The Veil of Memories

Prologue

The Beginning of the End

The wizard touched his wand to the map again not because he was not already precisely sure he was in the right place. Almost immediately that he had checked it, he wiped the map from the parchment and stuffed it nervously back into the pocket of his jacket. The wizard had no particular reason to think he was being observed but he also knew that there was far too much at stake for him to be wrong.

It was not an ordinary map that this wizard was holding, nor would the tranquil lake he was now approaching through the sloping remains of the forest appear on any of our Muggle maps. If we had happened to find it as children, we might return to our parents with the wonderful tales of the myocorps, goblins, elves, and even giants that lived here. They might reassure us in our make believe but as we grew older, we would quietly convince ourselves that it had, in fact, all been in our imagination after all.

The wizard gradually reached the edge of the forest hill and cupped the cool water to his face, letting it calm his still anxious heart. If he was surprised to have found the water so remarkably peaceful and still or the sky above him a pristine blue while his clothes were still damp with the rain falling down from the slate-grey sky on the other side of the forest, he did not show it. For this wizard knew that this lake was far from what it might seem to non-magical eyes.

But there was one thing that did seem to surprise the wizard, at least judging from the very strange frown that wrote itself across his face as soon as he had finished touching the water to his face and had taken the time to watch his reflection in the water. It was as though the person looking back at him was completely unfamiliar. The wizard stared at his reflection for a few moments before he slowly moved his right index finger toward his forehead and traced it over a very unusual-looking lightning-bolt scar as though he was seeing it for the very first time.

If any of we Muggles had seen the wizard, who would have appeared to us like an ordinary man, we might have thought him mad or suffering a severe loss of memory not to understand what one could expect to find in his own reflection. If any of the wizard's own kind had happened to see him at that moment, they might also have thought him mad, perhaps confirming deeply-held suspicions they had long felt uncomfortable admitting even to themselves. But they would have thought so for quite a different reason.

For the wizard standing at the edge of the lake was not an ordinary wizard and his scar was no ordinary scar. Nor was it a mark which - as the surprised expression on the face of the wizard seemed to suggest - some recent misfortune had grafted onto his forehead. The wizard was Harry Potter and the scar had belonged to him for as long as he could remember. It had been branded there by the Dark Wizard who had once called himself Lord Voldemort, a brand through which Voldemort had finally sealed his own fate at Harry's hand in a story that he had stopped telling when he finally realized that no one save his closest friends, who had experienced many of the events themselves, would believe. Not we Muggles, of course, who had never heard of either Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort, but not even the wizards, witches, and many other magical creatures who are forced to accept the impossible on a regular basis.

But as it so happened, Harry was not mad, though he had been driven to the precipice of madness many times in his still relatively short life. As to what had made him suddenly stare at his scar as an unrecognizable object, we are forced to consign to our own speculations as there was no one around at that precise moment in whom Harry chose to share his ruminations. In fact, he very much believed he was quite alone until a voice nearby called out:

"Be wantin' anythin', dearie?"

Harry was so startled that he nearly lost his balance and fell face first into the water. When he had recovered, he looked up to see a disheveled-looking creature who was bent over almost double with two large beady eyes that looked him up and down as it talked and an impossibly long nose that curled up like a fish hook. It was standing on top of three moss-covered wooden planks that looked as though they had been strung together with seaweed and could not possibly float. The creature, which Harry recognized as a myocorp, held in its stubby hand a short, gnarled walking stick which seemed to double as a makeshift oar.

"I'd like to get across to the other side, please," said Harry.

The myocorp continued to scrutinize Harry carefully.

"Quicker if's yeh walked around the forest," it muttered.

"No," said Harry, a little more firmly this time. "I mean I need to cross to the island in the middle." Harry pointed his finger out to a very small tree-covered patch of earth which rose up unexpectedly from the middle of the lake.

"There doesn't seem to be any other way to reach it," added Harry, wondering if he should be stating the obvious.

The myocorp looked thoughtfully between Harry and the island in the lake as if noticing it for the very first time.

"'Int nothin' on that island but trees, dearie. Why d'yeh be wantin' to go there?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't say, not to anyone. But it's very important."

The myocorp took a step closer to Harry and peered at him again as if doing so would cause it to discover Harry's secret. On apparently finding this was not the case, it moved back to its makeshift raft. Finally, and at the moment when Harry himself seemed to least expect it, the myocorp flipped over its walking stick and used the hook end to pull Harry onto the raft with a strength that surprised him. Before he had realized what was happening, the myocorp had turned its stick around again and used it to punt both it and Harry away from the shore.

"All right, then," it said, somewhat belatedly. "If you insist. That'll be one galleon."

"One galleon!"

"Well things go up, don't they?" The myocorp planted its stick into the surface of the lake and began vigorously propelling the raft further and further away from the shore. "An' no one hardly ever comes 'ere to use me ferry anyhow. Gotta pay me way somehow."

"Perhaps if you didn't discourage those who do come, you would do a better trade!" retorted Harry, beginning to feel his patience slip away.

The myocorp half-coughed, half-laughed in response. "I can' very well set me price if I don' first know how badly the customer wants it, now can I?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You mean - "

The myocorp laughed again. "Too late now, chappie," it said, taking its stick out of the water which Harry noticed had grown magically as they moved out into greater depths. "Price is set. Binding magical agreement. Now hand over yeh money."

Harry couldn't remember having agreed to anything but he grudgingly reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. He shifted them in his palm to select the correct one when a familiar voice said with typical calmness.

"You can put your money away, Harry. It's just that I don't get much of an audience for my little jokes anymore."

This time Harry did manage to lose his balance. He was only prevented from falling into the lake when a firm hand reached out to take his and pulled him back upright.

Overcoming his initial shock, Harry was startled to see how much Dumbledore had aged since he had seen him last. And when was that exactly? His former headmaster had always looked old, even ancient, but there was a frailty about Dumbledore now that Harry could not remember having noticed during his school days. Wrinkles seemed to crisscross his face from every direction and his back was still slightly hunched over, albeit in slightly less dramatic manner than that of the myocorp.

But Dumbledore's azure eyes were just as intense as they had always been.

"I'm sorry I startled you," said Dumbledore again. "I've been getting quite good at myocorps."

Harry had known since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts that Dumbledore could transfigure himself into nearly any creature he wished but he found that it still struck him as somewhat of a surprise.

"It's all right, sir," he managed to mumble.

"Sir?" said Dumbledore and Harry suddenly realized that Dumbledore had been watching him closely as well. "I rather think that you might be getting a little too old to be calling me sir."

"Professor," Harry muttered but Dumbledore shook his head again.

"Perhaps Albus," he suggested, smiling softly.

Harry shook his head.

"I don't think I could get used to that."

"Then you must settle for what sounds best for you." Dumbledore continued to smile engagingly, "but I'm afraid I can't very well have you calling me professor for those days are now past. How old are you now, may I ask?"

"Thirty-one."

"Losing a bit of hair, I see?"

Harry touched his scalp a little self-consciously.

"I did, too, a bit at your age," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "But then I came across an excellent potion which I think you'll agree worked wonders."

"It's all right," replied Harry smiling. "I prefer it this way." He frowned suddenly. "Sir, I - I'm sorry - I know you said that I oughtn't bother you unless - "

Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Not to worry, Harry, I'm sure that whatever it is, it must be important."

Harry looked down thoughtfully and then suddenly up again, a burning pain in his eyes.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore, sounding concerned.

Harry did not say anything but continued to stare straight ahead. It had been some while since he had had his last flashback. Perhaps recent events had stirred the fears that had lain dormant in his heart for so long. At first he had tried to control the flashbacks, but now he knew that it was best to let them run their course lest they come to him while he was sleeping.

He was in a chamber: high, wide, and deep. The sounds of magical explosions rang all around him, the last remains of a war that had threatened to tear open heaven and earth itself. He was hanging by the tips of his fingers. The horribly unnatural fabric that Voldemort had spun to hold up the gateway dug its way into his fingers. In his mind's eye, Harry wondered how much longer he should wait. Once he was sure that the soul of the Dark Lord was gone forever, he would know that his work was done. He could finally be free of the prophecy's burden.

And then he would let go. There was nothing and no one to stop him or blame him this time. He would fall. It would all be over very quickly. And then he would no longer be alone.

But just as Harry began to release his grip, a door opened somewhere. He watched frantically as two very familiar shapes rushed onto the gangway above him. He couldn't do this while they were still here. Why did they have to come in to interfere? Why couldn't they just stay away? If only they wouldn't turn around to see -

"Harry!" cried Ron frantically, leaping dangerously over the railing and tiptoeing across the structure like he was balancing on the branches of a high tree.

"No, Ron, go away! It's too dangerous."

"Don't talk rubbish! We're going to get you out of here!"

Harry groaned as he saw that Hermione had followed Ron. She managed to steer herself to his other side and both of them held out their hands.

"You won't be able to keep your balance after you pull me up!" Harry said. "Just let me go! Rescue yourselves!"

"No, Harry!" said Hermione frantically. "We're going to get you out of here! It's over, isn't it? Voldemort - "

"Yes, I killed him. Isn't that what you all wanted? NOW LET ME GO!"

"Harry, what the devil's wrong with you?" said Ron. "GET HOLD OF MY HAND!"

"You don't understand!" Harry shouted back. "I've seen them. I've seen all of them. I just want to be with them. I did what everyone wanted now let me go!"

"Harry, you know we won't do that!"

Hermione reached dangerously over to take hold of Harry's shoulder and tried to pull him up by force but Harry yanked it back.

"You don't know what's happened! If you did, you'd know why I have to let go! Before Voldemort - before he died, he - "

"Harry!"

Harry swallowed and looked up at Dumbledore.

"I can still see them all," he said quietly. "Sometimes I can't get them out of my head. Knowing that they're out there like that. I keep telling myself - " Harry stopped and looked down again. " - I don't know which is worse, knowing they're there or not - "

Dumbledore held up his hand again.

"One thing at a time, Harry. I understand what you're feeling. I can see them, too. I have for a very long time and I shall never forget them. And now I know," he smiled a little sadly, "as you will one day, though I hope not for a very long time to come - that I will be going to join them soon."

Harry's eyes widened.

"No, sir," he protested. "Y - you're still very strong and healthy and you're still the most powerful wizard ever. There's no way - "

Dumbledore only smiled, a smile that seemed to make Harry's own words die before they had reached his throat.

"Your eyes have already said what your tongue could not, Harry," he said simply.

Harry shook his head vigorously.

"But there must be some magic - "

"Perhaps there is. Voldemort tried to find it and you see what happened to him. I hope very much, Harry, that you have not forgotten the price we all paid for his search."

"Of course not," said Harry, with a sudden conviction that made even Dumbledore shudder. "How could I ever possibly forget?"

Dumbledore looked back at Harry for an uncertain moment and then sighed.

"Well then. I presume that you did not come all this way to dine on ashes. Perhaps we should save the details until after we've had the chance to sit down for a spot of tea but I fear I'm already curious as to what would trouble the vanquisher of the Dark Lord so much that he would be forced to seek the advice of a useless old man. Are there some stray Death Eaters on the move again, I wonder? Has the Ministry settled into worse than its usual chaos? Or perhaps," Dumbledore concluded with a mischievous smile, "the world has become so peaceful that you've little left on which to draw up your own lessons."

Harry looked down at his feet and shifted uncomfortably. He sighed and took a long pause.

"None of those things," he finally said, sighing himself. "Actually, sir, it's personal."