Harry Potter and the Veil of Lost Souls

Chapter One - The Unwanted Letter

The shadow grey sky thundered ominously, threatening to unleash a torrent of heavy rain that was long over-due. For the second year running, the residents of Privet Drive (in fact the whole of the south of England, but you wouldn't have thought so the way they muttered about it) had suffered a desert like drought, and the usually bright-green, well-kept lawns were half-dead and yellowing. The ground was cracked and harder than concrete, and the heat lately had been so intense that there were footprints in the road where the tarmac had melted.

Staring out at the unpromising weather from a first floor window at Number Four was a tall, scruff-black haired boy, who appeared grimmer than the clouds did. He gave the impression of someone who had just had enough, and whose health had diminished quickly over a short space of time; his skin was a pearly white, contrasting greatly with the black and purple bags under his eyes; his eyes themselves were bloodshot and half-closed, lazily watching the outside world. It did not take a genius or a psychic to work out that Harry Potter was greatly troubled, and that he had suffered some kind of loss.

Harry sighed and hung his head in his hands for a while. It had been over a month now since Sirius had died, and he just kept replaying the scene over and over again in his mind; Sirius, laughing as a curse from his cousin sailed harmlessly over his shoulder; Sirius, falling back in a graceful arc, as though in slow motion, the laughter not yet gone, but a look of utter surprise on his face as he tripped through the ancient archway, and black velvet curtains... and disappeared forever. Gone. Dead.

Harry shook his head and went back to staring outside. The soft patter of spitting rain had just begun to hit the windows - the summer storm had started. Harry couldn't help but to realise just how much the weather reflected how he felt...

He knew in his heart that the worst was not yet over, that the worst was yet to come. He knew full well that it had only just begun; that Sirius was to be the first victim of many. Voldemort would come after him at all costs now, Harry knew that too. How could he not, when he knew about the Prophecy?

Half the Prophecy, Harry corrected himself, Dumbledore said he only heard half. And what did he know? That Harry was a threat to him; that he, a young wizard, still at school, had the power to defeat the greatest - no, darkest wizard the world had ever known. Did he know the truth? That before the end, one of them would have to die? That was what Trelawney had predicted; For neither can live while the other survives...

The rain pelted ruthlessly at the windows now, threatening to shatter the glass into a thousand pieces; the newly (and, Aunt Petunia made sure, rather publicly) replaced white frames groaned at the sudden force of the storm. In the street, swift running rivers were already bubbling down the gutters, the drain gurgling noisily as they struggled to keep up with the over-load of water. Thunder rolled foreboding across the suburb of Little Whinging, casting Privet Drive and its surrounding roads into a dark gloom. Forks of lightening crackled with an ear-splitting screech across the sky to the ground, the odd explosion going off unexpectedly and making Harry jump.

He stared blankly out of the window now, seeing and yet blind to the havoc being wreaked outside.

"POTTER!" his Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs, "Get down here boy!"

Harry didn't so much has blink in reply; in fact he pretended not to have heard him at all. Maybe if he stayed silent, his Uncle would -

"POTTER!"

Never mind.

Wearily, Harry rose to his feet, and stepping over the accumulating mess on his bedroom floor, he trudged heavily down the stairs and into the living room to face his Uncle Vernon. He didn't even bother to ask what he wanted - he just stared blearily at the floor.

"Go and get some milk for your Aunt," he snarled nastily, "She's trying to cook and she's run out."

Harry cocked up one eyebrow, and glanced and the horrific storm outside - yeah, right...

"Why don't you go in the car then?" he replied, telling himself not to get into a fight. That was something he did not need right now. He looked up to see his Uncle's moustache twitched dangerously.

"Not that its any of our business, you little freak," he snapped, "But I have a meeting in half an hour."

"Send Dudley out," Harry answered, a bite in his voice, "He's fat, he could do with the exercise -"

"DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT MY SON LIKE THAT!" roared Vernon, his face turning trademark purple, "OR I'LL - I'LL -"

"You'll what? Spray me to death with your spit? I asked for the news, not the weather you know," Harry shot back, this time the sarcasm dripping blatantly from his words.

For a moment, Uncle Vernon seemed taken aback, but recovered in a flash of lightening.

"HOW DARE YOU! AFTER ALL WE'VE DONE FOR YOU - I NOTICE THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING GODFATHER OF YOURS IS DOING NOTHING!" he bawled, his temples throbbing, eyes bulging out of his balding head.

"DON'T - YOU - DARE - BRING - SIRIUS - INTO - THIS!" Harry yelled back with a surge of fury that surprised even himself, "DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT AGAIN!" and blood coursing like scorching fire through his veins he stormed past his Uncle and out the front door, slamming it behind him so hard that one of the glass panes slipped and shattered.

Breathing heavily, he struggled to remain at a dignified but speedy walk away from the house and back to his usual park.

He couldn't have been outside for more than a few seconds, but he was already drenched from head to toe (though even when soaked his hair would still not lie flat) and his old baggy shirt was wet through. Harry didn't care; he merely carried on determinedly away from the hell that was life at Privet Drive.

Before long - and by now he looked as if he'd just stepped out of a power shower - he had passed into Magnolia Crescent, receiving disgusted looks from more than a few drivers along the way. Even after another year his appearance still seemed appalling to his stuck up neighbours, and Harry had recently found out that an elderly gossip had actually tried to get him arrested for going out in public in such disastrous clothing.

Harry suddenly realised that his feet had led him swifter than he had thought, and he was already by the park. Well, if had been a park, but the swings and slides had long since been destroyed by Dudley's - sorry, Big D's Gang, and all that was left was a rusty and rather shifty looking climbing frame.

Without warning, Harry turned and kicked the fence furiously, releasing a roar of suppressed emotion at the same time. His Uncle had hit closer to home than Harry would ever, ever admit to him. He hadn't actually told his Aunt and Uncle that Sirius was - well, that word. They would only sneer at him, jeer that he was all alone. He could almost hear Dudley's taunting... "POTTER'S BACK, BUT POTTER LOST BLACK! POTTER'S A WIMP, HE COULDN'T SAVE HIM!"

Harry gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. He wouldn't tell them, there was no point or need; besides, they still lived in relative fear that his mass-murdering Godfather would come and put them in their place at Harry's command...

Life with the Dursleys had been a bit anti-climatic this summer. Harry couldn't help but to feel at least a little gratitude towards his Aunt, even if she did treat him like he was dog's mess on the bottom of Dudley's shoe. After all, there was no way he could deny that he was alive because of her... Don't kid yourself, he thought, it's only because she's my mother's sister, and has the same blood... All the same, she had been avoiding him since he got back as if she knew he knew, and to be perfectly honest this suited Harry just fine.

Hermione, Ron and Hagrid had all been writing to him this summer , but Harry found no joy in their letters. They all said the same thing, "...Are you ok? ...Don't do anything rash!...Stay at the Dursleys, we'll see you soon..." It was almost as frustrating as their annoying cryptic clues from last year - except that at least then he had had Sirius's letters to look forward to. Now there was nothing of great interest to him arriving by owl...

Although, Harry reminded himself suddenly, that's not quite true; during the first week of the holidays, he had received a rather unexpected letter from a new friend. Nymphadora Tonks, though to most she was just 'Tonks', was a friendly but clumsy witch and a metamorphmagus, who changed her hair colour more often than Hogwarts changed its Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. On the whole, it had been a strange letter to say the least. It didn't tell him to 'be careful' - rather, she sent him a leaflet on Auror training, and a checklist of O.W.L's needed, as well as what she must have considered to be useful assets. Harry had smiled to notice she had wisely missed out the word 'stealth'. Harry guessed she must have been in contact with Professor McGonagall, and he had no memory of telling her about his career choice.

And that was anther thing - his O.W.L results were due in a week or so, and Harry simply didn't know what he was going to do. In hindsight, he realised he probably should have thought about it a lot earlier, because in truth he didn't really know what jobs existed in the wizarding world. He knew about the teachers, shopkeepers and Aurors, but past that he didn't really have much of an idea. He assumed there must be hundreds of different jobs at the Ministry, but Harry couldn't help but to feel repelled after seeing what had happened to Percy Weasley. And could he really see himself working in that place after all that had happened there? Besides, he wasn't to fond of the idea of working for someone who only a year before had called him disturbed and a liar.

The rain began to ease off a little now, though it still rammed ruthlessly as the now sodden - but overwhelmingly grateful - playing field outside the park area. Harry sighed and sat down on a near by bench, half burnt and blackened after Dudley's lot had seen to it. What was going on in the world which he missed so much? Where was Voldemort? What was he doing? What was he thinking? Where was he going to strike next? He had listening to the muggle news, though without the rapt attention he'd had previously, but just like last year nothing at all had happened. No disappearances, no deaths, no suspicious behaviour, nothing. And the Daily Prophet hadn't been much use either; all it did was attack at Cornelius Fudge for doing absolutely bog all to find Voldemort.

Quite frankly, Harry didn't know what to think about that - but he felt wholly certain that Fudge posed no threat whatsoever to Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord was probably in hysterics over the Minister for Magic's blubbering antics.

Now Dumbledore on the other hand - Dumbledore was a different matter all together. Harry had seen the fear in Voldemort's eyes as they had duelled in the hallway at the Ministry, how the Fountain of Magical Brethren had been destroyed in a blaze of glory on his Headmaster's behalf. Harry did not find it hard to see why Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort had ever feared. He had to admit it to himself; though he had still not quite forgiven Dumbledore for ignoring him the entire year, his anger was slowly ebbing away. Dumbledore had said it himself, "The blame lies with me, and me alone." So at least he had no denied it - and that made it impossible to hate him all on its own.

The downpour had slowed to little more than the odd raindrop falling lonely from the white candy flossed textured sky, and in the west the clouds began to break apart to reveal the shining sun, beaming down brightly on the newly watered lawns, returning from beyond shadow once again.

Harry took in deep breaths of clean fresh air, the smell of wet earth rising all around him, and stretching his legs he climbed heavily to his feet, shivering a little. He knew he had been foolish to stay out in the rain, and he knew as soon as he got back his Uncle would be waiting for him. Deciding he didn't actually fancy that right now, he wondered pointlessly out of the park and around the streets, resembling a drowned rat more than anything else.

He ambled past Magnolia Crescent and Whinging Way, both identical in appearance to Privet Drive, and for that matter, all the surrounding street sin Little Whinging. He saw a few up-turned noses peering suspiciously out of the windows at him, the net curtains ruffling slightly as the gossiping women who had nothing else better to do than to spread rumours about each other dashed behind them as Harry glanced to his sides. Harry snorted at them. Stupid stuck-up...

Suddenly, a loud whooshing sound flew low over his head, and craning his beck he saw a bright-eyed, tufted-eared horned owl sweep elegantly down in front of him, coming into a perfect landing on the picket fence of Number 69. It cocked it's head curiously at him, and obediently stuck out its leg; a scroll of cracked and surprising dry parchment was attached by a leather thong.

Hastily, Harry tore the letter from the owl and ripped it open, reading the vaguely familiar writing at a super fast speed, his heart pounding.

Harry,

We are holding a memorial service for Sirius on August 16^th. I can't say where it is, in case this owl is intercepted. We'll be round to pick you up the day before, so be ready. We'll leave a note your Aunt and Uncle again. Keep yourself well, Harry. Lupin.

Harry read and reread it. He felt empty inside, a sense of great loss, swelling up, about to burst...

Harry felt his throat go hoarse, and he clenched his jaw tightly shut. Just when you think life can't get any worse, he thought...

He glanced at the owl, who was still sitting on the white fence, watching him intently. Harry stared back at it.

"What?" he asked, a little sterner than he would have normally.

The owl eyed him reproachfully.

"Oh - fine- erm..." he scrambled about in his pockets for a pen or quill - which ever was handy.

"Here we go," he muttered, pulling an old and rather worse for wear quill from his trouser pocket. He stripped off a piece of parchment from the letter and hastily jotted, "Fine, I'll see you on the 15^th then." Tying it to the owl's leg, he watched as it gave a farewell hoot and flew off into the sky behind the houses.

He stood motionless for a minute, gazing blankly at the letter in his hand. A memorial service for Sirius...So this was it. The letter he had been expecting but dreading all summer. Where would they hold it - Grimmauld Place? It just didn't seem right somehow. Sirius had hated it, surely it would be an insult to his memory to do so? And who would actually turn up? After all, Sirius was still officially on the run from the Ministry; he had never had his name cleared. The wizarding world (and, Harry remembered suddenly, so did the Muggle world) still believed him to be a traitorous mass murderer. He felt a surge of white hot anger burning inside him - Sirius had died to defend him, but his name would never be respected again.

Never... unless you do something, a voice in his head told him. The thought struck Harry quite suddenly. What if - what if he could clear Sirius's name? If he caught Wormtail, he would have all the proof he needed...and Sirius would be remembered for who he really was. Quickly, Harry found a crazy plan formulating itself in his head.

He suddenly realised the key word in that thought; crazy.

Sighing, he shoved the letter into his pocket and turned back down the street towards home - well, if you wanted to call it that...

After a few minutes, he found himself trudging heavily along the soaked front path, still shivering slightly. The car was gone from the front drive (apparently there had been petrol in the car) so Harry just took the spare key from beneath the door mat. The lock gave a small 'click' and swung open easily, and before he stepped inside he carefully placed the key back under the mat. His first instinct was to make straight for the upstairs, and have a nice long bath while his Aunt and Uncle were out.

He can't have been more than three soggy steps across the living room when an eerily familiar voice rang out, making him stop in his tracks.

"Hello Harry."

He knew that voice. Heart pounding, he spun around, and came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange.