[Disclaimer;] I do not own any of the characters, or any places, etc…it is all from JK Rowling, and is owned by her. I do however; own the made-up fanfiction-y events that take place.
[Authors Note;] I want to dedicate this fan fiction piece to one of my bestest friends, Rachel. =) She gave me the idea of using Sirius in the future. I would recommend that you have read Order of the Phoenix before reading this fanfiction, as it will provide many, many spoilers, for example the number one spoiler concerning Sirius Black.
I decided to write an HP fanfiction, which I've never thought to do, as I usually stick to Final Fantasy fanfiction. Anyway so I guess technically its my first fanfiction story for HP.
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Dwellers of the Veil
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By: Lixia
Prologue
'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 was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore too, turned towards 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!'
Chapter 1
The arch stood as it was in the Ministry of Magic building, hidden from any public view, as it could only be found once someone went through the Department of Mysteries. Harry had been hurt; he had no idea where his godfather had gone, but he dared not begin to believe that he was actually dead. Because he was not dead.
Harry had left that very room, and the many rooms, feeling numb throughout, and sick to his stomache. His only wizard relative was…what? Gone? Dead? No. But he had no idea how he could reach him. He often found himself gazing at the mirror his godfather had left him, hoping to see his smiling face, laughing and advising Harry when he was in the worst of situations. Or perhaps he held it as a sort of solace to cope with his godfather's disappearance. Yes, that was what he would call it. A disappearance. Sirius was not dead, and he would come back. He just…couldn't find a way out through that veil yet.
There was proof that Sirius was alive, Harry knew it. He had heard whispering that day, when he fought the Death Eaters. He may not have been able to see what lay beyond the veil, but he knew that there was something there…people there…and he knew Sirius would be there with them. He would be okay. He would come back. Luna Lovegood had told him that they weren't dead, and he believed her. Dumbledore, Lupin, even Sir Nicholas were wrong. Sirius was not dead. He would return. The things they said to him about his godfather's whereabouts pained him more than they would ever know. Why would they give up so soon? Why didn't they even try to see whether they could bring Sirius back? Did they want him to die? Was that it? It struck a pang of anger in his gut that passed as quickly as it came. No, no one wanted him to die…Lupin was one of Sirius' best friends; he wouldn't want him to die. Dumbledore knew Sirius was a good man, and he surely wouldn't want to wish ill upon him. Sir Nicholas didn't even know Sirius except when he had been a young boy, and there was no need to wish him ill.
Yet Harry remained to be confused. They hadn't even tried to save him from the veil. Why was that?
Summer at Privet Drive was almost as dull as ever. He knew Voldemort was back, there was no doubt about it. There was also no point in listening to the news any longer; he knew about the Order, he knew about Voldemort's return, and he knew the entire prophecy. Any other information, any updates, he would have already known about. He spent his days wandering, as he did last summer, around Little Whinging, often crossing paths with Dudley who was just as fat, and just as stupid as he always had been. His friends were just as bad. They never touched Harry though, not since he came back from Hogwarts some few weeks ago. It was as if they could sense that Harry was much more different than he used to be, because he was. Harry had had to live through many more deaths than any boy of 15, nearly 16, should, and all of them were people that were most dear to him. It almost seemed like he was covered in a blanket of darkness and death. He had seen much of it, and the darkness seemed to show in his eyes. The prophecy, now a burden on his shoulders also seemed to express its darkness across Harry's aura. Dudley and his friends weren't particularly scared of him, since they still occasionally taunted him when they were extremely bored, but they avoided beating him up anymore.
He found himself sitting on the bench across from the swings, all three, now broken by Dudley and his gang. He saw them a distance away, walking and smoking. He noticed Dudley looking at him as well, but he didn't seem to be steering his gang towards him. Avoidance at its best.
He looked down at his shoes, worn from walking, and felt a prickle in the corners of his eyes. He hadn't cried despite his desire to. He felt he had to keep strong, if not for everyone else, then for him. He couldn't show weakness now that Voldemort was back. He had to stay strong. But the thoughts of Sirius lingered in his mind so strongly, he could almost hear his voice, laughing at a joke he and Ron told him, or telling him about his days at Hogwarts when he was a young boy. His throat began to ache. He raised his head and stared up at the graying sky. A storm looked like it was about to make its way across Surrey. Oddly enough, it reflected his mood: dark and somewhat morose.
"Where are you, Sirius?" Harry murmured to the sky, and felt a warm wetness at his eyes. It couldn't possibly be raining now, could it? His eyes began to blur, and the aching at his throat increased; where were his friends when he needed them? Where was his solace? Where was anyone to help ease his pain and the burden he carried with him? No longer could he stay angry at anyone; he wanted someone to be there for him. Sirius had been. Had been, until he disappeared. The wetness formed into tears which began to stream down his face.
Sitting in the park on a bench all alone, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, and the boy who faced more danger than any boy of fifteen, cried.
