Chapter Text
The Veil
"How’d you get permission for this?" Harry walked through a pretty green door, led by Unspeakable Greengrass, and turned to grin at his two friends. "I mean, the Department of Mysteries? This is super high security stuff, and honestly I'm surprised they're letting any of us anywhere near this place. Especially after our little break-in back in fifth year."
"We called in a few favors." Hermione said vaguely. Harry laughed.
"Well, thank you." Harry said sincerely, "This means a lot to me. Especially on Sirius' anniversary."
"Ah man, you know we'd do anything for you." Something was off about Ron's voice and smile, but Harry brushed the observation away. They had bad memories associated with the Department of Mysteries, so it wasn't all that strange he'd be unhappy being there again.
"Ten minutes." Unspeakable Greengrass said gruffly, opening the door to the Death Chamber for them.
"Thanks for this." Harry nodded to the Unspeakable.
"Wasn't my idea." He replied tersely, "I was against this from the beginning. I was outvoted, as were a few others."
"Outvoted?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Doesn't matter since the decision was final, right?" Hermione interrupted, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on Harry, let's go." Hermione led Harry inside the Chamber.
Harry came to a stop in front of the curtain at the center of the room, momentarily hesitating. Years prior, Harry remembered believing it was simply a curtain, but at the same time he'd been drawn to it by the voices that sung to him from beyond. They were soft murmurs whispering in his ears, singing for him so gently. He might've thought he was crazy if not for Luna hearing the same - the voices of the long dead.
"Hi." Harry said softly, approaching the curtain. The Veil of Death. Where he'd lost Sirius. "Ron and Hermione surprised me today. It's your anniversary, you know. You died three years ago today. June 18th, 1996. I'm eighteen now, almost nineteen. I'm surprised I'm still alive, to be honest. I thought I'd've joined you by now, but I was given a second chance." Harry paused, then reached out ever so slightly. Not enough to touch the curtain, which would surely steal his life and suck him in, but it was enough to somehow feel closer to Sirius.
"You're gone, and I know that." Harry continued, "But when Ron and Hermione offered me the chance to say goodbye… for some reason I felt it was the right thing to do. You weren't supposed to die, Sirius, you were finally free of Azkaban and you deserved to live. You should've been alive to see yourself pardoned, to start over as a free man. You deserved so much better, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you." He pulled back his hand, tucking it close to his chest with a sigh. “I hope you're happy wherever you ended up, and I hope you're proud of me. I love you, Sirius. I really do. I hope you know that.”
Harry turned away and squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the stinging in his eyes and the block in his throat. He looked at his two friends, who both had tears in their eyes too. But there was something wrong. Hermione's hands were balled into fists and Ron's mouth was twisted unhappily.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Hermione took a step forward to take his hands in hers.
"You know we've been through a lot together." She squeezed his fingers, almost painfully tight. "And you're like a brother to me, Harry, really. But… I'm so sorry."
"What?" Harry blinked as Ron took a step forward, approaching to put a hand on his shoulder. Oddly, it felt more restricting than comforting.
"We've noticed you're drifting away from us. Spending a lot of time at Grimmauld Place alone." Ron said carefully, "Ginny says you're different, that you've not been acting like yourself."
"I guess I've been thinking about what I want to do now that the war's finally over." Harry said. "Everyone expects me to be an Auror, but I don't know if that's the right path for me anymore." He spent his whole childhood fighting. Why did they expect him to still fight after it was all over?
"Why not?" Ron frowned, "You've always helped people like an Auror, why not become one for real? I am."
"I sacrificed so much already, I just need some time." Harry said a bit defensively, "I spent my entire life trying to beat Voldemort, and now that he's gone I– I don't really know what to do." With a destiny, without a purpose, Harry was… a bit lost. He thought they understood that.
"Ginny said this would happen." Hermione whispered, "She said you couldn't recover after… V–Voldemort. That you'd never be the same." She stumbled over the name, even a year after his defeat.
"It's not like that, I'm just confused." Harry shook his head, "Anyway, we should go."
"No, Harry, we're sorry." Hermione said as tears slipped down her face. "But you're not leaving." Harry's stomach dropped.
"What're you talking about?"
"You're not who you used to be." Ron told him. Harry recoiled from the harsh tone. "Something changed in you when You-Know-Who died. A piece of you died with him."
"No, the Horcrux in me died." Harry denied, "I'm the same as I've always been!"
"No, you're not." Hermione shook her head; her breathing hitched a little from her tears. "We know you were connected to V-Voldemort, and that he killed you in the Forbidden Forest, but… we don't have any proof he's not still lingering in there somewhere."
That's when Harry realized. He had his back to the Veil and Ron's hand pressed firmly to his shoulder, while Hermione clutched both of his hands in place. He had nowhere to go. They had him completely trapped.
"Why… why are you doing this?" Harry asked quietly.
"Because we want what's best for the world, and if you're not going to save it this time… we will." With that, Ron shoved him backwards and Harry slipped into the curtain, passing through the Veil of Death.
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The first thing Harry could discern in the dark were the voices - evocative whispers in the surrounding emptiness that called to him. They sang of grief, murmured of loss, susurrated unintelligibly. He was enveloped by the softness, but at the same time he felt deeply restless in the midst of it all. Perhaps it was meant to be soothing, but Harry was more unsettled than anything.
He realized he was laying down on a soft surface and immediately pushed himself up onto his elbows to look around in confusion. He didn't recognize the dark environment. It wasn't unlike when a little kid hid under the blankets - the sky above him and floor beneath him seemed to be nothing more than fabric, a rugged softness that didn't make any goddamn sense.
Harry shook his head, trying to clear the fog, then climbed to his feet. The new vantage point changed nothing; all there was to see was the seemingly endless warped world around him in all directions. It was quite disorienting to see the space around him ripple like a curtain that had just barely been brushed by wind, but– Hold on…
The fucking curtain.
Looking up, Harry realized exactly where he was. The fabric above him, the warped world all around him, it all came down to the Veil of Death. He was inside the Veil. He'd fallen… he was pushed.
Harry almost couldn't believe it. Ron and Hermione had betrayed him, to his death. Unspeakable Greengrass said he'd been ‘out voted’, so did that mean there was an actual vote as to whether or not he was allowed to live? How was that their decision to make? Since when did Harry's life mean so little to them that they thought it was reasonable to push him through the Veil of Death? He'd already killed Voldemort for fuck's sake! The Horcrux inside him was gone!! What more did they want from him?
Even after all they'd been through together, they refused to see reason or just flat out didn't care. They chose the world over him and that broke his heart.
“You're not supposed to be here.” Harry whipped around and froze, finding himself face to face with himself. Blue t-shirt and worn jeans, messy black hair and tanned skin.
“What the fuck–” Harry stumbled backwards, but the fake-Harry remained still. He looked utterly unimpressed by Harry's startled surprise.
“It's bad for business to reject the souls of the dead, especially those who've been betrayed, but you, unfortunately, happen to be an exception.” False-Harry said with a sigh, crossing his arms. “Again.”
“What're you talking about?” Harry, even as he patted his jean pockets thoroughly, could find no trace of his wand. He tried not to let the panic show on his face.
“When a person dies, they're supposed to stay dead. Those are the rules.” False-Harry told him, tilting his head. To Harry's unnerved surprise, his double's vivid green eyes glowed, flashing in the dim lighting not unlike the shimmering emerald of Floo powder. “Annoyingly, you've broken that rule a number of times now. This is the third time you've shown up on Death's doorstep, only for it not to stick. It's rather annoying, I'll have you know.”
“Wait, the third time?” Harry echoed, frowning. “That can't be right, I only died once. It was last year, when I fought Voldemort.”
“Not so; twice before now you've ‘died’, per say.” His double replied, “Once the evening of October 31st, 1981, and again the early morning of May 2nd, 1998.”
“I didn't die back then.” Harry disagreed, “My parents died in 1981, not me.”
“You were struck point blank by the Killing Curse.” False-Harry drawled, raising an eyebrow. “You were only a year old, no less; so yes, you died.”
“Okay… so why did I live?”
“Eh, ‘live’ might not be the best term. I'd say, rather, you just barely ‘survived’ that night.” False-Harry corrected with a little hum, “A person cannot survive without a spark of life - I suppose you would call it a soul. The Killing Curse is so effective because it immediately devours any and all life in its target. In your case, however, there was a slight… mishap. You were struck, yes, but the spell was, I suppose you could say it was ‘muffled’.
“You see, before Tom Riddle's Killing Curse struck you, it had to go through the protections that surrounded you. Just before Lily Potter's sacrifice, your mother's last drops of Magic were cast out to shield you. It was her sheer desperation and strong will that allowed such a shield to remain even after her death; that shield was enough to ensure your survival.” Fake-Harry told him, “The curse still met its mark though, even slightly muted. The problem, however, stems from the curse itself. The Killing Curse was cast so strongly that day, such hatred poured into it by Tom Riddle, that the excess energy that could not penetrate the shield had nowhere else to go - thus, it was redirected towards the caster. In a way, that one spell killed you both.” Harry could barely keep up with what his double was saying, confused and more than a little heartbroken, but he did his best to listen as the Fake-Harry continued.
“When Tom Riddle died, the remaining scattered fragments of his soul still ‘living’ prevented him from passing over into the afterlife. Though he died that night, he also ‘survived’. You were… slightly different.” His double sighed, shaking his head. “Nobody in all of history, and I mean nobody, had ever survived with more than one soul in their mortal body. When the Killing Curse struck you, even at minimal power, your soul was damaged - ironic, that is how you survived. The damaged portion of your soul was not quite fixed, but patched together with a portion of Tom Riddle's soul filling the gap.”
“You mean I only survived because of the Horcrux?” Harry blurted out, “Seriously?”
“Just so.” False-Harry confirmed, “And when Voldemort killed you on May 2nd of 1998, you again cheated Death due to your connection with the Deathly Hallows.”
“Because I was the Master of Death.” Harry said.
“A name coined by pitiful wizards who dared suggest they could beat Death itself, but not completely inaccurate.” His eyes flashed again, but Harry thought it rather resembled the green of the Killing Curse instead of Floo powder. “However, the holder of the Hallows can only reap the benefits once.”
“So I really should be dead now.” Harry said, “No Horcrux, no extra soul, and no Deathly Hallows. I'm dead for real.”
“You'd think that wouldn't you?” His double snorted, “But nooo, you get yet another free pass.”
“Why?”
“Because the Veil devours souls with greed and malice in their heart and mind - it's part of the magic of the Veil. Many that we consume entered the Veil believing they can master its secrets - every one of them is devoured and destroyed.” Harry's stomach flipped at that.
“All of them?” Harry asked.
“We do let some souls pass through. Some even see a peaceful afterlife.” False-Harry smiled knowingly. “There are exceptions to every rule. Don't fret, your Sirius Black was one of the exceptions.”
“Oh thank God.” Harry blew out a harsh breath.
“Or you could thank us.” His double raised an eyebrow. Harry ignored the comment.
“So what about me?” Harry prompted, “Why am I special?” If Sirius was allowed to move on, to see a peaceful afterlife, why not Harry?
“Because you're not the same as they are.” False-Harry tilted his head, those glowing eyes boring into Harry with terrifying intensity. “Every soul we encounter, all those who end up here, through hubris or betrayal, intrigue or accident, has some form of stain on their soul that we can feed upon.”
“A stain?” Harry echoed.
“A mark left by deceit, hatred, or grudges that controlled their life before death. Even those we let pass to their desired afterlife have some form of malice marring their soul. That's what we expect to see here.” His double told him, “You, Harry Potter, have no such stain on your soul. Yours is pure and clean.”
“Huh?”
“You've fought a war that was never yours, bearing a burden that was dropped on you too early, led by a prophecy that stole your ability to thrive. Yet you persevered anyway, through the toil and hardship, to save the world.” His double said, “You felt anger and sadness and joy, guilt and revenge and ire, yet it never left a mark on you. You overcame the hardest task of all - keeping your inner self authentic and true through it all. You remained yourself and no one else, even against impossible odds.”
“Of course I did.” Harry said, frowning. “If I lost who I was, how could I save everyone?” There were times he'd doubted, times he wondered if ‘Harry Potter’ even existed underneath the responsibilities he was drowning in, but he always found a way to keep going. He always found himself again.
“And that is what makes all the difference.” The False-Harry stepped forward, but as he did he seemed to shrink, his whole body growing smaller; by the time he stood directly in front of Harry he couldn't've been older than nine or ten. “Have you ever wondered what you could've done differently back then?” Looking down at himself, Harry didn't know what to say.
He'd forgotten how small he was as a child. The blue shirt he wore was loose enough to expose his too-small frame and jutting collarbone, the jeans tied with a shoelace practically swamping him. It wasn't just that Dudley's clothes were big - Harry was too small.
Dumbledore once said he'd known immediately that Harry was treated badly by his relatives because it was obvious they'd not fed him enough. Molly Weasley always brought him extra food when she could, worried eyes following him whenever he declined. Lupin, no matter what time of day it was, slipped chocolate into his robes as a treat for later. Harry hadn't fully processed what that meant as a kid, but now, looking down at himself, he could see what they saw… And he hated it.
“You thought nobody would help you, or that you didn't need help.” The child-Harry said, “But imagine you'd been able to rely on the people around you to actually care, imagine how much support you could've had growing up, imagine how different it all would've been if you'd been given the chance to live a happier life. What would be different? What would be changed?”
“I don't know.” Harry's hands balled into fists at his side. “What does it matter anyway? That was a long time ago.”
“It matters because you're being offered a second chance.” Those Killing Curse green eyes looked up at him, wide and innocent and curious. “Both times you've died previously, you ended up exactly where you'd left off - what would happen if you did that now?”
“I…” Harry swallowed thickly, the feeling of betrayal writhed in his chest. “Nothing would change. I would probably just end up dead again.” Ron and Hermione would no doubt be shocked, but not happy. If anything, to them it would be a sure sign that there really was something wrong with him - he shuddered to think what other creative ways they'd come up with to off him.
“Precisely.” Child-Harry nodded, “That just wouldn't do, of course, it would be an inconvenience to both of us for you to simply die again and end up back here.”
“So what does that mean?” Harry asked, “Where does that leave us?”
“I'm offering you a second chance at life.” Little-Harry said, “Essentially, you'd be starting over from the day your life changed forever, the magical world making its first appearance.”
“When I got my Hogwarts letter.” Harry realized, “That was a week before my eleventh birthday.”
“Correct.” The boy smiled up at him, “So what are you going to do, Harry Potter? Are you willing to risk it all, jumping into the unknown to start it all anew?” For a moment Harry remained silent as his mind turned in circles.
Was he willing? Absolutely. But the reality of starting over completely was unbelievably daunting. What would he find in his past? What would he change? Knowing what he did of the future and how his destiny was laid out, Harry had so many choices and so few answers. The worst reality of it was how badly Ron and Hermione's betrayal weighed on both his mind and heart. He needed them by his side… was it even possible to win without them?
Where Harry was reckless, Hermione brought caution; where Hermione panicked and froze, Ron knocked her out of it; where Ron lost his way, Harry was there to remind him. They were unstoppable as long as they stayed together, but that wasn't true anymore. Harry thought they were forever, the three of them, but obviously they didn't feel the same.
But… there would be new friends, wouldn't there? New people to rely on. If he really was going back so far, all the way to before Hogwarts, maybe he'd be able to make different friends - better friends. Maybe he could start again not only to save the world, but maybe to save himself a little bit too.
“Okay.” Harry said finally, “I'll do it.”
“I'm glad.” The smaller Harry laughed brightly, “You bring fate with you, Harry Potter, use this chance wisely. May the next time we meet be more permanent, yeah? Maybe one day you'll even get to see the afterlife.”
False-Harry backed up, aging rapidly before Harry's eyes until they were again identical. They didn't remain that way. To Harry's surprise, he kept on growing. Harry watched himself turn twenty, twenty-five, thirty… he watched himself grow old, hair going silver, smile lines etched into his face but brightness in his eyes the whole way. The older he got the dimmer Harry's vision became, and soon enough the world fell away.
The last thing he saw was his future self smiling softly at him: a promise.
A promise of a better future.