Thanks to:
KC
Kyra2
Fallenstar2
Foxyloxy
Chapter 25 – The Veil
The next day Harry had a morning off lessons and so he went with his father to the Ministry. In light of the new appointment of Arthur Weasley as Minister, James had decided to return to work immediately.
They passed through the Atrium without much event, despite the large volume of wizards congregated there and talking worriedly. The murder of Fudge had shaken the Wizarding world and made the threat of Voldemort much more real somehow. For Harry it had been real for a lot longer.
They entered Auror headquarters which was already alive and buzzing.
"Morning James, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted them as they passed the oaken doors. "Got a cubicle ready for you." He led them past other cubicles, all occupied judging by the papers, pictures and other items in them, but some having an Auror in and others not. They reached an empty cubicle.
"Hope this will be alright," Kingsley
Shacklebolt said, waving them in. "Your old one, I recall."
"Yeah it was," James said, looking
around the cubicle. "It'll be great."
"Well, you know the drill," Shacklebolt said,
handing James a large stack of papers and files. "You've got the title of
Senior Auror, with three Aurors under you. You're on Bellatrix Lestrange, what
she's doing, where she is and what she's got planned for us."
James nodded seriously.
"Who've I got working with me?" he asked
setting the papers down on his desk.
"Tonks, Dawlish and Friars," Kingsley
said, pointing out their three cubicles. "I've got to head off now, if you need
anything, just ask Tonks or someone else."
"Thanks," James said, nodding to him. "And congratulations by the way on getting made Head Auror." Kingsley smiled at him.
"Good Luck," he said as he walked out. James
sat down in his chair, placing his hands on his desk.
"Feels good to be back," he said with a
happy sigh. He conjured up a chair for Harry and opened his bag. Out of it he
took a few quills, two inkpots and a few other personal items including a photo
recently taken of him, Lily, Harry, Sirius and Buffy. He grinned as he placed
it on his desk, and the people in the photo grinned back at him
"Right, to work," he said efficiently
and opened the top folder on the pile. A large colour photo of Bellatrix
Lestrange blinked haughtily up at him. "I'd better read through these, catch up
on what she's been up to, other than killing Padfoot." He began to read through
the files. Harry picked up one of the papers and began to read it himself. It
was a report written by a member of the Department of Magical Catastrophes
written about the events of two years ago that took place in the Department of
Mysteries. It was so strange to read like he hadn't been a part of the event,
that he was detached from it. The report was so clinical, so official, so
matter of fact. He finished reading it and placed it on the table. That seemed
so long ago; in fact it was two years. So much had passed since then.
"I'm going to have a look around," Harry said
to James. James waved him off wordlessly, absorbed in his reading.
Harry
wandered down the hallway, trying to decide where to go. He made up his mind to
visit Mr Weasley, and headed towards the lift. He got out at level one and
walked down the crimson carpeted hall, right to the end where the Minister for
Magic's office lay. He knocked on the door and a woman's voice called him in.
He entered the room to find a grey haired kindly looking woman seated behind a
desk.
"Erm…I'm here to see the Minister,"
Harry said, flustered. "I thought this was the right place but I guess….."
"This is the Ministers office dear," the
woman said kindly. "I'm his secretary. I'll see if he's free. What's you name?"
"Harry Potter," he told her and her eyes
widened in the perfunctory way. She picked up a small jar and took a pinch of
green powder from it. She threw it into a stone basin on her desk and spoke
into it.
"Harry Potter to see you sir," she said
crisply. "Are you free?" A voice answered from the depths of the basin.
"Yes, send him in," Arthur Weasley's
voice answered and the secretary gestured to Harry to go through.
Harry pushed open the heavy door into Arthur Weasley's office.
"Hello Harry," said Mr. Weasley, looking somewhat tired. "What brings you here?"
"My dad just started work again," Harry
replied. "I came with him but thought I'd come and see how you're doing.
Congratulations by the way."
"Oh, well thank you, but right now the
whole thing's a bit of a nightmare," Mr Weasley said sighing. "People are in a
state after Cornelius' death and there is a great deal of expectations placed
on me. The Ministry is full of people who agreed with Fudge's policies,
convincing them to go along with mine is going to be difficult." He sighed
again and rifled through some papers on his desk.
"Dumbledore has faith in you," Harry said as
way of reassurance.
"Taking up the Ministers position
mid-war is not the easiest job," Mr Weasley said. "But I'm glad for it.
Hopefully I can start to make a difference in the Ministry, end this war as
soon as we can."
"I'll leave you then," Harry said, moving towards the door. "You've obviously got a lot to do. Hope everything works out."
"Bye Harry," Mr Weasley called as Harry left
the office.
Outside, Harry wondered what to do now. He got back into the lift and before he
had even thought much about it found himself on the ninth floor, the department
of mysteries. It was deserted, just as it had been on the day he had been here
before. Again, he felt detached as if he was watching the scene before him
through someone else's eyes, someone who had not been through what he had been
through. He walked down the hall towards the plain black door before him. He
remembered coming down here before, with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and
Luna. This had been the start of things; Sirius had died, and then Buffy and
Giles had showed up at his house and things had gone on from there.
Pushing open the door, Harry found himself once again in the large circular
room with the doors surrounding him. He shut the door behind him and the blue
torches flamed as the room began to spin.
"I want the door to the room with the
veil," Harry said purposefully and the room stopped a black door directly
opposite him. He pushed it open and found himself in the room that he
requested.
The large
room was dimly lit, and he was at the top of the stone benches that descended
down to the floor. And on the floor, a dais where a broken, crumbling archway
stood with the familiar tattered black veil fluttering slightly. Harry
scrambled down, looking around to check that the room was empty. He reached the
bottom and stood before the veil, scrutinising it. The voices, noises from
another plain sounded in his ears. The voices of the dead, Harry knew that was
what they were. He had wondered about that for a long time. Sirius had flown
through that body, hit by a curse that propelled him through it. But he had
gone to a hell dimension he had said, dark and cold and painful. But Sirius had
flown through it with life still in his body, perhaps that was why it hadn't
taken him to where he was supposed to go.
The voices got louder somehow, calling to Harry. He couldn't discern one from
another but he knew there were many, calling him towards them. He climbed up
onto the dais and touched one side of the arch, holding onto the crumbling
stone. With the other he reach out towards the veil and it fluttered towards
his hand, almost as if it wanted him to touch it. He recoiled at this thought,
backing away and stumbling down off of the dais.
He could remember the fight here as if it were yesterday, he and Neville on the
steps, clinging to the prophecy in fingers slippery with sweat. Surrounded by
death eaters, "You are not in a position
to bargain, Potter" Then, Neville writhing from the pain of the Cruciatus
curse, cast by Bellatrix Lestrange, the same woman who had tortured his
parents. Hate rose in harry, rose in his throat and spread to the rest of his
body. Hate that this woman, that all of those ten death eaters who had
surrounded them could laugh at Neville like that, laugh at Neville whose parents
were confined to St Mungo's for the rest of their lives and would never know
his on. And they had laughed at him.
He sat down
on the edge of the dais, looking up towards the door, where he remembered
seeing Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and Moody run in from and begin firing
spells. The fighting that had gone while he and Neville dodged curses that flew
across the room. Moody lying on the floor while his eye rolled across the
ground. The prophecy falling, shattering on the ground, the figure speaking words
that no one could hear. And Dumbledore coming saving them but not in time.
Sirius laughing, "Come on, you can do
better than that!" and then falling backwards, through the veil.
It seemed like so long ago but it wasn't. So much had changed; so much had made
his world turn upside down. The prophecy, Sirius, his parents, the Scoobies.
The voices became even louder in his ears and the veil drifted up and floated
back down into place.
Death. He had thought about it so much, but no one had addressed it. All people talked about was him killing Voldemort, how he would do that, how he would feel about that. His thoughts had been elsewhere, on his death. He felt death in him; it had been in him since that night his parents had been killed. Death all around him, in him, running through his brains, feeding his power. His power came from death; the protection his mother gave him was from death.
And he
could die. No one talked about that, because they knew what it meant. If he
lost, if Voldemort killed him. Then everything was lost, his life gave the
power to Voldemort. And for a second he wanted it. Wanted his death.
It wasn't the first time it had crossed his mind, wasn't the first time he had
wanted it. Those two years ago, after everything that happened in the Ministry
he had wanted death. Even welcomed it. Suicide would have been an easy way out
and it had been something that he had contemplated. What would've been the
point in living, no Sirius, no parents and a life of solitude, ending or
including death. But if he killed himself, he was selfish. That was all that
separated him from the action. By the choice of some higher being, the weight
of the world rested on his shoulders, and no one else's. If he had killed
himself, then death would've been immanent for everyone.
A tear rolled down his check and he felt utterly alone, not just in the room but in his life. Even with a million people around him he would always be alone, be separated from everyone.
He stood up again and moved to the veil, once again reaching out towards it.
The black curtain brushed his hand and his hand felt like it was being squeezed
reassuringly. He didn't pull away and when the curtain fell back into place,
his hand was released.
Carefully, he climbed up the benches and left the room.
