Sirius Black blinked against the brightness of the sky, squinting as his vision slowly adjusted. He felt as if he had been submerged in darkness for an eternity, and the sudden light seemed almost offensive to his senses. His body ached, though not in the way it had moments before. He pushed himself up from the soft ground beneath him, his fingers brushing through a lush, vibrant grass that seemed far too alive, far too perfect to be real.

Where was he?

He rose shakily to his feet, the landscape around him coming into focus. The first thing he noticed was the air—it was clean, fresh, almost sweet, as if the scent of flowers, pine, and earth was woven into every breath. He filled his lungs with it, his chest expanding in a way that felt almost foreign after the musty, oppressive atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and the stifling tension of the Ministry of Magic.

The hillside stretched out before him, gentle and green, sloping toward a nearby stream that glistened in the sunlight. Trees, impossibly tall and majestic, swayed slightly in the breeze, their leaves a deep, shimmering green. The sunlight filtered through their branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground below, where wildflowers bloomed in clusters, their colors vibrant and unblemished.

Sirius’s heart raced. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

He looked down at himself, half-expecting to see some ghastly wound from Bellatrix’s final curse, or perhaps his own body shattered and broken from the fall. But he seemed… fine. His clothes were intact, though they still bore the scuffs and signs of the battle at the Ministry. He patted his chest, his limbs, his face. Nothing hurt. Nothing was out of place.

For a moment, he stood frozen, his eyes scanning the perfect landscape. His mind, however, was far from calm. Memories of the battle flooded back. Harry. The Veil. Bellatrix. The curse that sent him tumbling through that strange, dark portal. Sirius had expected to die the moment he touched the Veil, expected to be torn apart by whatever ancient magic lay within it. But this… this didn’t feel like death.

And yet, the place was too beautiful, too serene. It was like a dream—or some kind of afterlife.

"Am I… dead?" he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse.

The thought was disorienting, to say the least. If this was death, it was certainly not what he had expected. Heaven? No. Sirius Black, in Heaven? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He had never been one to entertain thoughts of the afterlife. He wasn’t sure he believed in such things. And if there was a heaven, surely someone like him didn’t belong here.

Shaking his head, Sirius turned his attention to the stream that flowed nearby. The water was so clear he could see the smooth stones at the bottom, and what appeared to be salmon swimming lazily against the current. It sparkled in the sunlight, like liquid crystal, and the sound of it—a gentle, melodic ripple—was soothing.

Thirst scratched at the back of his throat. For a moment, all other thoughts seemed to fade as he focused on the water. Instinct took over, and Sirius found himself kneeling by the stream’s edge, scooping up the cool liquid with his hands and drinking deeply. The water tasted pure, cleaner than anything he had ever drunk before, invigorating him with each sip.

As he gazed into the stream, his reflection stared back at him. His face looked… the same, if not a little younger, though his grey eyes carried the same weariness he had borne since Azkaban. He sighed heavily and glanced at the fish, lazily swimming as if without a care in the world. "Well, if this is death, it’s a damn sight better than Azkaban."

Standing up, Sirius wiped his hands on his robes and took another long look around. The beauty of the place was unsettling. It didn’t feel like Earth—at least, not the Earth he knew. The absence of the usual noise, the absence of tension or danger—it was too perfect.

He glanced back toward the spot where he had woken up. The grass where he had lain was slightly pressed down, and to his surprise, something else caught his eye. Lying there, just where he had been, was his wand.

Sirius froze, his pulse quickening. How had he not noticed it before? His heart raced as he hurried back and crouched beside it. His wand—the same wand he had used in the Ministry, in that last, frantic duel with Bellatrix—was resting there, unscathed.

He picked it up, the familiar weight of it settling into his hand. His grip tightened around the polished wood, and for the first time since waking in this strange place, a feeling of security washed over him. He had his wand. Whatever this place was, at least he was armed.

But it made no sense. The Veil, as far as he understood it, was a one-way passage. A doorway to death. So how in Merlin’s name was his wand here? If this was some sort of afterlife, why would he still need it?

Confusion swirled in his mind. His thoughts moved at a frantic pace as he tried to make sense of his situation. He had gone through the Veil. He had died—or at least, he should have. But if this wasn’t death, then what was this place?

Sirius looked up at the sky, squinting into the sunlight that filtered through the tall trees. He could hear birds singing somewhere in the distance, their melodies intertwining with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was peaceful—unnervingly so.

A knot of anxiety twisted in his gut. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the stillness, the serenity of the place, unnerved him. It was too perfect, too idyllic. He had never known peace like this—not in Azkaban, not in the years he had spent on the run, not even in the safety of Grimmauld Place. His entire life had been a whirlwind of chaos, battle, and pain. This… this was foreign.

He turned in a slow circle, scanning the area for any sign of life beyond the trees and the stream. "Where am I?" he muttered aloud. His voice echoed faintly across the hillside, but there was no answer, no response from the world around him.

His pulse quickened as unease crept in. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something, that there was something important about this place he wasn’t seeing. But what?

"Come on, Sirius," he whispered to himself, his fingers tightening around his wand. "Think."

If he was still alive—if this was some strange, magical place—then there had to be a way to make sense of it. Magic always had rules, always had some logic, no matter how obscure. And if there were rules here, he would find them.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

But where to start?

Sirius paced back toward the stream, his mind racing as he tried to recall any knowledge of places like this. Had he read about something like this in his studies at Hogwarts? The Veil was ancient magic, tied to death… but this didn’t feel like the underworld. It was too bright, too alive.

Suddenly, a sharp breeze cut through the air, sending a shiver down Sirius’s spine. He froze, glancing toward the trees, half-expecting to see something, someone emerge. But there was nothing. Only the whisper of the wind and the rustling of the leaves.

He couldn’t stay here. He needed answers, and standing in the middle of this dreamlike landscape wouldn’t get him any. With one last glance at the spot where he had awoken, Sirius took a deep breath and started walking, his wand at the ready, and his mind focused on one goal: finding out where the hell he was, and how to get back to Harry.

If that was even possible.

Sirius Black sat by the riverside, his eyes fixed on the clear, gently flowing water. The sun glistened on its surface, casting reflections that danced like sparks of light. His mind was churning with thoughts, a mix of confusion, frustration, and a deep longing to return to the world he knew. To Harry. But as much as he wanted to panic, to scream and rail against the gods or fate for placing him in this strange situation, Sirius knew it wouldn’t solve anything.

He was a practical man, shaped by years of surviving in impossible situations. Azkaban had taught him that, if nothing else. Panic was the enemy of survival. The only way forward was to stay calm, assess the situation, and figure out the next move.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had no idea how to get back to Harry. No idea if that was even possible. The Veil, after all, wasn’t a simple portal one could stroll through at will. It was ancient, dangerous magic. He hadn’t been sent to some random corner of the world; this was somewhere else entirely.

"Merlin, this place doesn’t even feel like Earth," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

The landscape around him was too perfect, too vibrant. The trees towered above him, reaching heights far beyond anything he had ever seen. The grass beneath his boots was soft, almost unnaturally so. Even the air felt different—pure and untouched by pollution or decay. It wasn’t home, but wherever he was, it felt like magic was woven into every aspect of this place.

That, at least, was a small blessing. He could feel his magic coursing through him, stronger than ever before. He hadn’t realized it until he had picked up his wand earlier, but the connection to his magical core had intensified. His spells came effortlessly, the energy humming beneath his skin like a current. He felt powerful—more powerful than he ever had in his entire life. The sensation was exhilarating.

The logical part of his mind told him he had to take advantage of this boost, to use it to survive, but another part of him—one he kept locked away for so many years—whispered of how invincible he felt. That was dangerous thinking, though, and Sirius knew better than to let it take root. Power had corrupted many, and he wasn’t about to let it happen to him.

"Focus, Sirius," he muttered, shaking his head to clear it. "Figure out where you are, and how to survive."

He cast a glance around the area again. The riverside was calm, with no signs of immediate danger. If he was going to figure things out, he needed to start with the basics: food, shelter, and rest. There was no telling how long he might be stuck here, and he needed to be in the best shape possible.

His eyes drifted back to the stream, where fish swam lazily against the current. The sight stirred his stomach, and he realized how long it had been since he had eaten. His body, still recovering from the battle at the Ministry, craved sustenance.

"Right then," he muttered, drawing his wand from his pocket.

Sirius pointed it at the stream, muttering an incantation. The magic came so easily, almost as if the landscape itself responded to his call. The water shimmered, and within moments, two large salmon floated to the surface, caught in his spell. He flicked his wrist, and the fish levitated out of the stream and landed softly on the grass beside him.

"That was easy," he said to himself, a hint of amusement in his voice. Magic had never been this effortless before. It was almost as if the very air around him was infused with it, boosting his abilities far beyond what he was used to. The thought sent a small thrill through him, but Sirius quickly shook it off.

No sense getting too excited. He still had no idea what kind of world this was, or what dangers might be lurking around the corner.

Sirius quickly set to work. Using a simple cutting spell, he cleaned the fish and set them over a fire he had conjured with a flick of his wand. The warmth of the flames was comforting as he watched the fish sizzle and cook.

For the first time since arriving, Sirius allowed himself to relax, if only for a moment. His mind still raced with questions—where he was, how he had survived the Veil, and most importantly, how he would get back—but for now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.

As Sirius sat by the fire, the smell of roasting fish filling the air, a strange calmness began to settle over him. It was unlike anything he had felt in years, maybe ever. Since his escape from Azkaban, restlessness had been his constant companion—whether it was the gnawing need to stay ahead of the Ministry, or the ever-present fear for Harry’s safety. His mind had always been a whirlwind of anxieties and fears, never finding peace.

But now, here, in this mysterious place, something was different. He could still feel the concerns tugging at the corners of his mind—what had happened to Harry after the battle in the Ministry? Was the prophecy safe? Had Voldemort taken the upper hand? All these questions should have made his heart race with panic, but instead, an overwhelming serenity washed over him, soothing the tension that had been wound tight for so long.

The land itself seemed to radiate peace. It was as if the very air carried a magic that worked to calm his thoughts and ease his soul. For a moment, Sirius wondered if it was an enchantment, some kind of spell woven into the fabric of this world. He looked around, scanning the towering trees and the pristine river with new suspicion. This was not a normal place, not anywhere near what he had known before. There was power here, ancient and quiet, but potent nonetheless. And it felt... good.

He hadn't felt anything "good" in so long that it took him by surprise. In Azkaban, the Dementors had sucked every shred of warmth from his life, leaving only emptiness and despair. And even after escaping, life had been a relentless chase—running, hiding, worrying. Always worrying. But here, for the first time in what seemed like forever, his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, and his mind wasn’t racing through plans and fears. It was just… calm.

Sirius gazed up at the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the towering trees, the sound soft and soothing. It was hard to believe that only hours ago—was it hours? Time felt strange here—he had been in the midst of a deadly duel with Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries. The memory of her wild eyes, filled with madness, flashed briefly in his mind, but even that thought failed to stir the usual surge of anger or hatred.

He sighed, leaning back against the grass.

“What is this place?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “Why do I feel like this?”

He had every reason to be on edge. He had fallen through the Veil of Death. He should be dead—or worse, trapped in some kind of limbo. Yet he felt more alive, more grounded, than he had in years. The lingering aches from the Azkaban cells were gone. His body, always slightly stiff from the effects of Dementor-induced cold, felt limber and strong. His magic thrummed inside him, vibrant and alive, more powerful than ever.

But it wasn’t just physical. There was a mental clarity, too, a sense of peace that seemed to envelop him. His worries about Harry, about the war, were still there, but they felt distant, as though this place had softened their sharp edges.

"Is this heaven?" he wondered aloud, though he quickly dismissed the idea. If it were, it certainly wasn’t the heaven he had ever imagined. He wasn’t exactly deserving of a place like this, either—not with all the things he had done in his life. Sirius was no saint, after all.

Still, there was something undeniably heavenly about this land, this strange pocket of the universe where magic was stronger, where nature thrived in a way he had never seen before. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even. And despite the confusion gnawing at the back of his mind, it was hard not to simply enjoy the quiet.

Sirius took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. The scent of the grass, the trees, the fire—it all felt so pure, so untouched by the corruption and chaos of the outside world. He realized that, for the first time in years, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder, wasn’t expecting an attack or betrayal around every corner. He was… safe.

That realization hit him harder than he expected. Safety was a luxury he hadn’t had in years, maybe not since before the war. Even then, he had been haunted by the knowledge that betrayal was always close, that people he loved could turn on him. And they had.

Sirius opened his eyes again, staring into the flickering flames of his campfire. The sound of the crackling wood, the gentle ripple of the stream, the whispering breeze—it all seemed to blend into a perfect, harmonious lull. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this place, but for now, it was enough to know that he could rest. He could think. He could plan.

"Alright," he muttered, glancing at the remains of the fish he had caught. "First things first. I need to figure out what’s going on here."

The camp he had made was crude but comfortable. Magic had come so easily to him here that setting up a fire and catching fish had felt almost effortless. The sensation of power running through him was still intoxicating, but Sirius knew better than to let it consume him. Power like this could be a trap, a lure that could lead him into madness. He had seen enough people fall to that temptation in his lifetime.

But for now, it was time to regroup. He couldn’t afford to waste time panicking. Wherever he was, whatever this place was, he had to figure out a way to get back. Harry needed him, and there was still a war to fight.

As he lay back on the soft grass, gazing up at the sky, Sirius let his mind drift once more. The strange, magical land around him might have given him a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in years, but deep inside, the fire of his determination still burned. He would rest, for now. But soon, he would be ready to act.

And when the time came, nothing would stop him from finding his way back.