Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Nine: Can Fate Be Changed?
There were, as he'd noted previously, two other doors serving as exits to this room. Given that he'd expected to find the Room of Doors on the other side, he had no guarantee as to the layout of this Department of Mysteries, which seemed not to even follow any standard magical laws. He suspected that one of the lost variants of Hermione's World Opener spell had been used to connect the rooms to one another—one that didn't hurt him to pass through, and that he'd, therefore, never noticed.
He thus had no guarantee how far any of the rooms was from any of the others. Either of those other two doors might lead back to the Hall of Prophecies, just as this one did—but if it did, it would probably be through the door Luna had guarded. Hmm.
With potential danger imminent, he didn't dare to brave the distraction that would have been afforded by opening his seventh sense. He wished that he could stay there, until Mother's love had solidified into armour around him. At this point, he almost thought it might be better to let it form, to risk his three friends not-in-the-know discovering his secret.
But, the Order was on its way. That might include Dumbledore.
Or Sirius. It would have to include Sirius. Was it better to stay, or to flee? There were too many potential ways for Sirius to die—but he remembered what Stephen had mentioned that his future self had told Stephen about the Veil of Death….
He shook his head. For the moment, the best that occurred to him was to continue with his current plans, which were to draw pursuit away from his friends. Only give him a few minutes, and he would return for Thor. Thor was not invincible, as he well remembered.
He ran down the corridor, carefully avoiding all the unknown instruments, particularly those that he didn't recognise. Most everything in the room was stationed in shelves against the walls, which was something.
He gathered his focus and energy even as he set off, so that, by the time he reached what passed for an intersection, the place where a short alcove to his left led to a door set into the wall, and he was halfway to the door directly ahead, he could create a duplicate of himself to continue on the way to that far door, making a sharp turn to the left to the other door.
He'd infused it with enough energy that, if necessary, it should be able to make one other duplicate, itself. And, there was a lingering sort of connection between them, to let him know what it experienced, whether it encountered any Death Eaters, whether it needed to use that energy. He could even, under duress, feed it more, although that was far from ideal, especially the further away it went.
Duplicates were, if he thought about it, a bit like having a split consciousness. There was a certain degree of madness to it—certainly, no human was meant to contain so much information in his mind at once. He'd have to be careful not to overdo it. No more than three copies, hmm?
Particularly since he didn't want the Death Eaters to catch on.
The first duplicate continued to the end of the corridor, and Harry, the real Harry, threw open the door set into the alcove, taking a brief survey of the room beyond, and groaning. There weren't any Death Eaters, yet, but….
The Room of Space (as he could not help but to call it) was not an ideal location for any sort of confrontation. In fact, he needed desperately to spend as little time here as possible. It brought back too many bad memories, and prodded at that corrupted corner of his mind. In its own way, perhaps, it was worse than the Mind Room, which, knowing his luck, would be the next room he encountered.
He took stock. The door, across the planetarium and to the left, must lead back to the Hall of Prophecies—it must be the door that Luna had guarded. He sent a duplicate off in that direction, and headed for the other door, across the room, in the same place, but to his right, instead of his left.
The first duplicate found itself in the central hub (of course), just as Ginny, Luna, and Neville retreated back there from the Mind Room.
"Harry!" Ginny cried. "Thank God! I was so worried…but where's Ron?"
It looked away from her, back behind it, at the door through which it had come. "I'm sure he'll be along, soon. If you've been out wandering the other rooms, looking for us, he might even have preceded us to the atrium."
Not likely, Harry thought to himself.
"We need to get up to outside, you know. The Order's coming. We just need to wait for them…."
"We don't even know how to get back!" Ginny said, sounding as if she were on the verge of hitting something, herself. "We weren't looking for the two of you—knew you'd do something stupid and noble. But, there doesn't seem to be a way out of here."
Harry's first duplicate thought about this. "Well, people come to work here every day. I suppose they have a map of the rest of this department, but this room defies all explanation. A map would do you no good. And, they could hardly go about flagging every wrong door, as Hermione's been doing."
And, she had been. The duplicate glanced around the circle, at the two or three doors already flagged with those flaming crosses. "Some other way out, then. And, they won't be expecting an invading force. Hmm. Well, Room of Anti-Logic, show us the exit."
To Harry's shock, the room spun around, again, and a door opened onto the darkened corridor of his dreams. Was that all it had required, all along?
"How did you know?" asked Neville, almost petulant, as he stared at it with wide eyes.
"He didn't," Hermione said. "It's sheer luck in play."
Unless you're using that seventh sense of yours, her narrowed eyes silently accused.
"Oh, who cares how!" Ginny snapped. "Let's just get out of here before the Death Eaters show up. We still need to make sure that Ron got out!"
Well, at least the others were safe, Harry thought, as he threw open the door in the right-hand wall. But, it was highly unlikely that Thor was out of danger, yet. He'd want to make sure that the others had escaped, too….
He entered the room beyond, and froze at the sudden sensation of something tugging at him…calling him….
At the centre of the room, which was as vast as that through which he'd just passed, steps led down, in a manner reminiscent of an amphitheatre, sinking into packed limestone, and at the centre, a rounded archway, and over it—fluttering in an ever-present, non-existent breeze, with a murmuring of human voices—gauzy fabric, beautiful, shimmering as if it were cloth-of-many-colours when it was actually white. Thin and sheer, like tulle or organza, but somehow still too opaque to make out even what colour the stones were that comprised the archway.
The Veil of Death. And this, the Room of Death, where, at least once before, Sirius had died.
A few things happened then. The first was that Harry's second duplicate had almost made it through to the Hall of Prophecy, calling Harry's attention away from the Veil, when the Death Eaters burst into the Room of Space, and it was forced to take the offensive against them. It had neither Sword of Gryffindor nor basilisk fang, but it did have plentiful knowledge and experience with knowing how to fight. It did not hold back, as the Order would have. Something—perhaps the sense that Thor was in danger, which had guided him before—lent extra urgency and viciousness to its actions.
A reductor curse hit the first Death Eater, but even as it cast the spell, that copy of Harry was forming a weapon of its own, out of the other kind of magic. It threw one of the daggers Harry had once been convinced he would never be able to learn how to make, and struck home. It didn't stay to see whether or not that Death Eater survived the attack. It cast a stunner for good measure, and hastened into the room beyond, knowing that it did not bode well, that these two had made their way past Thor.
The second was that the first duplicate sent off the others, out to the atrium, slipping out of the lift at the last minute, and discovering, to its chagrin, that the invisibility cloak would not suffer itself to be duplicated any more than the Sword of Gryffindor did.
The third, and most consequential, was the glimpse that it had of the arrival of the Order, before the lift descended again, and it dissipated, running out of steam, as Harry slowly realised, somehow because of Harry's proximity to the Veil. Perhaps more important was that the relief team included such familiar faces as Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, and Sirius.
It had better also include an invisible Stephen, or Stephen was dead.
Meanwhile, the second duplicate found Thor, announcing its presence by casting a shield charm against Bellatrix Lestrange's most recent attempt to murder him, and then countering with a stunner. Harry doubted that she'd be out of the picture for very long. She had allies, after all.
"You should not have returned for me, Brother," Thor said, turning to look at the duplicate. "You will have thwarted my efforts to—"
"Then, I didn't," said the copy, spreading its hands wide, in a familiar gesture. Thor seemed to understand, bowing his head.
"A fake, again," he said.
"A solid fake, however," the copy said, glancing around. "Although I don't think I'd handle physical combat very well. Might I suggest a tactical retreat? I can get you out of here, and cover your retreat."
As if to underscore the similarity to that night that he'd almost died the last time, blood seeped through the fabric of Thor's robes. An idea occurred to the copy.
But first, somehow, it dragged Thor to his feet, and they made for the door, with that copy keeping a constant eye out. The Death Eaters were thinking that they were being stealthy, closing in. Bellatrix Lestrange was already on her feet. She must be their leader—she, or Lucius Malfoy, who was also easy to recognise, with that long, silvery hair.
Somehow, they made it through to the door to the space room (the nearer of the two), and the copy braced both hands against the door. Let none pass through this door, the runes on this barrier read. The Ministry would have to replace those doors, most likely. He didn't care.
The duplicates were nothing but illusions reinforced with fragments of mind shrouded in magic. It was possible he hadn't been able to make them, even, before Thanos had broken his mind into so many slivers that he felt he could detach them. He wasn't sure that Thor knew that they existed.
Well, he did, now. But, their nature of being made of pure magic meant that the duplicate in question could channel raw healing energy into Thor, sealing up a wound similar to the one across his chest that had once almost killed Thor, centuries ago.
But, the duplicate would dissipate. It was hard enough, holding it together until it could heal that wound. The Veil of Death was trying to divert his attention, and it was trying to ensnare anything it could find of his magic, of his soul.
The Veil, he remembered from the mythology. The barrier that separates magic and the supernatural from the physical world. It believes that I do not belong on this plane.
He had a purpose. He would not be dissuaded. He would not be distracted. Sirius did belong on this plane. Harry would prevent his crossing over to the other side, tonight. He would.
That other duplicate dissipated, fading out, as Thor watched. Harry's window into the room previous faded with it, and he became thrice aware of the Veil of Death, as if that schism in awareness had diluted its influence. It probably had.
He fought the resignation, the apathy the Veil tried to enforce upon him, by dwelling upon Thor's wounds. His brother, nearly killed again, in a war not his own, defending him. The Death Eaters must pay. And, more even than they—
His mind came into a point of sudden sharp clarity and focus, as anger drowned out the Veil's siren song. It was still calling him (as the Void had once called him), but he had a purpose, a goal, and he would not be denied.
Thanks to Riddle's spell at the end of last year, or so Dumbledore had told him, Mother's blood flowed in Riddle's veins, even as it did Harry's. There was a commonality, there, like the coins he'd made from cut out circles of parchment. They were bound together, now, coming from a common source, and that created an exploitable gap in Harry's defences. But, there was an equivalent one in Riddle's. Harry could force his own message through.
Do you desire the prophecy, the knowledge of what it contains? Then, meet me at the atrium in ten minutes, little wizard, and we shall see who lays the better plans.
A command, one that Riddle, in his anger, would not resist.
Thor joined him in the Room of Death. He glanced at Harry, staring as if he could tell truth from lies by sight alone. Harry shrugged, and waved.
"I got a bit held up," he said. "It reminds me of the Bridge—that Veil. I know that it leads to the Beyond—to Death. I think I was meant to come here, all along, if there be any such thing as Fate."
"Are you real, Brother?" Thor asked, making his way over to Harry.
"Real enough," Harry said, with a smile. "I know what happened to you, back there. You very nearly died. You should retreat, go above."
"Together," Thor insisted.
"Your presence here won't help anything," Harry said, in his mildest voice. "Riddle is coming—he will be at the Atrium soon. But, I need your advice, on any count. Stephen said that that Arch—the Veil of Death—is what killed Sirius in the timeline he knows. Is it better to stay in this room, or to flee aboveground, and be unable to help Sirius, when the moment comes, as come it must? They are here already, both factions of the war. Sirius is here. You are our strategist. What do you recommend?"
He did not ordinarily ask for advice from anyone, but this situation was also far too important for him to look at it impassively. There was little hope of Thor faring better, but it was worth the effort.
"You said that the Veil calls to you. It kills. You should remain in this room no longer than necessary. And—if you are not here, Sirius will see no reason to come to this room."
A glimmer of understanding. Protectors understood protectors best. "It takes one to know one" did not only apply to miscreants and those of ill-will.
"Then we shall go," said Harry, realising that he was still staring at the Veil. There was a sense that his feet would lead him in that direction without him knowing it, if he looked elsewhere, but its call was louder when he looked.
"It is like that Mirror back in first year," Thor said, with some horror. "Forget the Veil!"
As if he could. Thor gave him the speculative examination that gave Harry to know that if he didn't move, Thor would decide the best course of action was to hit him over the head. He moved, instead.
"Talk about something else," he begged. "Something to distract me."
"How do you know that the Order is here?" asked Thor, immediately. Harry made an attempt at a smile, and kept his gaze on his feet. He would know if he took a step down, into the amphitheatre. He would know.
"A duplicate," he said. "I don't remember if I used them before…well, you know. These are made of illusions infused with a sliver of mind. I can afford to lose little slivers of mind, after…."
He gave a bitter laugh. "But, before that, would I have dared such a thing?"
"You were not human, before," Thor pointed out. "I may have known you to use such tricks, myself. But, you were very quiet about your strategies, the last few centuries. I little understood what you said before, when we were still on speaking terms, and then…."
And then. Yes, Harry did not think that that was the appropriate subject to pursue at the moment, particularly not when it ended with death.
Thor cast about for something else to say. Before he could find it, the door from the Space Room burst open. Harry turned back to face that entrance, and Thor, for want of a better weapon, took up a defensive stance in front of Harry.
The door that was their destination burst open, and Harry knew, without needing to look, that this would be the Order of the Phoenix.
Which included Sirius.
Dumbledore came sweeping in from behind them, first, and Bellatrix Lestrange on the other side. They were closer to the "exit" than the "entrance", but the Death Eaters had arrived first, and Lestrange was a woman on a mission. Harry privately hoped that Neville hadn't backtracked to come looking for him and Ron. Or Hermione. Or Ginny.
"Accio prophecy!" cried Lestrange, again, and Harry cocked his head, as if he found her a mild curiosity. This, of course, infuriated her, which was sort of the whole point. But, before she could do something more violent, Dumbledore came to meet her, with a sharp, severe glance over his shoulder at Harry.
Ah. Now, he remembered Harry.
Ron grabbed hold of his sleeve, and began to tug him further away from the Veil of Death, but now Harry had cause to put up a fight.
"Sirius will depart if he knows that we are not here. Go!" Ron said.
He knew that Ron was right. That did not somehow serve to render the task any easier. It felt an abandonment.
Then, there was a moment after Dumbledore had ordered them both to leave (he was not speaking to Harry again, too), a moment that he almost missed, when Lestrange who was dueling now against Sirius, lashed out unexpectedly with some sort of nonverbal spell, and an odd, orange array flashed into view for a moment. It deflected or absorbed the spell, and Sirius took a step back, away from the Arch.
Only then did Harry see how close they had come to it. But, Thor would not let him dwell—he'd died, perhaps, too often for this one. Thor pulled Harry out of the Room of Death, and into the very worst of the Rooms that Harry knew. He stared around, despondent, and weak as a kitten, all of a sudden, at all those brains in their vats.
"I—" Ron began, but then Death Eaters burst in from an alcove door that, as the Death Eaters entered, led from the central hub room with all of the doors (although Harry was fairly sure that it would lead elsewhere, once that door closed).
Their retreat had been cut off.
"They are after you, and the prophecy," Ron reminded Harry.
Harry paused, bowing his head, to consider, and came to a conclusion. "So be it, then. The Sword, Ron," he said. Thor knew a cue when he heard one, and, with some misgiving, that he made no effort to hide, and what seemed quite a bit of perplexity, Thor handed back over the Sword. Harry'd need both for the coming duel.
The Death Eaters were after him, Harry thought to himself. He'd served as a decoy, once, but now all he need do was make his way to the atrium. Although the enemy would not leave Ron alone, Thor could almost always hold his own in battle—and the Order was just in the next room. But, Harry, on the verge of suggesting that Thor return, recalled their mutual adverse reaction to the Mirror of Desire, the tale that had brought his brother to this time, and decided that he much preferred to have him well out of the way of the poisonous effects of the Veil of Death. Even the Mind Room was better.
And, as the last Death Eater burst into the room via the hub, Harry stunned him, and slipped past the falling body into the central hub, barricading the door through which he'd just come with ordinary, wizarding magic. He thought that he was beginning to run low on energy, and reconsidered the plan he'd made (with only half of his attention!) to draw out Riddle.
But Dumbledore was just down here, a five-minute journey away, if the lift continued to function (and why would it not?). Thor was down in the Room of Mind, and his other allies—
What had become of them? He ought to ensure that they were nowhere near the atrium, when the battle began. With a brief wince at the hasty nature of his plan, but knowing he'd little choice but to press onwards, now, he turned to the door on the opposite side of the room, remembering his copy's actions.
"Show me the way out."