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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.