I'm back! Sorry for the break. I really should be studying for my AP World History test, but I love you guys so much I decided to write the chapter instead. (snorts) Hmph, who am I kidding? I'm not doing this because I care about you, I'm doing it because I don't want to study for AP World History. Anyway, on that subject, updates for the next two weeks won't be all that frequent. I have to pass this stinkin' test or my dad's going to make me pay for it, and I have a bit of a problem—I know next to nothing about world history. And I don't have eighty dollars, either.

And I have to take another break. This'll probably be the last chapter until the… eighth or so of June. After the AP test this week, I have a week and a half of school before finals, which I don't want to fail either, and I have a zillion other things going on (including that I get to go see Wicked!!! Everyone cheer for Jarx!!), and I know I'm probably not going to get the chance to update. But after that, updates will be at least once every two days, if not every day. I mean, it'll be summer! I'll have my life back!

Disclaimer: mine? What ever gave you that idea?

Chapter 34

Unspeakable

"Harry, come here," Hermione said eagerly after breakfast the next Sunday. They were to return to school tomorrow—the healers at St. Mungo's had found a cure, and Jorden was on the mend. Ron had gone with Lupin to visit him. Harry had anxiously visited his bedside every day that week, and only on Friday had they told him that they had found a way to seal the wounds, and they had finally seen some improvement.

Harry followed her curiously into the entryway of Grimauld Place, where they had all stayed for quick convenience to London. She did not stop there, though; she led him up three flights of stairs to the two bedrooms that were occupied by members of the Order; one belonged to Remus Lupin, and the other was now the residence of David Hoffman, the new Unspeakable who worked for the Order, the one they had been introduced to the day Sturgis and Moody had died. Hermione knocked on the latter.

"Come in," said a voice from inside.

Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. The man, who was sitting at a small desk in the corner, turned around, and his face lit up upon seeing her. "Ah, Hermione, how are you?"

"Excellent," she said. "And you?"

Harry was looking from one to the other, baffled. "How d'you…?"

Hoffman grinned his bright smile. "I take it you didn't know that your companion had befriended me."

Harry glanced at Hermione. "She… no, actually, she didn't inform me."

The older man laughed. "Come in, come in." He beckoned towards his neatly-made bed, making a face. Harry, feeling slightly awkward at being invited into the bedroom of a fifty-year-old man, sat down. "Sorry there're no chairs in here. Anyway, it didn't take me long to notice that she had a natural affinity for books, and that intrigued me because there aren't many young people nowadays who read for pure enjoyment. So I sat down next to her and she enthralled me with an intellectually stunning conversation."

Harry, grinning slightly at his blushing friend, said, "Hermione will be Hermione, Mr. Hoffman."

He scowled. "Please, call me David."

Harry found that he liked this man, even though he had only known him for a grand total of about six days, and hadn't even talked to him on five of them.

"Did you come in here for something in particular, Hermione, or did you just want to talk?"

Harry new something was up when she didn't answer right away. He glanced at her, and noticed that she was wringing her hands. She was nervous. "Actually," she said apprehensively, "I have a question to ask you."

Hoffman seemed to catch her mood, and he looked at her suspiciously. "Go ahead."

"Are you really loyal the Order?"

He looked surprised at that. "I promised my fidelity when Minerva swore me in. I am a man of my word."

"Would you do anything within your power to stop Voldemort and his followers?"

His face fell. "You're going to ask me to do something that I'm not going to want to do, aren't you, my young friend?"

She nodded, looking rather miserable. "I would never ask you if I didn't think it to be of the utmost importance."

He sighed. "What is it?"

"Well…" she seemed to make up her mind, as though she had just decided that she was really going to ask whatever it was of him. "You're an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic. I know you're not allowed to tell anyone what goes on inside the Department of Mysteries, and I know I'm asking you to put your reputation, your job, even your career on the line for this. But someone's life is on the line here. I need you to tell me about something. Will you?"

Harry had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hoffman gazed at her with a penetrating stare. "Hermione," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't mean this to be insulting or demeaning, but… you're still a kid. You're barely eighteen, and while you're smart, you can't possibly be so high in the ranks of the Order as to be able to… well, let me put it this way. If Minerva McGonagall or Remus Lupin were to ask this of me, I would probably tell them all they wanted to know. However, I cannot divulge information unless it's on the orders of… of people who know what they're doing."

He said it gently, as though trying not to hurt Hermione, but from what Harry could tell, his friend was not hurt in the least. In fact, there was a strange glint in her eye as she said, "Excuse me for a moment, please, David. I'll be back shortly."

She Disapparated. There were several moments of awkward silence, and Hoffman shifted uncomfortably. "Erm… thank you for allowing me to stay here," he said, gazing around the room. "I realize that, even though these are the headquarters of the Order, it's your house. I know you probably weren't even informed that I was living here because you've turned it over to the care of the Order, but… well, it's nice of you not to reject me outright."

Harry was about to reply that he was welcome any time, seeing as it did not exactly affect him, when Hermione reappeared, this time entering through the door, a slightly harassed-looking Professor McGonagall in tow. Hermione looked triumphantly at Hoffman. "Professor McGonagall will vouch for my need to know the information that I ask."

The witch in question looked tiredly at Hoffman before sighing and saying heavily, "I know it's hard to accept, David, but… they had Albus' trust before he died, and they were privy to information he did not think it wise to share with the rest of us." She shot a rather exasperated look at Harry. "He swore them to secrecy over the matter as well. But I assure you that whatever it is they have to do, it is of top priority for the Order. I ask you to give them whatever they may need as you would to me. Can you do this?"

Hoffman looked from Harry to Professor McGonagall to Hermione and then back to Professor McGonagall. He sighed. "I can, Minerva. I'm sorry for the disturbance."

The stern witch began to leave the room, but paused momentarily, looking back. "I trust them, David," she said quietly. And then she was gone.

Harry could only gaze after her. From Minerva McGonagall, a declaration of trust was one of the highest compliments.

A sigh escaped Hoffman's lips. "What is it you two want to know?" He looked instinctively at Harry rather than Hermione. He, however, was just as lost as the other man, and he manifested this with a shrug.

Indeed, at Hermione's next words, his stomach did a flip and his mouth went dry.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about the black veil on a stone dais in the Department of Mysteries."

Hoffman involuntarily knocked over his inkbottle. "You… you what?" he stuttered.

"The veil," Hermione repeated patiently. "The black one."

Hoffman, who had half stood upon hearing this, sank back into his chair in despair. Harry could see the conflict raging in his mind reflected in his well-worn face. He was having to choose between two evils: telling what he had sworn not to and not giving the Order the information it needed. "Of all things," he muttered, "you ask this of me…"

"Please, David," Hermione pleaded. "I knew before I asked what struggle you would have to face, and that should speak of the importance of this matter."

Running a hand through his steel-gray hair, Hoffman muttered, hesitantly, tremulously, "I'll tell you."

"The Veil in the Department of Mysteries is the most complex, most secret, and most if-you-tell-you'll-be-fired-in-three-seconds-and-your-memory-will-be-completely-obliviated work in the entire wizarding world. It holds frightening prospects, terrifying ones, and we can't make very much progress on it because the only testing we can do is to go through it, and the three people who have ever done that never actually came back.

"It took centuries to make it. I don't even know how it was done. Many, many complex spells, theories, and experiments went into making it possible. And when it had finally happened, there was nothing we could do with it.

"We had found—or made—a doorway into the Realm of the Dead."

Harry inhaled sharply, but did not interrupt.

"Well," Hoffman corrected himself, "we don't really know that's what it is. We assume it is, from the limited testing we've been able to do. There are…" he ran his hand through his hair, getting up and beginning to pace, "things, spirits on the other side of that Veil. You can hear them whispering when you get close enough." He shuddered involuntarily. "It is an eerie, terrifying feeling. You can feel them, and they want to pull you through, and half of you wants to go because that's really where your soul belongs, not trapped here in this mortal body. But you can't, and the rest of you is horrified by the idea. It is not a pleasant feeling.

"The Veil has magical properties that exceed just about anything in this world. If you pass through it, you pass into the Realm of… the Dead." He hesitated. "Has either of you read anything concerning the theory of Dust?"

Hermione, of course, said yes. Harry had vague recollections of hearing about it, and as he concentrated, he remembered. That summer, which seemed so long ago, during their visit to the Ministry's library, he had read something about it in relation to the Evanescent Spell, Propero Luminarium. (A/N: if you don't remember what the heck this is talking about, it's in chapter ten.) …The theory of Dust states that every living thing in the universe originated from and will eventually turn back to a stream of elementary particles, particles that, in a simple term, are consciousness…

"The Veil has a lot to do with that. That's the World we believe we've created a door to. A World where nothing exists except a blending whirl of disconnected fragments of thoughts and fears and emotions. The World where your spirit will go when your body can no longer hold on to it." He paused. "That's how Avada Kedavra works, you know," he said softly, looking at Harry's scar. "It makes your body, just for a moment, unable to hold your spirit, and your soul takes that moment to flee. It doesn't like being trapped here."

"How… what would happen if a living person were to go through the Veil?" Harry knew the excitement in his voice was not contained, nor did he make an effort to contain it.

Hoffman shook his head. "We can only speculate. But here's my personal theory, backed on all of the research I've done. I believe that if your body were to go through with you, you would survive, but not for long because that Realm is not a physical realm. Your body could not cope with it. However, the not for long is in terms of that World, where time could be distorted, be random, or mean absolutely nothing. We might pass a thousand years in what the blink of an eye there might feel like, or vice versa."

"Do you think there would be a way to get the person out?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that his soul would not be fragmented and mixed with the rest because it would still be trapped in his body. So you would need a way to call his body back to the rift between the Worlds, where the door opens, and grab it or coax it out. I daresay the body wouldn't be at all reluctant to come, but the soul would, so it would depend on who was stronger."

"How would you do that?"

Hoffman shrugged. "You'd have to find a way of communicating with mass of consciousness in the Other World. I really don't know; it's never been tried. None of us is exactly brave enough to go see for ourselves what's beyond the Veil."

Half an hour later, when Ron returned from St. Mungo's, Hermione had drawn up a plan.

Sorry for the cliffie… and I know it's doubly mean because I won't be updating for a while, but I couldn't help it. There wasn't another good place to end it for about sixteen pages, and this is already five long. You didn't want a twenty-one page chapter, did you?