[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 events that take place.
[Authors Note;] Not much to say this time. ON WITH THE SHOW.
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Dwellers of the Veil
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By: Lixia
Chapter 3
Harry found himself walking back to the small house on Privet Drive in a dull and slow pace. Dudley would not be home for another hour or so, but Harry didn't feel like hanging around Little Whinging any longer. He passed the house where Mrs. Figg used to live; she moved though, last he heard. She turned out to be a Squib, someone who knew about the wizarding world but didn't possess any magic herself. It was odd to find out that she knew about him all his life. . It was also somewhat irritating that she had treated him so badly, when he was being watched and spied upon for most of his life. His anger towards Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts had faded, although he still felt like he was being treated unfairly. He now knew the truth, it haunted him besides Sirius; and he didn't want to admit it, but he had been grateful to hear that Dumbledore had cared about him. Cared about him enough to risk keeping a secret from him for his own happiness. He didn't remember hearing those words when Dumbledore had actually spoken them, but when he had the time to ponder the hours of talking, did he finally pick up on it.
The paved street wound around Little Whinging, Surrey, leading to all the houses that looked more or less identical to the others. He looked up at the slowly darkening sky. He saw a white owl fly overhead in the sky. It was Hedwig.
He quickened his pace a bit, hoping not to bump into Dudley, his gang, or anyone for that matter who were even slightly related to the Dursleys. Number four, Privet Drive looked the same as always. It was nearing the end of July, the beginning of August, which meant he would soon be returning back to the Burrow with Ron and the other Weasleys. It was the only thing that seemed to calm his mind nowadays.
The flowers in his Aunt Petunia's bed were withering, dying of thirst from the lack of rain they had been getting. The windows were opened, the lacey curtains pushed aside to let in a brisk breeze. Now, it was evening and the air was cooler, which meant the house would be cooled by now.
But that didn't matter to Harry. He seemed to move through life at Privet Drive like a puppet. Even when his aunt and uncle complained at him, he simply obeyed and once he was finished, he returned to his room.
He opened the door and stepped inside only to meet his uncle. Vernon glared at him, his eyes small and beady. His face was purplish, and he took up most of the entrance way with his fat body. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice obviously trying to control his temper.
"On a walk," Harry answered dully.
"A walk, eh? Who said you could go on a walk?"
"I did." Harry didn't really care whether his uncle and aunt got angry at him. Moody had already talked to them, but even the fact that he had protection didn't faze him. He just wanted his godfather back and he wanted to aggravate Vernon.
Vernon's glare didn't cease, but he didn't say anything either. His lips trembled, and he looked as if he were about to explode a smorgasbord of insults at Harry, but instead he took a deep breath and said, "To your room."
Harry shrugged and obeyed his uncle. He trodded up the steps, went towards his room, and shut the door behind him; Vernon remained downstairs in a shaken fury, like a champagne bottle about to pop.
Hedwig was waiting at his windowsill, a letter attached to her leg. Harry approached her, took the letter and watched her fly off into the night again, probably to catch her dinner. He sat down on his bed and opened the letter which was addressed to him from his best friend Ron.
Hey Harry,
How's it going, mate? Mum says we're to come and pick you up next week.
We'll be spending August at the Burrow. Dad's been so busy lately, what with all that…Order stuff and all. I can't say much else about that still, just in case this letter's intercepted. I suppose you'd want to let your uncle and aunt know when we're coming to get you. Answer back to tell us you're coming. We'll be there on the night of August 3rd regardless of whether your uncle and aunt let you, of course.
Ron
That was something to look forward to. He would get to leave Privet Drive, and perhaps be busy enough to forget the lingering notion about his godfather. He would be distracted enough to perhaps forget the prophecy that lay on him like a gigantic boulder, at least for a little while. Best of all, he would be able to see his best friends again. Hermione would surely come, wouldn't she?
He put his letter on the small table next to his bed and lay back on the hard mattress. It had been Dudley's old bed, later given to Harry as one of his birthday presents. Staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of what happened in the Department of Mystery swirled back into his head. He fought to think about something else, anything else…Quidditch….His upcoming visit to the Weasleys… and settled into an uneasy, and uncomfortable sleep…
He was running through a large room in the Ministry…it was more like a corridor with doors—no, veils every which way. Black cloth draped over every arch in a menacing way, forcing Harry to panic. Which veil held the place where Sirius Black lay, probably unconscious and possibly near death? He felt sweat prick beneath his pajamas along his spine. He continued to run, stopping at each veil to pull aside the cloth and discover what was beyond it. Every one of them was blank. Every one of them was dark, and told him he had no idea what to look for.
"Sirius!" he cried as loud as he could. His voice started to become hoarse until he could only choke out "Sirius." He collapsed to the ground, out of breath and tried to regain his composure. He looked up and in front of him laid a veil he hadn't seen through yet.
This was it. This was where Sirius was. Harry crawled up on his knees and pushed aside the veil. "Sirius?" he whispered. There was blackness beyond the veil…and yet, there was something beyond it. Something breathed…groaned…and it was a man…
He woke up to the sound of Dudley's yelling.
"MUM I DON'T WANT TO GO!"
"But Diddykins, please…we have to. It would be the best thing for our family to do," came Petunia's soft voice in pleading.
Harry rose from his bed and stretched. His stomache felt oddly empty: he'd missed dinner and probably breakfast. He looked at his clock. 11:00 AM, it read. He sighed and flopped back on to his bed. Shortly, he heard the footsteps of his uncle storming down the hall towards his room. He whipped the door open and glared at Harry, his beady pig eyes staring.
"You boy, we'll be out for the morning, visiting Dudley's grandmother. I expect you to stay here. We'll be back by noon." With that, Vernon left the room in a huff. Harry collapsed back against his pillow, suddenly in a bad mood. He had been dreaming about Sirius. In fact, he had found him, or…he thought he would have. If only he had been allowed to sleep for a few more minutes, he would see whether Sirius was really beyond the last veil or not.
He groaned and turned over to face the wall. Shortly, he could hear the doors close, followed by more whining from Dudley. Then the car doors slammed and the engine roared to life. A moment later, he heard the car drive off. The Dursley's were gone.
What was he going to do in the meantime? Harry wondered, as he lay on his bed in anger. It wasn't that he wanted to be included in the Dursley's affairs, but he really hated being left out of things. It bothered him even more that he had haunting nightmares, and practically nothing to look forward even by going to the Burrow and Hogwarts. Funny how he thought it would take all his problems away.
Sirius was gone, and he would be in his sixth year at Hogwarts, merely a year away from graduating from the school he'd come to know as his true home. He would be extremely busy with studies and on top of that, he had to worry about his life and the wizarding war that was surely to come soon. At first he thought it would keep his mind off of Sirius, but everything somehow related back to his godfather, and he felt glum again. He would have much rather wanted Ron and Hermione to come with him, back to the Department of Mysteries and search for Sirius throughout the school year—as long as it took, until they found his godfather whom he missed so much. It would settle the biggest part of aching in him so he could get to the other problems he seemed to face in his life.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to make the images of Sirius dissipate, but to no avail. In fact, as he tried harder not to think of him, the slightly gaunt, long-haired but handsome fellow appeared more vivid in his mind.
Fed up, Harry leaped out of bed and strode towards his window where Hedwig's cage was situated. It was presently empty. She seemed to still be flying out in the wide world. Harry suddenly felt envious of his owl. She was free, while he was not.
The letter from Ron lay on his desk, lonely and forgotten; Harry didn't remember to reply yet, though it didn't seem that a reply would matter. The Weasleys would come anyway. He took out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled:
Ron,
I'll be ready for you when you come.
Harry
It was short, but to the point. He didn't really feel like elaborating either. He was feeling rather mope-ish, he had to admit. He looked out into the distance to find any small speck that would indicate Hedwig's flying figure, but he couldn't see anything.
With nothing better to do, he waited.
