Harry Potter took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped through the veil.

Nothing happened.

Whatever Harry might have expected - the pull of a Portkey, the horrible compression of Apparation, the coldness of death - did not occur. He opened his eyes to find that he was still in the stone chamber in the Department of Mysteries, still underground in the Ministry of Magic; he was simply on the other side of the mysterious black curtain that fluttered on an imaginary breeze.

Harry's heart sank, and he felt his shoulders slump. He was supposed to be with Sirius—with Professor Dumbledore and his parents and all the others he had lost to the terrible war with Voldemort. It was all supposed to be over now; instead, he was simply standing alone in a cold room, and the future suddenly looked bleaker than ever.

Though the voices Harry had heard murmuring beyond the veil were silent, he felt a presence behind him. Walking around the stone archway to see who had joined him in the chamber, Harry was stunned to find dozens of people sitting on the stone steps, watching him. He stopped short when he saw a familiar face at the base of the steps leading up to the dais.

Sirius.

And as Sirius stepped aside, he revealed the twinkling eyes and crooked nose of Professor Dumbledore, standing next to a young man with messy black hair and glasses, and a woman with red hair and familiar green eyes.

"Mum," Harry whispered. "Dad."

He staggered over to the steps, where Sirius took his hand and helped him down before embracing him tightly. Grinning, Sirius stepped back and without a word lead Harry over to where his parents stood with Professor Dumbledore. No one spoke; his mother smiled at him through her tears as Harry just gazed at them, stunned. Finally Sirius pushed him lightly and Harry took a shaky step closer. His father moved forward first, enveloping him in a fierce embrace before passing him on to his mother, who took Harry's face in her hands and kissed him before holding him close.

"But where am I . . . am I dead, then?" Harry finally found his voice, though it sounded rough and unsteady; he was still bewildered after his initial sense of failure.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry's attention was drawn to the headmaster. He smiled sadly at Harry. "In the literal sense of the word—yes, you are dead. But Harry, you are not meant to be here—not yet."

Harry's joy at seeing his parents and Sirius was suddenly choked. He had forgotten about everything that he had left behind and wanted only to stay with them, yet Dumbledore was about to tell him that he couldn't. "What do you mean, I can't stay? I can't go back, I passed through the veil - "

"Ah, but I'm afraid you must go back, Harry," said Dumbledore, eyeing him over his half-moon spectacles. "You have always been special, and you alone among wizards can pass through the veil and return."

Harry felt a rising sense of panic; he stared at his parents, but they only watched him sadly and did not say anything. "But I don't want to be special!" Harry said, his voice loud; it echoed through the silence of the chamber, and Harry heard the fear in his voice, fear of losing the family he had just found. "I want to stay here, with you. I have to stay, I'm a - "

He couldn't bring himself to say it. He was mortified to think of what he was, what he had always been; it made him feel unclean, corrupted. But Dumbledore was piercing him with his steady blue eyes. "A what, Harry?"

Harry shook his head and turned away from that stare.

James Potter walked over and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "What is it, Harry? Why did you come through?"

Harry turned and looked into a face much like his own, a face he had longed to spend time with ever since he had known it. But he found that he couldn't hold his father's gaze either; a sense of shame moved him to look down at his hands.

"I'm a Horcrux," he finally whispered, feeling as though he were revealing his deepest, darkest secret. Saying it reminded him of the horrible thing that was inside him and made it painfully real.

There were no gasps, no exclamations; looking up, Harry saw four people gazing at him with a mingled sense of sorrow and pity. It made him angry that they would react so blandly. He carried the seventh piece of Voldemort's soul within his own; he expected them to react with alarm, anger, even disgust. Yet they looked as if his shocking announcement was no surprise whatsoever, which made Harry even more upset.

"You knew," he breathed, staring at Dumbledore and taking a step backwards away from the group in stunned disbelief. "You knew, and you didn't tell me!"

Dumbledore waved his hand at him, as if to brush away the accusation. "My dear boy, do you think I would have kept something like that from you? I have always tried to protect you, but I could not—I would not—keep such a thing from you if it were even remotely possible."

"Then why," asked Harry, frowning as he looked from face to face, "why aren't you surprised? Or angry?" Or sad and sickened, he wanted to add. Or as devastated as I was when I found out?

Dumbledore nodded at Lily, who walked up to Harry and took his hands in her own. "Because it's not true, dear. It's simply not true." She smiled encouragingly at him, but Harry shook his head.

"No, you're wrong," he said, even as he wanted to believe her. "It is true. Professor Dumbledore said himself that I had a bit of Voldemort in me, that he transferred some of his powers to me the night he. . . he . . ." Harry couldn't bring himself to say it; he turned to Dumbledore. "The night he tried to kill me. You said he was trying to make his final Horcrux that night, and he did: he put a bit of his soul into me. I'm the reason he survived, I'm the reason he came back." Taking a deep breath, he finished. "And I'm the last remaining Horcrux. Now Voldemort can finally be defeated." He stopped and watched as they all exchanged the same sad looks again. Sirius actually smiled, as if he were listening to the ravings of a madman. As happy as Harry was to see his godfather, this response rankled him as well.

"It's not funny," Harry snapped. "Do you think I wanted to do this? Do you think it was easy to leave my friends behind? To leave them with the final task of killing Voldemort, knowing they might die for it? I didn't want to, I had to, and I—"

Sirius held up his hands and interrupted. "Harry, I'm sorry! I don't mean to laugh. It's just so good to see you. And you are just so wrong."

"What do you mean I'm wrong? I'm not wrong, I've spent the last year studying and tracking down Horcruxes. When did you become an expert in Dark Magic, I've—"

"You have done an exceptional job, Harry," said Dumbledore, interrupting Harry's tirade as he had so many times before. "You have made us all extremely proud. You found the real locket, as well the cup and the wand, and you managed to destroy them all. You killed Nagini, a formidable task given how close she is to Voldemort. But I am a bit of an expert, and you are not the remaining Horcrux, Harry. They are all destroyed, and you are safe."

"But how do you know?" asked Harry, beginning to hope that it might just be true.

"First of all, Harry," answered Dumbledore, "creating a Horcrux requires a spell, and Voldemort did not have a chance to say any sort of spell after the Killing Curse he cast at you backfired and destroyed his body."

"I know, I know," said Harry, somewhat dismissively. "But I don't think he intended to make me a Horcrux. Why try to kill me then? It was an accident, I'm an unintentional Horcrux. After he murdered you and Mum," Harry swallowed hard but forced himself to continue, "his soul was split. When the Killing Curse rebounded on him and destroyed his body, that bit of soul needed to go somewhere, and it went into me, into my scar."

His father was shaking his head now. "No, Harry," said James. "It doesn't work that way. Any piece of his soul Voldemort had hoped to encase that night was lost. Your scar is just that: a scar, however remarkable it has turned out to be."

"I have always said that scars can often come in good use," said Dumbledore, with a small smile. "Your scar is the mark of a terrible curse, but it is not a Horcrux. You must trust me on this, Harry."

Harry almost believed him. "But how come I can speak Parseltongue? How come I can hear Voldemort's thoughts, feel what he is feeling like I did during my fifth year?"

"As I have told you before, Voldemort transferred some of his powers to you that night. It was foretold in the prophecy that he would mark you as his equal. He marked you with that scar, and made you his equal by giving you some of his powers, such Parseltongue."

"But—" Harry began.

"You are not a Horcrux, Harry. Do not forget that you have a power the Dark Lord knows not: love. Even the smallest piece of Voldemort's soul could not abide in a body full of so much love." Dumbledore watched him closely, as if he anticipated Harry's reaction.

"But I don't know how to use love to kill someone!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I thought that maybe the power I had was power over his soul, control over his last Horcrux." It seemed easier somehow, to accept this version of the prophecy rather than puzzle out how to use love to commit murder.

"I'm sorry, but I am usually right about these things and this is no exception," said Dumbledore, somewhat firmly. "You are not a Horcrux, therefore stepping through the veil is not the answer. You have only handed Voldemort the victory by coming here."

Harry sank down to one of the stone steps and put his head in his hands as a sudden flood of guilt threatened to overwhelm him. He felt guilty for being relieved that he didn't carry a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him; he felt guilty for leaving his friends to face Voldemort alone; and he felt guilty for wanting to stay with his parents and with Sirius anyway, despite knowing that he must go back and finish his grim task.

Harry felt an arm around his shoulder and looked into the emerald green eyes of his mother. He smiled wanly at her. "I'm sorry, Mum," he said softly, his voice threatening to break. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"No dear, you haven't," she soothed, and she rubbed his back and tried to pat down the unruly hair at the top of his head. Harry couldn't help but smile, since he knew it would come to no good; his hair had been out of place for seventeen years now. But it felt good to feel her touch, to know that she cared. "You made a hard choice, Harry. I am so proud of you."

Harry's father came and sat on the other side of him. "What do I do now?" he whispered, looking at his parents and feeling desperately lost.

James sighed heavily. "You must go back, Harry, and finish what you have begun."

"How?" he asked, but it was Dumbledore who answered.

"Simply walk through the veil, Harry, and you will return to the living."

Harry thought about how hard it had been to step through the veil the first time; he didn't know if he could do it again, and leave his family behind now that he had finally joined them. He had longed more than anything to be with his parents and Sirius; now he had to give up the one thing he had desired since he had seen his family in the Mirror of Erised during his first year at Hogwarts.

"Can I come back?" he asked his mother.

She smiled sadly. "When it is time, Harry. But not before then."

"How will I know?"

"You will know, just as you know you must return," replied James, standing up. He extended his hand to Harry and Lily and helped them stand. Harry felt his throat start to tighten at the thought of leaving, and his eyes began to sting.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again, not really knowing what he was saying. "I'm sorry I came and that I have to go and that I can't stay even though I want to more than anything in the world—"

Lily Potter was crying again as she once more took Harry's face in her hands, and he felt tears stream down his own face as she kissed him. "We love you, Harry. Always remember that." After a last hug that threatened to suffocate him, she stepped back. Harry saw Sirius put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head on him as tears flowed down her face. Sirius simply inclined his head at Harry, who smiled weakly and nodded before turning to his father.

"Bye, Dad," he whispered, his voice choking as sobs threatened to overwhelm him. James was screwing up his face in exactly the same way Harry imagined his own face looked. He took Harry in a fierce embrace, and Harry felt that he would surely break, that he would never be able to cross back, even though he knew he must . . .

"You can do this, Harry," said his father with one last kiss on his forehead. "Go with our love, and remember that someday we will be together again." He stepped back next to his wife and took her hand. Harry took a deep breath and turned to Professor Dumbledore. There were tears in the Headmaster's eyes as well.

"Good luck, Harry," he said softly. "You have been more than a student to me, and I am more proud of you than you could possibly imagine."

Harry couldn't find his voice anymore, and simply nodded as more tears fell down his face.

Dumbledore lead Harry to the stone steps. Harry walked up them as if he were walking to his death, and not back to life on the other side of the veil. As he approached the black curtain, he turned to look at his family. They were standing together, holding each other, and more than anything Harry wanted to run to them and be held. He gave them a last watery smile, and taking another deep breath, Harry passed through the veil once more.

Nothing happened.

Hoping against hope that his parents were still standing there, waiting for him, Harry raced around the stone archway to find them. "Mum?" he called. "Dad? Sirius—"

But the dark chamber was empty; Harry was alone in the realm of the living once more.

A wave of grief crashed over Harry and he sank to the floor; the sobs he had so carefully kept inside came rushing out in painful gasps. He could not stand the pain of the keen loss he felt in his heart. More than anything he wanted to step back through the veil and return to his family. But he knew he could not; his journey was not over yet.

* * *

Harry felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Looking up, for a single shocking moment he thought that he had failed to return to the living, and that Professor Dumbledore was shaking him. A man with white hair and twinkling blue eyes was looking at him with concern. But Dumbledore had long hair and beard, and this man kept his trimmed short; he wore no spectacles, and his nose was not crooked. Nevertheless, there was a strong resemblance, and Harry blinked through his tears, confused.

"Harry Potter, I presume?" asked the man in a kind voice, helping Harry to stand while conjuring a handkerchief with his wand.

"Yes," said Harry, puzzled. "How did—"

"—I know you were here?" Harry hardly realized the man was leading him down the steps and away from the veil that stood fluttering on the stone dais. "My name is Aldred, and I am the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy." He took a glowing orb from his robes, an orb that was very familiar to Harry.

"But the prophecy broke, Neville kicked it—" he began.

The Keeper smiled as he helped Harry up the stairs of the cold chamber. "Ah, but this is a new one. It just arrived yesterday."

"And it told you I would be here?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"It did indeed." The Keeper gazed at him shrewdly. "You are a remarkable young man, you know. To pass beyond the veil and return—remarkable indeed."

"I had to," said Harry, looking down at his feet as they left the chamber. He wanted desperately to look back one last time, even though he knew he would not see his parents again. "Professor Dumbledore said I wasn't—well, that I had to. It wasn't my time."

"Indeed it is not," said the Keeper, leading Harry into the dark circular room he remembered from his ill-fated visit to the Ministry during his fifth year. "You still have a future to fulfill." As Harry looked at the many doors in the circular room, the doors began to spin around him, and he remembered the rooms they lead to: the brain room, the room full of planets, the room with the Time Turners. One door had been locked, and Professor Dumbledore had later told him that the locked room contained the power of love. Harry suddenly wondered how he could get into that room. Perhaps it would help him finally defeat Voldemort. . .

"We're going there now," said the Keeper, as if he had read Harry's mind.

"Where?" asked Harry, startled.

"The room you are thinking about, which I believe Albus has spoken to you of."

"You know Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry, surprised.

The Keeper nodded. "I know him well. We've spoken about you several times, and he asked me to help you. I imagine he found it amusing, sending me this." He held up the glowing orb and smiled ruefully. "Albus never held a very high opinion of Divination, despite the prophecy that ruled his life." The Keeper chuckled to himself and then sighed.

Harry was confused, but too drained to ask more questions. He simply waited while the man waved his wand, and a door Harry had not been through before opened before them.

A blinding light poured from the door like liquid gold and illuminated the darkness behind them. Harry could see nothing through the light, but a strong sense of peace radiated from the door, enveloping him and filling him with its warmth. This was the room that Dumbledore had told him about, the room where scholars from the Department of Mysteries studied the mysterious power of love. Harry instinctively knew that this room held the answers he needed, and that here he would be able to finally understand how he could vanquish Voldemort once and for all. As the light surrounded him and filled his heart with love, hope began to replace the loss and the guilt he had felt earlier.

"After you," said the Keeper, motioning Harry through the shining door.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward and crossed the threshold.


* * *


A/N: This story was written for the Harry's Hospital Wing Project and looks at the mysteries of the veil. Certainly the veil will play some role in the final book, though I do not know if it will be quite like this. I simply wanted to explore what might happen to Harry, should he make this choice.
The Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy was introduced in the story The Keeper of the Hall, also written for the HHWP.
Many thanks to wonderful authors who participated in the great discussions about the veil and its voices, and to J.K.Rowling for the beautiful gift of Harry and the opportunity to reunite him with his family.