The stone archway was the same as it ever was.
The jagged edges appeared as rough as when he had first seen it, with the stone smoothing out as it neared the edge of the open archway. The silver, watery image that flowed like a calm river that flowed ever downward, the floor giving no resistance to the ethereal, wispy smoke-like tendrils passing through the raised, cracked stone that the arch stood upon. A testament to the ancient magic that even with the obvious destruction that had surrounded it, still stood tall – unchanged.
Harry's eyes were dragged from the Veil at the thought, his gaze casted about the room. A fine layer of dust and debris had settled easily upon the once meticulous dark marble floor, a testament to it's years of neglect and a clue about where it's previous caretakers have gone, and for how long it has been since their departure. The walls fared no better, remnants of spellfire could be spotted here and there, nasty and harmful curses and spells alike littered the walls like old battle scars, never mended from when the battle had concluded. Chunks of wall had been blown apart, ripped off, or battered against of from both spells and bodies alike. Other parts faired little better, mostly stained spots of spells missing their mark, only to be stopped by the hard, dark walls that surrounded them all.
If Harry had cared to look close enough, he was sure he could find the blood stains as well. Both friend and foe.
However, none of that mattered now. The war was over, and there was but one final thing he had to do.
He took another step closer to the large archway, the whispers pawed at his mind, the words sending a small chill had settled over his body, making his first instinct to step away from them, to simply turn around and walk away. Yet, Harry knew he couldn't do that now. He deserved no comfort, not after everything he has done. It was going to be nothing compared to what he knew was coming, and Harry had long since accepted that. Even when he had been full of false, selfish hope that things could turn out for the best, that he still could keep everyone he loved with him... A broken, defeated sigh escaped from his lips. He should have known better.
They would have hated him. After everything he had done, they would have... they would have left, disgusted by the freak that remained. It was ironic, almost, that it was the now justified hatred of him by his Aunt and Uncle, something that he thought was fueled by ignorance and pure malice, had seen right through him. They knew exactly what he was from the start, even when he had tried to act and think otherwise. He could imagine his Uncle's face; a tight, knowing smirk on his lips, his beady eyes starting at him angrily as his belt was raised above his head, giving Harry another one of his countless "lessons". Maybe Harry should have heeded his words, as even with the venom that he sputtered and spat them with, they were correct.
His mind wandered to his parents. What would they say if they saw him, now? In their afterlife, did they watch him do the things he did? That thought had made his stomach turn slightly. He was sure that they probably hated him now as well, probably looking upon him with disgust and horror. It wouldn't surprise Harry if they wanted nothing to do with him, if he even was given a chance to meet them. His friends probably wouldn't as well, seeing him as unrecognizable from the boy they thought they knew.
Harry squashed the thoughts. There was no point in them, as he knew the answers long before. Where he was going, he wouldn't be in their presence. It was an odd comfort, knowing that he wouldn't have to face them. Or, if he did, he could give himself the knowledge that he wouldn't taint them with his presence for long.
His eyes moved downward, his hands held outward from his chest, a small bundle of magical cloth was neatly folded between his hands, the smooth silk was deeply familiar to his touch. One of the few physical links he had to his parents, something that he knew now he probably shouldn't have anymore. It twisted his heart thinking about what he was about to do, another selfish feeling wanting him to keep the cloak from harm, but he knew that it couldn't be used like he had used it - and knowing the wizarding world – someone would not hesitate to do more harm with this cloak. Harry doubted his father could stand the thought of what he had done, he didn't want to tarnish his memory further by letting the cloak fall into evil hands once again.
It was for the best.
Wanting to move on from his parents once again, Harry gently eyed the small, gold ring that held a clear, reflective jewel that sat on-top of the folded cloak. The Resurrection Stone shined brightly against the light of the Veil, and even through the layers of the cloak below it Harry could still feel the warmth that radiated from it, as if it had been trying to soothe it's owner. He hated the thing, as the one - and only time - he had used it was... Harry paused his train of thought, swallowing harshly. Even now, so many years later, it was too painful to think about, and so his mind continued on.
Laying next to the stone, the long, dark elder wood wand was another of the Hollows that Harry wanted nothing to do with. The sight of it brought back many things that he wished he could forget, both recent and far into the past. Harry's thoughts had focused on Dumbledore, who - even with all of his grievous mistakes, misjudgments and poor planning – Harry still held a deep respect for. He could remember his own anger and resentment when he had learned about the prophesy in full, something he thought he would never really let go of. As he stood now, Harry didn't hate the man. After everything that he had done, he would have done whatever it took to bring Voldemort down, and if he could have saved those around him, he would have done so in a heartbeat. He could see where Dumbledore's intentions were, and while they were deeply flawed, they were for the betterment of wizarding kind.
Yet, Harry in his infinite selfishness, decided that he could fight fate. That he could defy destiny, and he could defeat Voldemort and live his life.
That everything would simply work out, somehow.
It would be years later when he learned that he couldn't. He had done such awful things to keep that spark of hope alive, that at the end of it all, the only thing left standing was himself, and whoever was left of magical Britain. While they had thanked him at the end, their fearful gazes and harsh whispers were easy to understand. Why did this monster get to live, while countless innocents were killed because of him? Voldemort was only after him, after all. Why didn't he just die, and spare so many that were slaughtered because of his resistance?
Harry agreed. He was the one person that didn't deserve to live after everything, a monster playing a poor parody of a human being. Both of magical Britain and those around Harry had looked to him once as a hero, a leader and a friend when Voldemort had returned. Yet, by the end, he was none of those; just a monstrous freak that hoped the mask placed over his face was tight enough, and the lies he told would be enough to convince even himself that they were true.
However, the truth was still the truth, no matter how much one tries to twist their falsehoods to fit it.
A monster knew no penance, only the hellfire of their punishment. Now, there were no more excuses, no more distractions. Harry had to take the mask off and face those that believed him to be something that he was not. His gaze slowly turned upward, the silver waves of the Veil greeted him once again, reminding him that the time had come.
It had been strangely easy, his arms seemingly moving on their own as he tossed the bundle in his hands at the doorway to death. It was even a stranger feeling of relief that washed over him as the Deathly Hollows were swallowed into the realm, instead of falling down onto the other side. The decision to destroy the Hollows wasn't an easy one, but Harry would rather have them destroyed then having any of them be used against another; especially both the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak were too powerful to fall into the hands of another monster. They had been used for enough bloodshed already.
Harry stood still for a moment, breathing deeply of the Departments stale, dusty air.
"I –… I'm sorry. I know that from me it doesn't mean anything, but..." Harry trailed off, his voice gruff and gravely from disuse. He cleared his throat, before he continued. "I just- I'm sorry. For everything." Harry said aloud. The words felt hallow and in his mind he knew that they absolutely were, but he had felt a need to say it, before it was truly over.
With that, Harry stepped forward through the Veil without a hint of hesitation. The silence had returned to the room, and life continued on, the world none the wiser that a great light had been snuffed out without a whisper of protest.