laid awake in the darkness for a long time. Sleep was another thing he fought these days, because it always brought with it the same nightmares. Of Voldemort killing his parents. Of Cedric dying beside him at the tournament, and of the horrific ceremony that followed. And finally, of Sirius' murder at the hands of his cousin, Bellatrix LeStrange, a woman Harry now hated more than Dolores Umbridge, Peter Pettigrew, or even Lord Voldemort.

Please, Mum, he thought desperately. Please don't let me fall asleep. Don't let the nightmares come. Better still, just let me die so I can be free of it all and be with you and Dad and Sirius again. Please...

Suddenly, Harry heard the beautiful, familiar song of a phoenix and felt himself caught up in a magical whirlwind of blue and silver. A few moments later, he felt like he was floating. He felt the cool sensation of water washing across his body, the golden warmth of the sun upon his face, and the taste of salt in his mouth. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

He was lying on an inflatable raft near a beach he had never seen before. The ocean reflected the blue sky, and the sun sparkled upon the waves like diamonds. A white, sandy beach that lead to palm trees and green, grassy hills lay ahead of him. High above, Buckbeak, Hedwig, Pigwidgeon, and Errol played tag with a golden snitch.

"Harry!" someone called.

Harry sat up and spotted a pretty young woman with long red hair waving at him from the shore. She wore a red-and-white flowered mini-dress, and at first he though she was his mother. Then realized that she was Ginny, Ron Weasley's younger sister.

Harry slid off the raft and swam for the shore. "Where are we?" he asked as he approached her.

"We're spending the summer here," said Ginny. "Sirius invited all of us to stay with him on his private island. Don't you remember?"

"Sirius?" Harry said in disbelief. "That...can't be. He's...dead...isn't he?"

"No," Ginny laughed. "All the idiots in the Ministry think so, but he just faked it, like that famous muggle singer from the States. Elvin...oh, I can't think of his name right now. But Sirius is right over there," she said, pointing to a tall coconut tree. "See?"

Harry turned his head and saw Sirius sprawled out on a red and gold blanket, his toes buried deeply in the warm white sand. He wore nothing except a pair of red swim trunks and had a drink with a little red umbrella in it at his side. An olive skinned woman with long black hair cradled his head lovingly in her lap, and he playfully nipped at her fingers as she fluttered them around his mouth. She then grabbed a wand and dangled a bunch of purple grapes above him, snatching them away playfully when he lunged for them. The woman seemed vaguely familiar to Harry, although he never recalled speaking to her before. Sirius sat up and waved.

"Isn't this the life?" he grinned.

Harry was infuriated. Sirius-and everybody else-had lead him to believe he that was dead for a month and a half! While he'd been grieving at the Dursleys, they'ed all been having the time of their lives on a private island! Without him! Again! He wanted scream, to yell that feigning death was Pettigrew's specialty. But when he realized that Sirius was not only alive, but healthy and happy, his anger dissolved as quickly as it had flared.

"Well, whatever works," he relented, giving his godfather a rough hug. He then glanced at Ginny, who stood smiling at his side, and was amazed at how pretty she'd become.

"HARRY POT-TERRRRRR!"

"Oh no," he groaned. The voice belonged to his Uncle Vernon, who was pounding on the bedroom door.