Chapter I: Veil
Harry sat, almost horizontal, on the couch. His feet were resting on the coffee table in front of him. Sunlight filtered in through the translucent silk curtains. Darker, thicker curtains, more beige than orange, framed the windows and from his vantage point, Harry could see the pulley system that opened and closed them. His cat Spotty, a birthday present from Hermione earlier in the year, was lounging on the windowsill. Opposite him was his pride and joy — the forty-two inch television screen that Harry had recently bought and mounted on the beige wall.
His right hand held the remote control and was flicking through hundreds of channels, while his left was rested on his godson's far shoulder. He glanced at Teddy, who had recently taken to copying Harry and, being a Metamorphmagus, was particularly skilled at doing it. His jet black hair stuck up at the back as Harry's did and he even had the brilliant green eyes. He could not quite manage the scar, though. It could be disconcerting, but Andromeda had assured Harry it was a phase he would grow out of.
Harry turned back to the television and finally found the channel he wanted — the one showing the England game. He cursed — he had missed most of the match and England were a goal down to Slovakia of all teams.
"Who are we supporting, Uncle Harry?" piped Teddy.
"You see that shirt you're wearing?" said Harry, tapping the white England top he had bought Teddy some weeks ago. "That's the England shirt; you're supporting England."
"Oh yeah!"
Gerrard, England's talisman midfielder, had flitted the ball through to Owen, a short striker, who had turned his marker. Only one defender stood between he and the goal. Harry leaned forward. Owen wrong-footed the last defender, leaving only the goalkeeper in his way. Harry raised his arms expectantly. No! The beaten defender had tackled Owen from behind and brought him down.
"Penalty!" yelled Harry. "That cheating bastard's got to get a red!" Suddenly, Harry remembered that Teddy was with him and bit his lip. "Err, don't use language like that, Teddy."
"Bastard?" said Teddy, putting on a mask of innocence.
"No, I said don't say it," said Harry, thinking with dread of what Dromeda would do to him if she heard Teddy swearing.
"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!"
"Theodore," said Harry warningly, "you don't want me to call grandma, do you?"
Teddy looked at Harry sullenly and crossed his arms.
"Don't get in a huff, now! There might be a penalty."
"What's a pelanty?"
"Penalty," corrected Harry. "When one player does something naughty in that box next to the goal, the other team get a penalty. Look, I think we're going to get one!"
The referee, who had been swarmed by white shirts, pointed to the spot before giving the offending defender a yellow card. It was the turn of the blue shirts to surround the official, but he waved them away, leaving them no option but to watch, crest-fallen, as Owen placed the ball on the penalty spot.
"Owen has got to slot this one away," the commentator was saying, "not like the one he hit over the bar for Liverpool at the weekend. The weight of a nation is on his shoulders..."
Harry was sitting on the edge of his seat, his hands clasped together as if in prayer, his chin resting on the bridge of his knuckles. Owen took three steps back from the ball and looked up at the goal.
"Come on Owen," mumbled Harry.
"Come on Owen," said the commentator, throwing neutrality to the wind.
Owen ran up and hit the ball straight down the middle. The Slovakian goalkeeper committed to a spectacular dive to his right. The net rippled.
"Yes!" Harry cried.
"Yes!" cried the commentator.
Harry jumped to his feet and punched the air. He only wished Dean or Ron was with him. He settled for grabbing Teddy and lifting him into the air, much to the delight of the six year-old.
"Tickle time!" squealed Teddy.
Harry carefully placed his godson on the sofa and crouched into his accustomed lion position. Teddy stood on the sofa and slashed the air as if his hands were claws. He bore his teeth, which he had managed to sharpen like fangs. Harry gave a low growl and slowly stalked towards Teddy.
Needing no further encouragement, Teddy leapt on to his godfather, who caught him in the air and wrestled him to the ground. Once he had Teddy pinned to the floor, Harry began to tickle him mercilessly, only relenting when Teddy turned a worrying shade of red.
"Are you alright there, Ted?" said Harry, concerned.
"Again! Again!"
"Hang on, I need to go to the toilet. Give me a shout if it looks like we're going to score."
"But we're not playing!"
"I'm talking about England," said Harry, shaking his head.
"Oh, yeah, ok!"
"Oh, and keep an eye on Spotty for me; she's been acting very strangely these past few weeks. Make sure you don't let her out, ok?"
Harry was halfway to the door when Teddy said, "Uncle Harry..." Harry turned to the television expectantly, but England were knocking the ball across their back four. He switched his attention to his godson, who was looking at Harry with the same puzzled expression he used before he asked an awkward question.
"Yeah?" said Harry, fearing the worst.
"Why don't you love Aunt Ginny anymore?"
Harry froze. "Where did you hear that?"
"I heard Grandma and Mrs Weasley talking one day."
Harry frowned. "There are different types of love, Teddy. I still love Aunt Ginny because she's one of my best friends. Just because a man doesn't kiss a woman, doesn't mean he doesn't love her. I want you to remember that, alright?"
Teddy looked more confused than ever but nodded furiously. Harry knew he appreciated being told the undistorted truth; Dromeda tended to talk to him as a six year-old should, but after all the things that were hidden from him in his own childhood, Harry tried to make Teddy as world-aware as possible.
Harry drifted to the toilet, red hair dominating his thoughts. It had been going so well with Ginny in the two years after Hogwarts, but after he had fully qualified as an Auror and she had received a contract from the Harpies, the troubles had begun. Harry was assigned night shifts while Ginny trained during the day. They barely saw each other and, as a result, became strangers. Then came the worst part. Realising they were drifting apart, they both tried to paper over the cracks. Harry had never been so uncomfortable in his life, and he was sure she had felt the same.
It was only after a long chat with Hermione two years ago and Harry had broken up with her that their relationship resembled what it had once been. No longer were they forcing it to work, and suddenly they were close friends again, seeing each other every couple of weeks at least. If Harry was honest with himself, the only person who was not happier because of it was Mrs Weasley.
Harry returned to an empty living room five minutes later.
Smiling, he said, "where can Teddy be, I wonder?"
Harry crept up to the curtains, Teddy's usual hiding place, and flung them aside as quickly as he could, but there was nobody there. He checked the cupboard, behind the couch, underneath the dining table; everywhere. Getting a little worried, he performed the homenum revelio and his worse fear was realised; he was alone.
Panicking, Harry flung the curtains aside and scanned the small, well-kept garden. It had not been touched. He felt as though a cold hand had gripped his heart and was squeezing ever tighter.
"Teddy!" Harry called.
No answer.
"Teddy, come out now."
No answer.
Harry spun around, a whir of places he could possibly be hiding passing through his mind's eye. What if he had wandered out into the main road? What if he had let Spotty out and ran after her? What if he had performed some dangerous accidental magic? What if he had been kidnapped?
His blood ran cold.
Former Death Eaters had attempted to assassinate him more times than he cared to remember. What if they had given up on attacking Harry directly and gone for his family?
Calm down, thought Harry, calm down and think clearly.
But he could not calm down. They had taken Teddy, his Teddy! They had taken his godson. He knew it, he could feel it.
Suddenly, there was a flash of red light and a gnarled piece of parchment appeared, hanging in the air as if on a piece of invisible string. Harry snatched it and read:
Potter,
I have your godson. Say ''victory" if you want to see him again.
Checkmate. He had no choice but to say, "Victory."
A familiar tug of the navel and his living room disappeared. He reappeared at the bottom of what appeared to be a great stone pit. He was surrounded by sloping tiers of benches, like courtroom ten, or even a reasonably large football stadium. He knew where he was. He was standing on the dais where the veil stood.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed his fears. There was the ancient archway, the ragged veil hanging from it, fluttering very slightly despite the cold, still air.
Harry tore his eyes from the veil and considered a plan of action. It was no ordinary Death Eater grunt he was facing, their infiltration of the Department of Mysteries told him that much. And it was evidently one who enjoyed irony. There was no other reason why he would kidnap Harry's godson and lure Harry to the veil room. The parallels with Sirius were too profound.
Assess and evaluate.
Whoever it was, they were keeping themselves hidden. Harry stepped down from the dais and caught a sickening sight. An Unspeakable Harry only knew as Croaker lay dead inches from his feet. It had been messy; the wounds on his arms and legs told Harry he had been tortured for information. The permanent look of fear locked in the man's ageing face told him it was the Killing Curse that had finished him off. So the Death Eater had somehow managed to put Croaker under the Imperius. He had then released him from the spell and tortured him for information.
So it was a Death Eater who had nothing to lose. But if he had nothing to lose, what did he have to gain from Harry?
Harry scanned the huge chamber for any signs of disturbance. The Death Eater was lurking somewhere, Disillusioned, with Teddy. The thought of it made Harry feel sick.
Suddenly, a cat appeared mere metres from him and, before it could so much as move, a blinding jet of green light came from the darkness and struck its arched back. In the light, Harry recognised it. It was Spotty. But as the curse struck her, she transformed into a young, blank-faced witch.
Harry ran a hand through his hair and swore. He should have had the cat checked out. He had gone through all the trouble of making the house impenetrable and, just because it was a present, did not proof the cat. All it would have taken was a spell. And now, there was nothing he could do but wait for the Death Eater to appear and try and trick him.
Laughter. Booming, ear-splitting laughter bounced off the walls and surrounded him.
But Harry was ready. He sent a powerful stunner at the source, not daring to use a more dangerous curse in case it hit Teddy. The curse dissipated in the darkness, and from it emerged a tall man with thinning, greying hair. His form displayed hints of long-faded physical prowess and his stained, yellow teeth were bared victoriously. Most importantly of all, Rodolphus Lestrange's wand was trained at Teddy's temple.
Teddy looked like he was screaming at the top of his voice, but he had been silenced. A wave of dread and insatiable guilt coursed through him. He had failed him. He had failed his godson.
"I always knew," snarled Lestrange, "that I would be the one to beat you. I always knew that I, the greatest servant of our Lord, would be the one to avenge him!"
Guilt turned to anger. Harry would work out his weakness, the flaw in his plan, and kill him. Nobody touched his godson and got away from it. But he had to control himself and wait for Lestrange to make the mistake.
"Well done, Lestrange," said Harry, trying to keep him talking. "But how did you do it?"
Harry knew exactly how he had done it, but hoped that, consumed by his own brilliance, Lestrange would lose concentration just enough for Harry to strike.
"All credit to you, it was difficult. I had to be patient, Potter, and resourceful, I suppose, but mostly patient. Disguised as an old witch, I had tailed your Mudblood for days and finally overheard her plans to buy you a pet for your birthday. I then saw my opportunity and tricked a Ministry buffoon into giving me a list of Animagi in the country. That filthy half-blood –" He nodded towards the dead woman "– was easy enough to find, so I planted her in Magical Menagerie and overpowered one of the staff there."
"It must have been difficult to maintain simultaneous Imperius Curses," said Harry, disgusted.
"Ha! I'm not the most wanted wizard in the country for nothing! I waited a week for your Mudblood friend but when she finally came, it did not take much to convince her to buy the Animagus."
"But why did you wait so long to put your plan in action?"
"It is much more difficult to snare an Unspeakable, Potter. After weeks of effort, I overpowered Croaker and lay in wait for your godson to be left alone with the cat on his weekend visits."
"Very clever," said Harry, "worthy of your former master, even. Now what is it you want from me? Money? Your brother's freedom?"
"Vengeance."
"I see. So you want a wizard's duel, in honour of your master?"
"No, Potter. I have not gone through months of toil to see you slip through my fingers." His dirty face distorted into a cruel grin. "Your godson will see a Lestrange put you through the veil as you did dear Sirius." Harry raised his wand a little, thinking he'd be able to get away with a headshot. "Don't even think about it, Potter. One spell from that wand and darling Teddy is dead."
Lestrange had won, and Harry knew it. He had hit Harry where it hurts most.
"And where is the guarantee that you won't kill him anyway?" spat Harry.
"He has taken nothing from whereas you...you, Potter, ruined everything. Oh, I've waited so long for this...too long..."
"A Wizard's Oath that you will return him to Andromeda Tonks unharmed," said Harry.
"Ha! I have no further use for the boy." Harry glowered at him. "I suppose I should fulfil your dying wish. You see how generous we pure-bloods are? I, Rodolphus Lestrange, hereby swear by my magic that I will return Theodore Lupin to Andromeda Tonks unharmed when Harry Potter walks through the veil."
He had no choice. He would not risk Teddy's life to try and salvage his own.
Harry longed to hug Teddy one last time, or at least ruffle his hair. Instead, he had to settle for staring at his fear-stricken face. There were so many things he wanted to tell him, so many things he wanted to teach him, to warn him against.
"Teddy," said Harry shakily, "remember that your godfather loves you, but never forget your parents. I-I never got to tell you much about them, but I want you to be strong like your father and as loving as your mother. Take care of grandma, enjoy life and never forget the importance of family."
Harry could not bear to look at Teddy's face any longer. A painful lump had risen in his throat and his eyes were stinging. As he stepped on to the dais, he thought of Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Andromeda, and the entire Auror department that he had grown to love. His heart yearned for them, and Harry charged towards the ghostly veil to stop the pain.
He could barely see through the tears. There was laughing. Crying. Whispers all around him. Ancient, scratchy cloth brushing past him. Howling wind. Pain. Fear.
Darkness.