Title: Return from the Veil

Author: Bewilder'd

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: I am open to suggestions for any pairings people might want.

Summary: Canon-compliant to end of OotP. Harry chases Sirius through the veil—and into the first realm of hell, becoming something he never knew existed, but learning what it is to have a family. While the Order mourns and moves past his death and into war, he becomes the weapon which may be the making or breaking of the Dark Lord.

Most of this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, for the first and last time.

I gain no profit from this.

Department of Mysteries

June, 1995

Lupin cried, "Harry, round up the others and GO!"

Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily on to the first tier of stone steps; Neville's legs twitched and jerked and would not support his weight; Harry heaved again with all the strength he possessed and they climbed another step—

A pell hit the stone bench at Harry's heel; it crumbled away and he fell back to the step below. Neville sank to the ground, his legs still jerking and thrashing, and he thrust the prophecy into his pocket.

"Come on!" said Harry desperately, hauling at Neville's robes. "Just try and push with your legs—"

He gave another stupendous heave and Neville's robes tore all along the left seam—the small spun-glass ball dropped from his pocket and, before either of them could catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicked it: it flew some ten feet to their right and smashed on the step beneath them. As both of them stared at the place where it had broken, appalled at what had happened, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, unnoticed by any but them. Harry could see its mouth moving—was that Trelawney, he wondered—but in all the crashes and screams and yells surrounding them, not one word of the prophecy could he hear. The figure stopped speaking and dissolved into nothingness.

"Harry, I'b sorry!" cried Neville, his face anguished as his legs continued to flounder. "I'b so sorry, Harry, I didn'd bean do—"

"It doesn't matter~" Harry shouted. "Just try and stand, let's get out of—"

"Dubbledore!" said Neville, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry's shoulder.

"What?"

"DUBBLEDORE!"

Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body—they were saved.

Dumbledore had already sped past Neville and Harry, who had no more thoughts of leaving, when the Death Eaters nearest realized Dumbledore was there and yelled to the others. One of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line—

Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: he was laughing at her.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He jumped to the ground, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned toward the dais.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.

Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing—Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second…

But Sirius did not reappear.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled "SIRIUS!"

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he Harry would pull him back out, would go in after him…

But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry—"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"—It's too late, Harry."

"We can still reach him—" Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go…

"There's nothing you can do, Harry…nothing…he's gone."

"He hasn't gone!" Harry yelled.

He did not believe it, he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight—

"SIRUS!" he bellowed. "SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry," said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry, to contain his own sorrow at the loss of his friend. "He can't come back, because he's d—"

"HE—IS—NOT—DEAD!" roared Harry. "SIRIUS!"

And with a final, triumphant pull against Lupin's arms, Harry broke free, broke toward the dais with only one thought in mind: he had to get to Sirius. Without even beginning to think about pulling back, about where he would be going, he charged straight through the veil with none of the slow-motion fall which had been Sirius' fate.

The veil felt like spiderwebs on his face and neck, grasping and pulling and whispering against his ears and cheeks, and the tattered edges danced around his ankles even as he went straight through—he may have lacked hesitation, but it seemed that the archway had turned itself into a long, winding tunnel which propelled him forwards always. He wasn't sure it would ever stop, but if he could only find Sirius, then it would all be worth it…

Remus stared at his arms, aching both from the muscle strain and what it represented. He couldn't move, couldn't raise his eyes for fear of looking at the dais, looking at the killer of the only two connections to a past long since lost to him. He fell to his knees, though, and began shaking, and couldn't contain a keening that rose itself up in his throat. He lost all sense of what was happening around him, except for the knowledge that it was still his duty to protect the Longbottom boy. He would do that, he told himself, because Harry had considered the child his friend, would have wanted him safe.

He ignored how much pain that thought caused him, and stood, gathering the Longbottom boy and going in search of Dora. The battle was ending.

Neville was staring at his hands. They had him and the rest of the DA who went to the Department of Mysteries, apart from Hermione, who was at St. Mungo's, ensconced in the Hospital Wing while the Order had a meeting. Funny, how his hands weren't shaking but his pinky finger and both his pointer fingers were trembling more than he thought individual fingers could…. No one seemed to remember that Neville had also witnessed Harry's…Harry's disappearance. Instead, they needed to discuss it among the adults, and wait to tell the children.

Ron was still unconscious, of course, and Ginny was frantic. Luna was humming to herself about webs and spiders and strands of fate and wheels…nothing comprehensible, nothing Neville was remotely inclined to interpret, though he usually tried.

"Is Harry in St. Mungo's with Hermione, what happened? I didn't see him get hexed. Was it after he left us?" Ginny was fretting, wringing her hands and pulling at her hair. Her dark eyes were wide and glistening and Neville couldn't stand it.

He rolled over in his bed and pressed his eyes to the pillow, hoping that Ginny would take it as residual pain from the Cruciatus he was exposed to, not reticence to talk. Of course, she didn't realize that he had been under the Cruciatus….

"Neville, do you know something?" she asked. She had always been the best at reading people.

"Harry's not at St. Mungo's," Neville muttered, hoping against all hope that she wouldn't hear him. Or that she would.

"I don't know what you mean…is he up with the Order? Then why didn't we see him?" she asked, unwilling to understand. Neville knew that she probably had already had the thought, and was just unwilling to accept it.

Neville shot up in bed, about to burst out and say it, yell it, scream and mourn and cry it, like he wanted to, because he had considered Harry a friend and a symbol. Someone his age should not just up and die one day. But he didn't get to say anything, for the moment the words wanted to come out, they died on his lips: the doors to the hospital had opened, and Dumbledore, Remus, and Professor Snape walked in with something like a purpose.

The banging open of the doors had woken Ron from his slumber, and he stared at the three arrivals. "Whazzamatter?" he asked blearily, rubbing at the side of his face with an arm that clearly ached. It was bandaged thoroughly, and Madame Pomfrey came over and tutted around him for a moment before she was caught in the baleful gaze belonging to one Severus Snape. Ron shrunk back from the man, paling even more, as if recognizing the hatred once held for Harry would now be transferred to the next possible target.

Neville let out a wordless cry at the thought, and all the eyes in the room swung to his round face except for one pair.

"I must object to you coming into my infirmary and causing a ruckus," Madame Pomfrey said with her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. "If you are only here to distress my patients, I must request you leave."

Professor Dumbledore heaved a great sigh, and Neville realized that he would not have to be the one to break the news to his friends with a guilty wave of relief. "I am afraid that delaying the news we must deliver would only cause further distress, Poppy. If I may…?" It was clearly not a request, but the Healer nodded, her face pale. She seemed to recognize what the news might be: her favorite patient was not among them, and perhaps she had been more worried for him than she had let on.

Dumbledore sat heavily on the side of one of the hospital beds, in one of the most undignified moves Neville had ever seen him make. Snape remained where he was, his eyes scanning the windows and doors and other beds, as though someone might hide behind the curtains. Lupin sat between Ron and Ginny, resting a hand on the former's shoulder with a gentleness belied by the mournful fury filling his eyes.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came forth. He swallowed, attempted again, and had better luck. "It is, I am very much afraid, my solemn duty to inform you of a most unfortunate loss…we suffered two great blows this night. Your bravery was admirable; sometimes bravery is not enough." Ron and Ginny both trembled at his words; Remus' hand clenched Ron's shoulder so tightly that his knuckles shone white, now, Neville noticed with a numbness he wished he had felt earlier. "We lost both Sirius Black and…and Harry Potter."

Ron and Ginny both shot up, yelling, screaming; but Neville just sat there and let the words wash over him. They didn't feel like enough. Nothing could make it more real than seeing, watching Harry die, chase down the criminal Neville knew only as the cousin of the woman who drove his parents mad and yet, apparently, Harry had loved enough to die when he did. Neville had to know.

"Why did he do it?" he burst out, his words as sharp as the fingers he dug into the mattress to keep them from shaking. "Why would he follow Black through the archway? How could he?"

To his shock, Ron stopped yelling, even let out and "oh" that sounded nearly of understanding. Neville's fury rose, and he could feel his face growing red.

"Sirius was Harry's godfather," Lupin said, his voice even more hoarse than usual, his eyes red but dry. He was pale, and somehow he seemed to have grown even more grey since the few hours since Neville had seen him. "In Harry's mind, and in Sirius', they were as near to father and son as they could be. I don't think…Harry couldn't let the only family he had left go, especially when he wasn't convinced that the veil meant death."

Ginny was crying, wrenching sobs that should have made noise but sounded like she couldn't. Even Pomfrey had tears running down her face, and Snape was sort of patting her shoulder with a distinct look of disgust in his wrinkled nose. Dumbledore looked as though he had aged one hundred years in an hour.

Ron and Neville looked at each other, both crying and refusing to acknowledge it. They nodded, knowing that someone would need to keep the DA going the next year, that someone would need to take up Harry's standard, that someone would need to do the most fearsome task in the world and tell Hermione….

That someone, not Harry Potter, would need to take on Voldemort, because Harry was no longer here to perform his task.

Neville swore to himself that he would repay his debt to his friend by doing so in Harry's name.

Harry was falling through a black, whirling and burning and smoking tunnel, his body ripping and flaming as he twisted and turned within it. He felt as though it had been hours since he had gone through the arch, felt as though the burning in his lungs and bones and back would never go away. But then, just as he was suspecting that the veil really had meant death, the tunnel spat him out onto a landscape as grey as the veil had been with a final whisper in his ear: our gift to you.

There was Sirius, sprawled in front of him, and breathing harshly. He was bruised, and his eyes were closed, but he was breathing and his wand lay next to him, only a few inches from his fingertips.

Harry nearly cried, beaming. He slumped over, exhausted, his back throbbing with pain, instead: only one thought was repeating itself, again and again, in his mind.

Sirius was alive.

Harry shook with the effort it took to stand up and drag himself over to his godfather: his bones still ached with the fall. It was worth it: as soon as his pale, trembling fingers brushed the man's wrist, Sirius jolted awake. His grey eyes started open, snapping to stare into the face of his godson with shock. He groaned.

"Idiot," he whispered, as though he couldn't get up enough effort to use his voice.

"Shut it, you," Harry said, crossing his legs under him and checking both of them over to ensure that neither of them were worse for wear. "Where do you think we are?" he asked, looking around. It was a harsh, barren landscape, with a grey sky and greyer ground. Pockets in the ground erupted in ash and smoke every now and then, with hissing and spitting noises, startling no animals from their nests—either they were used to the noises, or there were none around. Plants seemed to be few and far between, and they had come out near a cliff face. Harry thought he could hear the sound of water, which might yet mean people or animals, and he hoped maybe for the former—but they could be dangerous, so he shut that hope down as quickly as he felt it.

Sirius sighed, less of a sound than a breath. He struggled to sit up, opening his mouth, "Damn. I feel as though I've had a hole ripped right through me," he grumbled. "Damn, though, Harry. Why? Why would you follow me?"

"You're the only father I've ever known, Padfoot," Harry said, his voice going soft. He looked away, though it didn't help the choking feeling in his throat. "I couldn't—I couldn't lose that, not again."

Sirius' eyes gentled, the grey going softer than usual. He tried to stand, and stumbled—he had injured his ankle in the fall from the veil. "Help me out, kid." The words let Harry know that he was forgiven, at least for now. He rushed forward and knelt next to his godfather, peering at his ankle.

"Mind casting a bit of light this way?" he suggested. "I'm not sure if that's dirt or blood."

"Lumos," was Sirius' only reply. Nothing happened, the wand just remained in its usual state, without a light shining nor even the faintest sparkle. He frowned, deeply, the motion cutting into wrinkles which had been made in Azkaban. He swallowed and tapped his wand on his leg, then tried again. Even an explosion or a fire would have been more reassuring—there was nothing, not a bit of magic. His godfather raised his face up, mouth agape. Panic edged Sirius' grey eyes, now, and Harry stared at him in shock.

He thought wildly, his thoughts landing on the veil and the tunnel—the only thing which could have done something to his godfather which a spell couldn't fix. "Did you hear a voice when you landed?" he asked, hoping that he hadn't.

Sirius nodded, paling further.

"Shit," Harry swore. "It didn't happen to say that it'd given you a gift, did it?" he asked, his voice lifting hopefully at the end.

Sirius groaned. "It told me that 'I would pay the price'," he said, the words rough and ragged. He was basically a squib.

"It took your bloody magic," Harry said, not a hint of inflection, not quite believing it. "Unbelievable." He glared at the sky, but then wondered. "Do you think you can still become a dog?" he asked, curious now. "I mean, no harm trying."

Sirius shrugged. "I suppose I might be able to. The rituals to become an animagus run on a bit of different magic, so who knows." The man concentrated a moment, then his entire body shuddered and shrank and shifted—in his place was a massive black dog, shaggy and wagging a long furry tail. He barked, his tongue lolling out in happiness.

"Congratulations," Harry said, grinning back.

Sirius tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching around a bit—he looked at Harry and pawed the ground twice.

"Two people?" Harry guessed. He received a tail wag. "Okay. Stay dog, maybe. If they're dangerous, we can take them by surprise." This was met with even more tail wagging, and a bit of exaggerated settling down in the ground next to Harry. He rolled his eyes a bit as they waited for their visitors.

Harry stood when Sirius pawed at him nervously, patting his head to reassure him. It felt—odd, somehow, having his godfather be a dog. Like he ought to take charge, even though Sirius was older and more experienced—because, well, he was also, at this point in time, a dog.

The two people emerged from behind a rock soon after he had that thought, shoving it far out of his head. They were a pair of women who were obviously related: mother and daughter, if Harry had his guesses, and one a few years younger than Sirius, the other perhaps twenty or so years older. They drew near, studying him with caution. They both had a pair of bright, amber eyes; they reminded him almost more of a wolf than even Lupin's, and Harry pushed back a shock of mourning. He had made his choice, and it was Sirius.

"Welcome, visitor," the younger of them said. She had a long wave of bright auburn curls tumbling down her back and catching in the wind; Harry heard a thump of approval from Sirius' tail and had to hold in a snort of laughter. "What brings you to us?"

"My companion fell through a veil, and I followed," Harry said, letting his hand fall on Sirius' head. "I'm afraid that my dog is a bit too curious for his own good."

The two women shared a smile. "You came of your own will, and so may enter, visitor. You may even bring your foolish animal," the elder one said. "I am Rowan, and this is is your name?"

"Evan Grey, ma'am," Harry said, thinking swiftly. Grey—not quite a Black, and Evan for his mother. It wasn't a lie. "The animal is Grim."

"Evan Grey and his Grim," the younger said now. "So long as you are willing, you are welcome to our village, and to our home until you make your own."

They turned, and Harry ran a bit to catch up, Sirius at his heels. "Where, exactly, am I?" he asked after a few moments. "I didn't do much research before I followed him, you see."

The two women laughed. "Such blind loyalty to a dog. It's fascinating, rare, and rather stupid," the younger, Hanna, explained. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her dress and looked at him sidelong. "You are strange, young one."

Harry shrugged. "I've been called worse before."

"You will be called worse until you prove yourself," Rowan warned him. "You're in Hell."

Okay, so if there is a specific pairing you'd like to see, let me know. I honestly don't really have any preference on which way to go with them—slash, no slash, whatever—I don't care. Even if it seems like I'm just going to make a character a side character, feel free to just shout out something. I have no intentions of hinging this story on the romance, so I can throw in random romantic scenes for fun. Although I do have plans for one pair of characters...but other than the two of them, everyone is game.