Destiny Finds a Way

Chapter VIII - The Veil of Ninthaeil-Barrh

Harry looked up, startled. Hermione was looking gravely at him, dressed in robes of black velvet, the wind softly blowing through her curly russet hair. Harry suddenly felt ashamed of his apparent show of emotion. He knew he must've looked tear-stained and scarlet. He did not know why but it was an upsetting matter that Hermione could possibly think him weak. But it was too late to do anything now. She had caught him unawares. He felt somewhat naked under her gaze and drew his garments tighter about himself. He felt as though he could not speak, like his voice had flown out of him together with his tears. He merely stared back at Hermione, at a loss for words.

She sighed half-exasperatedly and half-understandingly when he did not take her hand then seated herself beside him. "I'm sorry for sneaking up like that but really, I had no other choice."

Harry looked away, his throat was burning madly, and he felt that if he dared utter anything, he'd choke. He didn't know if he felt annoyed at Hermione for interrupting him or if he was thankful for it. They sat in silence for a few seconds, unease settling in his stomach. He stole a glance at Hermione. She was sitting beautifully pensive as she ran her fingers across the words etched on the marble in front of her. Her eyes were smoky and the tendrils of her hair gently caressed her soft skin.

He reached across to touch her cheek before he could stop himself. She looked at him, a mixed expression spread across her face. He knew it was the right thing to do to pull his hand away but she put up her own hand and cupped his, to keep him from doing so wholeheartedly. Her skin was sweetly warm and her lips... her lips were a nice pale shade of pink which looked tempting as the rays of the sun that were seeping through the grey clouds overhead shone on the lip gloss she had put on them. Before he knew it, he was leaning closer to her, not knowing why he was doing so or what he would achieve by doing this. He just wanted to stop feeling the way he did right now and find out exactly how soft those lips were...

"Let's go. Now," she said croakily, pushing his hand away and getting up, once more extending her hand to him.

Harry felt jolted. He tried hard not to look into Hermione's eyes. He let her pull him to his feet, puzzled at what she pressed on him with such urgency. But he was more puzzled, as well as ashamed of his earlier actions. Or was he?

"Where are we supposed to be going?" he asked quietly. He did not feel like refusing her after what he had just pulled moments before but he could not deny his curiosity a chance to be satisfied.

"You'll see," she muttered taking out a battered looking pocket watch. Her tone seemed empty and far off, as if it was not coming from her. If it was bitter, he did not know. He could not decipher any indication of emotion at all coming from her at this moment. How was she doing that? She was never one to hold back on any sentiment or feeling before. She showed it openly and said what was on her mind always. His own mind was reeling and it was a slight shock when she gestured him to take hold of the clock's chain as she maintained grip around its face. Harry knew it must be a portkey. He looked at it, his curiosity mounting within himself.

His head began to throb painfully but he did not have time to dwell on it, in about five seconds, there was a jerk behind his navel urging him forward at vast speeds. So much so that Harry felt his skin might be in danger of being torn off his skeleton. Despite the colors zooming in blurs all around him, proving a dizzying distraction, he positioned his free hand in front of him, expecting himself to fall to the ground when he hit the portkey's destination. But for the first time ever, Harry Potter did not end up sprawled on the ground after a portkey trip, which he found odd but filled him with some sort of shallow pride.

He looked around; he was in a dingy street lined with equally dingy establishments. A few ways away stood a familiar old telephone booth with its cracked panes of glass and the graffiti covered wall behind it. It seemed to have acquired a few more scribbles on it and even managed to get a few on the phone booth itself. Hermione swiftly made her way into the booth and gestured for Harry to come follow.

"Hermione, you're taking me into the Ministry, aren't you? ...Why?" Harry asked as he squeezed in to join her. It was a tight fit and Harry felt himself blush as he sidled in next to her but if she was feeling any apprehension, she did not let it show. Her face remained grave and serious as she lifted the receiver of the payphone in front of them. She dialed the numbers "62442" and a cool female voice began to echo from it.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your business," said the voice placidly as though she was in the booth with them.

"I'm Hermione Granger, Jr. Head of the Department of Experimental Magic and Harry Potter is here with me for an appointment," Hermione replied just as calmly.

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes." There was a clattering sound and a badge appeared in the tiny compartment where the refunded coins usually came out. It bore the words,

HARRY POTTER

APPOINTMENT

Harry took it and pinned it on his robes obediently.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium," said the voice automatically as though she knew just when a person had done what it had asked or not.

"If I'm not much mistaken, she said the same stuff to me last time I was here," said Harry, grinning, hoping to be able to lighten up Hermione's mood. No such thing happened. She remained silent.

The telephone box shuddered and began slowly sinking underground. They were plunged into darkness as they passed under the pavement. The only sound they could hear was the dull grinding of the telephone box as it descended deeper under the surface. It seemed like he was in a tiny piece of eternity for it took uncomfortably long before a golden light started to seep in, shining at his feet. Harry was getting impatient and Hermione's mood was not helping in the least. The light steadily grew and soon they were engulfed in the breathtaking brightness of the Atrium.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," Harry heard the female voice call finally as they got out. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

There were about a dozen or more fireplaces spaced the walls of the wide, handsome hall. Once in a while a witch or wizard appeared out of the grates on the left-hand side in a whir or green flames, looking somewhat disheveled and hurried, bringing their work things with them. On the right-hand side, there were long queues of Ministry workers, angling to use the fires to get to their destinations outside of the Ministry.

Harry and Hermione began to make their way down the hall, their footsteps light on the dark polished wood floor. It was uncannily clean and waxed that Harry could've used it as a good substitute for a mirror. As they continued down the hall, he began digging in his pocket for some spare change for he was expecting to see the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the middle of the hall. It was a special fountain that he always thought of as kind of lucky. But he was amazed to see that it was nowhere to be found. In its place was a squat little sign that said simply, "New fountain still under construction."

"What happened---" Harry began but Hermione cut him off and it was in a contrastingly accommodating manner. It took Harry quite by surprise.

"They're replacing it with a new one. I think it'll be done in a few days," she grinned at him. "Oh don't worry though! I think you'll quite like the new one. It's less demeaning than that old one," she added before he could say anything in reply.

They had joined the throng heading to the great golden gates at the end of the hall. All around them Harry could see wizards carrying piles upon piles of paperwork, big ancient tomes, and decrepit attaché cases. Pieces of parchment would sometimes fly out of their grasp and they jostled the crowd to get at them. The chattering in the moving mass was getting increasingly noisy as more wizards joined their gait. Then they left it with minor difficulties for the small desk on the left side of it where a dumpy witch with wispy chestnut hair sat.

"Hello, Ulrida. I'm escorting Harry here. He has an appointment with me," smiled Hermione.

Ulrida looked uninterestedly up at her as though she hadn't heard anything Hermione had just said at all. But apparently those were just her regular appearances for she replied in astonishing earnest to Hermione's explanation, "Oh really? What kind of appointment?"

"He's going to talk to me about a spell idea. I don't know if it's going to work yet but that's why I'm going to talk to him about it," Hermione elucidated as Ulrida stood up and waved what seemed like a golden television aerial in front of Harry.

"That's smashing! What sort of spell?" Ulrida's pasty face crinkled into an ugly grin, teaming with interest.

"Really, Ulrida. I don't think I'm at liberty to say anything right now since I'm not sure," Hermione giggled forcedly. Harry could tell this Ulrida woman annoyed Hermione to no end. "Aren't you going to inspect Harry?"

"Oh right! I bloody well forgot. Wand please," she said to Harry, holding out her fat palm. He took his wand out and handed it to her. She made her way back to the desk and placed it upon a set of scales with one dish. It began to vibrate and a small piece of parchment appeared from an opening at its base. She tore it off and read, "It says eleven inches, phoenix-feather core... in use for eight years. Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's about right," Harry confirmed.

She gave him his wand back and placed the piece of parchment through a small brass spike and wished them a fine day as they entered the golden gates into the smaller hall with about twenty or so lifts with golden grilles.

"Ulrida's sweet but she's a bit too nosy and a tad bit clingy for her own good. Oh crikey, I miss Eric," she smiled uneasily at her less than nice comments.

They entered a lift with a short balding old man carrying an ancient looking wooden box covered in runes, a swotty looking witch with large purple eyes, a blonde witch who was rapturously good-looking, a strong-built man who looked like he was in his mid-forties, three squat and heavily pimpled men who seemed to be triplets and a gangly wizard with horn-rimmed glasses and fiery red hair.

"Hello, Percy," Hermione greeted the red-haired wizard as the lift began to ascend.

"And you Hermione," said Percy huffily. His gaze shifted to Harry. "I see you've brought Harry with you... for an appointment?" his eyes traveled to the words etched on Harry's badge.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office," sounded a placid woman's voice clearly over the babble as the lift doors opened, revealing a very untidy corridor full of lopsidedly tacked Quidditch posters on the walls. The strongly build man made his way out as a couple of pale violet paper airplanes zoomed in.

"Yes, yes. We're going to discuss spell ideas," Hermione said lamely, the airplanes flying idly above her head.

"Really, now? Why not discuss them with your employees at the department? Surely, that's their job?" Percy said nonchalantly, though his eyes looked suspiciously at the both of them.

"Well good ideas are hard to come by and Harry and I did make a couple of spells back in last couple of years at Hogwarts. They are now, of course, properly modified and usable since our department tweaked them. He might have some useful insights and I say, why not hear them out?" explicated Hermione calmly.

"Of course, of course," Percy said lightly. "How could I forget?" he added somewhat grudgingly.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Center," the same cool voice rang out. The doors opened once more and a few of the paper airplanes zoomed out while some more flew in to take their place.

Percy did not inquire any further though Harry caught him glancing in their direction once in a while. They lapsed into silence. The sound of the flapping paper planes and the breathing of the lift's occupants strangely magnified. It was a tad bit unsettling so Harry turned to Hermione, "So which floor are we headed for?"

"The one at the very top," she sighed as the doors opened at the fifth floor.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." At this, Percy shuffled out without a word of goodbye, a couple of memos following his suit as more of them flew in.

"I've only been up to the second level before," Harry realized.

"Well, now you'll finally reach the top, won't you?" Hermione said simply.

"What was wrong with Percy?" Harry cast around for a different topic.

"He's always acting like towards me now. I don't know why. We used to get along before."

Harry was just about to open his mouth to explain to her what Ron had mentioned to him about Percy after his first game with Puddlemere when they stopped for the fourth floor and somebody entered that drove what he was about to say, quickly out of his mind.

"Level Four, Department for Registration and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

A tall, sharp featured man with white blonde hair swept in. Though his grey eyes were cold and empty, he was still undeniably handsome. His expression was that of mixed smugness and exasperation. The blonde witch blushed deeply as he came to stand beside her.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. You're looking pretty this morning," he grinned, his eyes glinting as he looked over his shoulder at Hermione. Harry suddenly felt a fresh wave of hate course through his veins.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione muttered tonelessly.

Harry couldn't believe it. It was like this day was destined for him to meet all the people he despised. He almost expected Voldemort to come in next. Why was Malfoy being allowed to walk freely around the Ministry after the treason he and his father committed against them? Were they insane? Obviously the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. Why would they want filth like him working amongst them? How dare he even talk to Hermione?

"Keep your temper in check, Harry," Hermione whispered sharply to him.

"Jolly good, it's Scar Boy!" Draco's grin spread even wider. "All grown up, I see?"

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." The triplets left their number hurriedly as though they smelled the scent of trouble in the air around them.

"Draco works in my department---Office of Experimental Curses and Counter Curses. I offered him a job there in light of his recent financial troubles, am I right?" Hermione said pleasantly to Draco who narrowed his eyes at her but did not say a word.

"That's why he got the job, is it?" murmured Harry a little too loudly causing the blonde witch to shriek in surprise as Malfoy whipped around to face Harry, his face contorted in fury but when he spoke, it was with a tone of unsettling civility, "The only thing keeping you from becoming my test subject for the curse I'm working on are the four other people in this lift. I advise you not to try me because I haven't found its counter as of yet."

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." Whether or not this was the floor that they had meant to get off on or not, the four other people left in haste as soon as the lift doors opened, leaving Harry, Hermione and Draco alone with the last few interdepartmental memos flapping unconcernedly above them.

"Really, you two, there's no need for hostility," Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping in between them.

"He started it," Harry said acidly.

"I frankly don't care who started it. Draco, I thought you had changed," Hermione said in a disappointed voice at Malfoy who looked surprisingly hurt by these words. Then she turned to Harry, "I expected more from you. Come on, this is our stop." Harry bowed his head and let her steer him out of the lift.

"Level One, Department of Experimental Magic, including the Office of the Minister of Magic and his Cabinet Members."

The grilles opened and they into the middle of a bright, vast, and beautiful meadow. Harry felt his jaw drop at its resplendent exquisiteness. The lift disappeared into the ground below them, beams of white light emanating from it as it sunk in slow descent. Harry was in utter awe at his surroundings. He had never seen grass so green or trees with trunks so thick. Their leaves, swayed placidly with the soft breeze and their sturdy branches, calling to be climbed on. There were flowers of every kind, color, and scent scattered about the place, tended by the equally colorful fairies. The air was filled with bird song and yet it seemed to Harry that it sounded more of nature's very opera. The animals were frolicking freely in their midst, unafraid and seemingly unaware of any two-legged mortals that had strayed into their territory.

The only things that seemed out of place were some odd pieces of furniture that seemed to be levitating here and there. Like the three magnificently carved oak doors suspended a few centimeters from the ground in the middle of the field and the many large and fine-looking portraits of what looked like cornerstone moments in the history of the magical world. They hung on their own space in the meadow, commanding yet nonetheless striking. Harry looked up, expecting to see the sunny blue sky and fluffy white clouds but instead was met by a perfect replica of the cosmos. He held out his palms, as golden dust was raining down on them, as if coming from the very stars themselves. And as he clutched a handful of the glittering powder, he knew that this had to be the most beautiful place he had ever seen.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" said Hermione. "These are some of the perks of being on the same floor as the office of the Minister of Magic."

Harry merely nodded; engrossed in watching a star that was exploding some light-years away from them. On his peripheral vision he saw Malfoy and the memos entering the door on the left.

"You know, he isn't all that bad anymore," Hermione said fairly, nodding towards the door Malfoy disappeared into.

"Grew up as well since seventh year, did he?" Harry wrenched his gaze from the star, looking incredulous and doubtful.

"He's really making an effort. Living with that drop in his finances for more than a year was hard on him and when I suggested that he take up the job space here, he's been loads better to be around. At first, of course, his pride got in the way... but now he acts almost human," she began explaining uneasily, speaking in great speeds. But it wasn't fast enough for Harry not to understand what she had just said.

"People like that don't change," he said firmly.

"Oh Harry, don't be like that. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Voldemort got a second chance and look what he did with it."

"That's really unfair, Harry! That was different! Draco is not---"

"I thought we had something important to do here?" Harry interrupted, trying hard to keep his temper down.

"We'll finish this later," said Hermione firmly, leading Harry through the door on the left.

Harry had only moments to gaze at the expertly carved runes on the door until Hermione turned its brass doorknob and pulled him through. He did not really know what he expected to see inside. It was the Ministry of Magic, after all. But he was sure he did not expect to see a place so... white.

The walls where an immaculate color of it and the marble floor was not any less pure. The wizards working in this department had long, sweeping white cloaks draped over and almost completely covering their robes. Their hands were covered in white gloves which were composed of material Harry did not recognize. There were chambers with large glass windows, inside them were witches and wizards mixing different ingredients together, examining different substances, and testing out spells. Once in a while a cauldron would explode and different colors of gas would erupt, a spell would backfire, or some talisman would turn a wizard into a gnat or something but Harry never heard a sound.

The white desks of the employees were all stacked high with parchment, old scrolls and a number of dusty volumes. Everyone looked absorbed and busy, and the only things that looked close to idle were the memos flying all over the place. There was hardly any noise or chatter coming from anyone, and when they had to speak, it was in hushed tones.

"It's not always this stiff," Hermione said lightly, taking a pair of white cloaks and some gloves from inside the wardrobe beside the door and handed Harry a set. "It's just that we lost some degree of order when Gathaka left and so everyone's working at double speeds to make up for it."

"Are we staying long here?" Harry asked, thinking he could not take the silence in this department for very long.

"Don't worry; we'll only be a bit. We're just meeting somebody here," she reassured him. She made her way into her office which Harry found comforting since inside, not everything was the blank shade of white. He took a seat in front of her desk as Hermione began looking for something inside the many drawers of her filing cabinets.

"What're you looking for and who are we waiting for?" Harry inquired. Hermione was muttering to herself as she pulled out folder after folder, flipping through the files inside them.

"We're waiting for Benchley Rungwort of the Department of Mysteries and I am just looking for some important files we're going to be needing," she said distractedly, and began taking out more folders, her face contorted in concentration. "He should be here at any---"

"Good day, Hermione. All set?" A strapping, middle-aged man entered Hermione's office looking pressed. He was one of those few people that seemed to look better with age. His hair was a dark gray color mixed with some black. His eyes were bright blue like the cool waters of the purest springs. The robes under his white cloak were as black as night and of immense quality. There was an air of urgency about him, like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"In a moment, I think I've almost got it---ah... yes... here it is," Hermione smiled, brandishing a decrepit looking brown envelope. Whatever was inside it, there was plenty of it. The envelope was practically bulging. "All, right, let's go."

Harry was about to ask Hermione where exactly they were going but his companions had already slipped out. They were quiet about it, as though trying not to be seen. They took the route passing through the more deserted parts of the department, avoiding eye contact with anyone. But everyone was so engrossed with their work as it were, they didn't really need to. They returned their cloaks and gloves and made their way through the enchanted meadow and back into the lift.

They waited in silence as the lift descended. Never had Harry endured a longer stay in an elevator. The thoughts in his head were enough to drive him insane. As time trickled by he began to realize where Hermione was taking him. He didn't know how angry he was at her or if he was angry at her at all. He had half a mind to run and escape but his feet would not budge. He would not let it. Part of him wanted to see this through. He did not expect to get a flash of brilliance and find a way to bring his godfather back. Or did he? He felt his curiosity burn within him and he could not assuage it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry heard the cool voice echo more distantly than he had ever heard it before, "The Department of Mysteries." The words he both dreaded and anticipated at the same time. He stepped out slowly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The corridor he set foot in was forbidding and an eerie breeze caused by the rush of air from the lift made the torch lights to flicker ominously. Harry fancied that he saw Hermione give him a worried glance as they made their way to the plain black door at the end of the passageway but he did not dwell on the thought for his attention was on the door looming in the distance. So many times he had seen it in his dreams and his curiosity of what lay beyond it had betrayed him excellently long, long ago. He shuddered but dared not voice out that all he wanted to do was turn back. What had happened four years ago all seemed to be a spate of painful recollections now but still its wounds were not healed.

Nearer and nearer they went until finally they were before the door's quiet majesty. Harry clutched his heart. He suddenly felt as if it were hemorrhaging inside his chest. His voice seemed to be quailing in his throat. He knew he would not be able to murmur any complaints.

The door swung open automatically and they entered into a circular room bathed in black with the identical blank and handle-less doors spaced at equal intervals on its dark walls and interspersed with branches of candles with flickering ice-blue flames. Their wavering light shone on the marble flooring making it seem as though they were walking on the water of some dark lake.

"Don't shut the door," Rungwort said sternly though he did not need to. Harry and Hermione knew all too well what had happened the last time they did that.

Rungwort started to mutter some incantation under his breath in a language Harry did not think was known or used in this era. It seemed other worldly and long-forgotten. The words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his spine tingle. When the last word was uttered, what small amount of illumination in the room extinguished in a wink. Harry heard a creaking from somewhere to his right. Then suddenly two small candles lit up again, burning purest white on either side of one of the doors.

"I can give you an hour, no more and no less. I'll keep watch out here," said Rungwort shortly. Then as Hermione took Harry's hand reassuringly and pulled him towards the door Rungwort reminded them once more, "Remember, an hour."

Hermione nodded and they proceeded. Harry felt his palms become sweaty in his best friend's hand and he could almost feel himself turning pale and cold. He even thought Hermione would pull her hand out of his. Maybe then, he thought, he could try and bolt. But she tightened her grip on him which strangely alleviated him somewhat of the apprehension brewing within himself.

They stepped out into the topmost row of a dimly lit, rectangular room of vast proportions and a sunken center, forming quite a large stone trench about twenty feet below them. It was sort of like an amphitheater with its descending steps, leading toward a raised stone dais in the middle of the lowered floor. And upon this dais was ancient stone archway defying the laws of time by continuing to stand resolutely despite it being unsupported by any surrounding wall. A single tattered black veil hung on the arch fluttering lightly despite the lack of any apparent breeze.

Harry looked away though he could feel the arch's inexplicable power drawing him towards it. He could feel tears filling under his lower eyelids. He could almost hear the voices coming from behind its veil, taunting him, laughing and whispering. But then... Sirius... Sirius had to be among them now...

Harry looked up, his face etched in dire determination. It was like a sleeping flame that had long slept within himself had been rekindled anew, its strength greater than before. Too long had he been idle. Too long had he pushed his impulses into the sidelines. Too long had he put up with the knowledge that he did not even try. Too long had he woken up, drenched in sweat, echoes of voices long unheard, swimming in his thoughts. This was the chance he had been waiting for. It had been four long years since... and he could change it... he could have another chance. He had to. He had to oblige opportunity especially when it knocked so invitingly on his door.

Then suddenly Harry heard an isolated echo float to his ears... he knew that voice... distant yet deeply familiar. He could not decipher the words spoken or the emotion---yet it drove him. Hearing it was like a drop of ice cold water on a parched tongue. It only teased him so. His godfather was not dead; he had known it all along. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He did not know what would happen yet he knew he had to go through that veil. He could not just stand indolently by when he could finally bring Sirius back.

"Harry---NO!" Hermione screamed frantically. It was like a knife cutting through the webs of the most enthralling dream. Harry was about to run but Hermione had caught his arm. She was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. Harry burst. He tugged wildly at his arm, shedding his own tears. He felt heat steaming out of his pores, and his face turning a violent scarlet. She was holding him back. Why? Why? Why? Did she not know he had to do something?

"But Sirius is in there, Hermione! CAN'T YOU HEAR HIM?" Harry yelled, tears flowing more freely than they had ever yet done in his life. Hermione was now gripping him around his middle with both her arms, sobbing on his shoulder. He unwittingly let his efforts to escape weaken in spite of himself as he felt her warm tears seep through his robes.

"Harry don't... please don't," Hermione whispered pleadingly, her voice faintly muffled because she was pressing her face into Harry's robes.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S BEEN LIKE WITHOUT MY PARENTS AND HIM? I HAVE TO TRY!"

He continued to struggle, trying to undo Hermione's grasp, surprised how strong it was even when she was crying. She drew him closer to her and whispered into his ear, "I---Your friends can't lose you, Harry... know that."

Those words were like ice, flowing through his veins, freezing him in his tracks. It was like he was so busy coping with all the adrenaline... he had forgotten he had friends. An internal struggle was going on within himself. Family... he was doing this for family... but weren't his friends his family as well? He had nothing to lose... or did he?
Suddenly he could hear Hermione's pleading, sobbing voice louder and it pierced his heart. With tremendous effort, Harry wrenched his gaze from the veil, still goading him in the distance. He could not defy her. He could not bring himself to leave her.

"Why? Why are you holding me back?" He looked straight into her brown eyes, still brimming with tears. He felt guilty, knowing that it was he who caused those tears to form beneath her eyelids. How many times had he made her cry in the past? The thought pained him. He would give anything to make her happy.

Yet at the same time he felt irritated and despaired at his helplessness. His chance was slipping right past him and he could not bring himself to snatch it. He could not understand this sudden sway she had over him.

"Because you don't understand," Hermione croaked. Harry gazed at her, a bit startled that she had spoken. She had taken out a simple white handkerchief and was dabbing her eyes with it. Then she crouched and retrieved that brown envelope she must've dropped when she was trying to prevent Harry from entering the veil.

"Don't understand? What do I possibly need to understand other than Sirius is in there and I need to get him back?" exclaimed Harry. But already these words seemed to fall dead on his lips. It was like he didn't even believe the words coming out of his own mouth anymore. A new bout of hopelessness was taking hold of him and he did not like it. Had it always been there?

Hermione took out the contents of the envelope. Some were yellowing clippings from what seemed like Daily Prophet, which were falling apart at the sides, the others seemed like journal entries in neat cursive, the others photographs of symbols and runes, and some immensely detailed documentations of experiments. "These are just a few of the recorded studies done on the Veil of Ninthaeil-Barrh---"

"The Veil of what?" Harry turned to Hermione.

"Ninthaeil-Barrh. I think it means... 'Passing Shadows' in the Forgotten Language... yes, yes... there it is," Hermione pointed at the text of the more recent recordings. "I think you should read this one," she said, handing him the neatly bound account.

A File Summary on the Ancient Race

Written on: January 7, 1995

By: Varell Lanquaise

Of: The Department of Mysteries, Division on Ancient Civilizations

Little is known about the Ancient Race (sometimes referred to as the Forgottens, the Ancients, the Fair Ones, or the Fair Folk). How they came and why they came at all into our world are still complete enigmas. Their culture, language, and beliefs, among many others, are still clouded in mystery. But scholars have not amounted to ultimately nothing. Though the wizarding public remains uninformed about the possible existence of this civilization due to the explicit requests of the Ministry of Magic, it is almost undeniable that the said scholars and experts might have uncovered Wizardkind's true and direct ancestry which is why they are pressed into such levels of secrecy. Such history would change all views on our origins in the extremes.

A proud people, the Fair Folk were much advanced for their surrounding times. When humans were just starting to lay the cornerstones of their civilization, the Ancients had bustling towns and kingdoms alight in perfection and peace. Magic ran strong through their veins and they did not need wands to focus their power (wizards can only do this under tremendous emotional strain). Their will was strong enough to control their almost unfathomable capabilities.

Many legends suggest that they lived on a land far out into the great seas, possibly in Nurannon or Atlantis, as we call it now in the common tongue. Only when mankind seemed advanced enough did they leave their borders and blended into our territories. They interbred with humans and produced the magical peoples. Some experts say it is due to their magic that the magical creatures we know today branched out from the regular fowls and such of our world.

Connoisseurs speculate that the usually undermined house-elves are one of the most crucial proofs of their existence. They are said to be the original servants of the Forgottens in their beautiful land across the seas, carrying what seems like a small glimpse of the brand of magic the Fair Ones are cogitated to have wielded. Also, the older house-elves (usually those distraught at their dismissals) are once in a while heard to say that they/their kind "have served fairer races". There are only a few known tales of this fairer race and they are scattered, distorted and help little.

If there is something more puzzling than the Ancients' arrival... it is their departure. Some say after a few decades, they left our world and sailed back to Atlantis where they soon perished when their land was swallowed by the ocean caused by the gods who were angry at their "arrogance" and threatened by their power. Though many think it more likely that when they left, they passed into another plane because they knew that their time on earth was over and their duty complete. And just as their populace moved on, their land disappeared into the seas to cover up the tracks they wanted to keep hidden.

Though that does not mean they destroyed everything. Just as they passed on part of their magic into mankind and to our flora and fauna, they left the house-elves with us along with a few relics.

Among the most curious and most cunningly deadly, is The Veil of Ninthaeil-Barrh or as the scholars translate as 'The Veil of Passing Shadows'. Nobody is sure of its purpose. Others say it is a passageway into the Lost Plane that the Ancient Race is said to have left for. Still others say it is a doorway into the realm of the dead. And some say it leads to a different dimension or some sort of black hole.

But one thing is certain: nothing that enters the veil ever returns---alive or dead.

Harry stared in disbelief and read the last line a couple of times more just to make sure he had read right. What did it mean nothing ever came out? If there was a way in there had to be a way out? If there was anything he had come to realize in his years was that everything had a counter. This could not be an exception. He skimmed over to see the author and the date---four years ago... surely there must've been new developments on the case since then? What did this Varell Lanquaise know anyway? She sounded like some ignorant newbie. She didn't know Sirius... she didn't know Harry. They've gotten through worse. There had to be a way.

"What's this supposed to mean?" said Harry sharply to Hermione.

Probably taken aback by his sudden onset of speech, Hermione jumped slightly before stammering her reply, "H-Harry... it's not really very difficult to understand... it's all there, isn't it?"

"No! What does she mean by 'nothing that enters the veil ever returns'? If they know so little about it---who's to say nothing can ever come back out?" Harry stressed, his temper burbling within him once more.

"Oh, Harry! I never thought you'd make this so difficult!" Hermione looked uneasily at him, her eyes misty and worried. She began fumbling once more; flipping through more files and taking out a few stained, degenerated clippings from what looked like the Daily Prophet and other news sources, stapled in pairs. "The ones in front are the articles that were supposed to run in the paper and the ones stapled to them are what happened after the Ministry had them edited."

Harry went over the less than encouraging headers. All sorts of people were reported missing; all last seen in the Department of Mysteries. Most of them seemed to be deeply involved in the study but others looked as though they were just curious nitwits who let the calling of the veil take them over. Sometimes they left things behind like pieces of rope or cloth, probably hoping they could use it as an anchor to our world. But they always failed. Their knots and spells would become mysteriously undone and they were lost in the veil's abyss. The dates ranged from a couple of years back to centuries long past. Harry read the edited versions and saw that the Ministry had gone to great extent to explain away all these disappearances. Mostly they attributed it to the wizard's own folly which Harry found made him even angrier. It was so extremely like the Ministry to insult someone's memory with lies.

He slowly handed them back to Hermione, feeling numb with the weight of all this information. If he could hardly speak before then, he knew there was nothing left in him now to make him utter anything at all. He looked again at the Veil. He did not know anymore which desire was stronger: to destroy it or to enter it. Somehow he knew he could do neither.

Suddenly he felt arms enclose his stressed form. He had never been held like this before. Again his attention was shifted to her as he encircled her with his own arms, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He comforted his grief in her touch and the warmth she was passing into his body which had gone cold with cruel acceptance. He did not know what he would've done without her. Lost forever to this world, maybe. Yet that thought did not seem to daunt him as much as it did so many others.

"You are a hero, Harry---a champion of peoples. But you are not the only one. There are many in this world. Many have come, gone and will come. You are not meant to save everyone. Luna's and Dumbledore's deaths were never your fault---it was simply their time. And neither is it your sole responsibility to save Sirius," Hermione said in a tone that Harry had never heard her use before. She sounded so much older, almost like an echo of something Dumbledore would say and it eased his pain somehow.

"Then why did you bring me here if you won't let me do anything?" Harry asked simply, feeling spent emotionally.

Hermione's lips curved into a sad smile at this question and said, "For closure, Harry. That little outburst of yours at dinner made it clear to me how much you have left unresolved. I know complete acceptance is not possible of you now. I don't know if it ever will be. Hopefully though, this will put you on the right track. Just think that Sirius will have to wait a little longer in there."

She hugged him tighter and Harry felt his tears flowing from him once again, his breath short, and pain so concentrated was stabbing his very soul. She let him weep and she did her best to quell his sorrow. Selfishly he hoped that some might be passed into Hermione so that he may be alleviated. Though almost immediately, he took it back. But she was crying her own silent tears for in some way; Harry's pain was hers. And in that, they became one.