Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, places, or items. As I don't expect to EVER own it, this disclaimer holds for each ensuing chapter.
Summary: While studying the Veil of Death, Harry inadvertently gets thrown all the way back to the time of the Founding of Hogwarts and cannot find a way back. In the present, Ron and Hermione uncover a book, a journal left for them from over a thousand years ago.
Chapter 1:
The veil
Harry stood in front of the archway on a raised dais. The Veil of Death. It looked the same as it had five years ago. Though the air was still, the cloth rustled as if a breeze blew through it. It was worn and tattered, similar to the robes of a dementor. It even gave off the unnatural chill he had experienced, though to a lesser degree. The ever-present whispering seemed to call to Harry, beckoning him closer. Closer to Sirius.
Every night for the past week, Harry had sneaked into the Ministry of Magic in an attempt to unravel its mysteries. Though he searched the whole department, he was unable to find any notes on it. The only thing that seemed to be unraveling was Harry's patience. He wanted to know what had happened to Sirius. He was certain the veil didn't simply kill you, but he was at a loss for an explanation.
Over the ensuing week, Harry had performed a few different experiments. First, he tossed pebbles at the gap between the veil and the archway. They merely vanished through the fabric without a trace. He chucked a few other things in, mostly for the satisfaction of seeing them disappear rather than formulating any theories. In one stroke of genius (or so he thought), Harry took a video camera and mounted it to a stick with spell-o-tape. Carefully, he eased the camera through the veil and held it there for a full minute. When he played the video back, however, he saw only static.
It was frustration that pushed him to stand next to the veil and attempt to peer through one of the tears. Behind the veil was an inky darkness blemished only by a faint glow. At first, he could barely distinguish it, but as he looked on, he could just make out the silhouette of a person. He couldn't say who it was he saw, but he hoped it was Sirius. If it was, Harry could possibly get him back. Trying to get a better view, he leaned in a little closer. He was a mere inch from the veil.
His only warning was the feel of the ancient fabric brushing against his cheek. It was as if someone had pressed ice against his face. The next moment, he was tumbling through darkness. The silence in the chamber before was positively deafening compared to the oppressing silence he felt. He couldn't even hear the sound of his own breathing. The silhouette had gone and the darkness pressed on him from all sides. It somewhat reminded him of apparition, but instead of being squeezed through a rubber tube, he felt he was floating in a massive cavern.
He floated in nothingness. It was odd that panic didn't overtake him. Was he dead? Sure, this was peaceful, but he thought the afterlife was more... full of clouds? For what seemed like hours or days, he floated with nothing to mark the time, besides his sluggish thoughts. He didn't grow hungry, nor thirsty. He didn't sleep nor did he feel the need to relieve himself. Most of the time, he would ponder his life without thinking about anything specifically.
After a long time, days possibly, he felt his consciousness start to fade as if he were drifting to sleep. His dreams were odd and disjointed. Voices and faces drifted in and out in a whirl of color. The faces seemed familiar, though he couldn't, for the life of him, place where he had seen them before.
The only thing that really seemed to break through the disjointed colors and sounds was a song. The singer had a beautiful voice, though Harry couldn't place the tune. He could feel magic woven into the music. It was a song of rest. A peacefulness washed over him as what awareness he did have started to fade.
"Missy Hermy." Hermione was woken from her sleep by a house-elf. She spoke with many house-elves in her daily work, but never did they wake her up at night. She sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes. A glance at her bed-side table told her it was two in the morning. She groaned inwardly but spoke politely.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound annoyed at being roused at such an hour.
"Missy Hermy and her Weasy must come to Hogwarts," The elf replied. "Yous is needed."
Still groggy, Hermione's brain wasn't kicking in. "Needed for what? I don't have a meeting today, do I?"
"Iz time," the elf stated, tugging at her arm. "Us house-elves is supposed to take yous and Master Weasey to Hogwarts, today."
By that point, Ron had been roused as well. "Wha's going on?" He asked. "What about Hogwarts?"
"Apparently, we're needed at Hogwarts," Hermione said as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I'm not sure why, but it must be important."
"Can't it wait 'til morning?" Ron asked as he covered his face with the blanket.
"Missy Hermy and Master Weasey must come," The little elf said, wringing her ears. "We elfses is supposed to show you something now! We's told to a long time ago!"
Groaning, Ron got out of bed and got dressed. He didn't know what to expect, but it better be good to drag him out of bed so early.
A few minutes later, the elf whisked them away.
House elf magic always seemed to amaze Hermione. Not only was the elf able to take them into Hogwarts Grounds, but into the castle. Ron and Hermione looked up at a familiar stretch of wall on the seventh floor, The Room of Requirement.
Slowly, the house-elf stepped forward toward the wall and held out her hands.
"Hogwarts," she said. "Maddie had brought Master Weasey and Missy Hermy. It is time!"
As the door materialized, Hermione noticed it was smaller than the large, grandiose doors it normally sported. This door was just slightly larger than normal and had no intricate designs. Glancing at each other, Ron and Hermione stepped in.
Inside, they found a large office. Everything was coated in a layer of dust so thick that it was difficult to determine the original color of anything. Along the walls were shelves full of tomes of all sizes. There was the occasional portrait so faded that it was impossible to say who, or what they depicted.
Curious, the pair stepped forward and cast Lumos. The ghostly light illuminated the room. Ron flinched only a little as he saw a spider crawling down from a web. With a small whimper, he banished it.
What was this room? The Room of Requirement rarely held dust as far as they were aware, but everything from the fireplace to the desk held the same, gray color.
Never one to pass up a bookshelf, Hermione moved over to the books and started flipping through some. Ron moved down the opposite wall and examined the knick-knacks that rested on wooden shelves.
Hermione was pulled from a particularly interesting book by the sound of Ron laughing. She looked up to see him standing in front of a stationary painting. "He looks like me," He said, pointing between the painting and himself.
"I don't see it," Hermione stated and replaced the book on the shelf. "His head isn't that big."
As Ron was reeling with faux indignation, Hermione moved on to the desk. Atop it was a large book that Hermione had resisted until now. A large, ominous book, however, would always draw Hermione like a moth to the proverbial flame. As she brushed the dust off, she gasped.
The cover read, 'To Hermione and Ron. By Harry Potter.'
A/N: Thank you to HelixAchaos, Maddie, and Samarth for correcting my numerous typing issues.