Cassius risks tearing apart the known universe, Orion's going away, and the veil is a bitch.

LAST TIME: Three months after Hogwarts, Tom realised that maybe moving in with your boyfriend of three months straight after Hogwarts may cause a weird dynamic. He also revealed how he'd begun his Ministry placement in the Magical Department of Games and Sports which he was delighted about, because we all know how much Tom loves Quidditch (that was a joke). Harry had his first meeting with his TOADS supervisor and - surprise, surprise, it's Dorea Black, his grandmother! They had a nice chat, and then Harry proposed the topic for his dissertation: the Veil of Death, thinking that perhaps he could learn more about what might have happened that day at the Ministry. Dorea told him that she reckoned she could work something out. Harry and Tom had a domestic conversation, where Tom revealed he could get Harry tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and then Orion arrived to ask Tom if he could use his suggestion from a few chapters ago for his Runic dissertations. Orion also invited the pair to his engagement party, which Tom bullied Harry into going to. The party was awful, as expected; conflict between Lucretia and Melania; Harry noticed an odd scar on Melania's neck; and Dorea admitted that Arcturus rather dislikes her because she broke off the engagement between her and Orion. Harry left to get some air and ran into Walburga, whom he tried to talk sense into. He failed. Tom arrived, triumphant, to get him, having convinced one of Arcturus' friends to promote him, and they went home.

"Harrison! Come in, come in."

Harry sidled into Dorea's office, watching as she hurriedly shoved papers to the side and heaved a huge file into a drawer.

"I can come back later…"

"No, don't be silly," Dorea's voice echoed from below her desk. "I just lost track of the time. I have good news for you anyway. Sit down, sit down."

And so Harry dropped into a chair, and Dorea resurfaced a moment later. She was a little rosy-cheeked and her hair had sprung free from her scarf, but she seemed in generally good spirits.

"So how have your studies been going?"

"Fine," Harry said automatically. He considered. "No, actually. I mean, Defence is fine-"

"I've been hearing very good things from Professor Grayson."

"-but we've started the spellcrafting topic in Magical Studies, and I really don't understand it. I think everyone else took Ancient Runes - which I do regret not doing - but if it was a requirement for the course you'd think they say."

Dorea frowned. "Your course should only require a basic grasp, but if you haven't taken Runes even at OWL…"

She hummed and got to her feet, marched over to her bookshelf, and began to rummage.

"That's far too complicated… outdated – I don't even know why I still have this – oh, I can't stand him… but maybe… aha!"

Dorea dropped three huge books into Harry's lap, and he wasn't ashamed to say that he let out a faint "oof!"

"There you go," Dorea declared, returning to her chair. "Those should provide the basics. Laurenzoo is really more of an introduction, but it will give you an idea."

Harry scanned over the titles: Ancient Runes Made Easy (he doubted it), Spellman's Syllabary, and A Boon of Runes Liberally Strewn. Hermione would have been so upset she'd missed the chance to recommend books.

"Thanks. I think."

"Think nothing of it." Dorea frowned. "Well, maybe think a little of it, because you'll have to read them and then I want them back- but you know what I mean."

Harry's eyes alighted upon a picture on the desk: Dorea, laughing in front of a waterfall and clutching a man who looked distinctly baffled by her glee. He looked kind, though, and even his bewilderment had a kind of fond patience to it.

"You don't have any children?"

The words escaped Harry's mouth before he could stop them. He realised that he had been expecting to see a little miniature version of his father, perhaps climbing up the barrier or posing proudly. But of course not. It was far too early. Besides, as Hermione had impressed upon him and Ron: "there's nothing worse than people expecting women to have children as soon as they're married. We have other things we can do, you know!"

But Dorea wasn't offended.

Instead, she sighed wistfully. "No. Net yet, anyway. Charlus and I have hardly been married a year. But someday…"

And it would be quite someday, Harry thought guiltily. Sirius had told Harry how old his grandparents had been when they had James – "and spoiled him rotten for it, too" – and they had died of age-complicated Dragon Pox, if he remembered correctly.

Poor Dorea. Harry looked upon her with new eyes.

"But we'll start trying soon, I think," Dorea finished brightly. "And then we'll have a whole house of wee ones running amok. I think Charlus is a little terrified at the thought."

"What was that about good news?" Harry asked. He didn't want to think about the hope in Dorea's eyes dimming, this strange man in the photo squeezing her hand and telling her they'd keep trying…

"Ah yes. You have a way of distracting me, Harrison Peters," she said mock-severely and rifling through her desk. "Here it is."

She placed what looked like a contract on the desk, and Harry caught a few phrases: 'certain doom', 'absolute silence', 'dire consequences'. All very cheery stuff.

"The Unspeakables have agreed to let you conduct research on the veil!" Dorea beamed. "I'm just sorry it's taken so long. I do wish Arcturus didn't hate me quite so much because he'd have been rather useful in fast-tracking the request, but someone who owes me a favour put me into contact with the Deputy Head of the department and that's who I've been chatting with."

"I could probably talk to Orion," Harry offered. "It is his dad…"

Dorea shook her head. "Oh, there's no point now, it's all sorted out. We just have to hope he doesn't spot some of the paperwork and take against you."

Dorea must have noticed Harry's wilting enthusiasm as she rushed to assure him that:

"Arcturus is a rather singularly focussed man. He usually only deals with crises and his own experimentations. The Deputy deals with the rest. I expect Arcturus is aware of the whole business, anyway, but I highly doubt he's properly registered you, mm? So just don't go causing any crises."

"I'll try," Harry mumbled. That promise had never historically gone well for him.

"Of course, there are lots of conditions, it wouldn't be the Department of Mysteries if there weren't. Let's see." She picked up the contract and cleared her throat dramatically. "Harrison Peters will not reveal the identity of any members of the department; Harrison Peters will not travel anywhere within the department that he does not have express permission to visit – here's a fun one: Harrison Peters will not publish or in anyway share the results of his research without the expression permission of a senior Unspeakable. They're going to read over your notes, I'm afraid, but for an opportunity like this I really think it's worth it. And they've said they'll give you access to some of their pre-existing researching- the unpublished stuff, which is rather incredible-"

"How did you get them to agree to all this?" Harry's head swum.

"Oh, well," Dorea flushed. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to tell you."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Oh no, it's nothing like that . It was just a rather sensitive situation- anyway, moving on! If you'd just sign the contract…"

Harry, having no particular reason to object, obliged, and signed his name in a messy scrawl on the dotted line.

"Excellent." Dorea shuffled the papers together in a distinctly self-congratulatory manner and with a wave of her wand they flew out of the window.

Harry watched the contract flap away and wondered aloud how the magical world had gone undetected.

"It'll be fine," Dorea said carelessly. "The Ministry is hardly a street away and the muggles never notice."

"Muggles are more observant than you'd think," Harry said, remembering Aunt Petunia, who'd perhaps been rather too observant for her own good.

"Well, we'd best hope not." Dorea perked up. "But I forgot to mention the best news of all?"

"Oh?"

"You have an appointment with the veil tomorrow. They've agreed to let you visit."

Harry was sure he'd misheard her.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I realise it's a little soon, but the quicker the better, eh? I expect you've done your own reading already, but the department sent some interesting extracts ahead…"

Dorea piled yet more paper onto her desk, but Harry's attention was seized by a photo of the veil, drifting backwards and forwards beneath the arch. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he was suddenly confronted with the reality that he hadn't been back to the ministry since that fateful explosion that sent him here, and he certainly hadn't been to the Department of Mysteries. Psychologically, he expected it wouldn't be a great reminder. It was full of ghosts, and he'd just requested to study the realest ghost of them all.

His palms began to sweat.

"Are you okay, Harrison? You look pale."

Harry assured her distantly that he was fine, but his mind was whirring. He needed to talk to someone before he went. Tom? But Tom would hardly comfort him. Harry suspected Tom would think the whole idea was silly. Despite his own fear of death, Tom rarely tolerated weakness in others.

No. Harry needed to speak to Orion.

Harry waited impatiently for Dorea to finish and then swept the papers into his bag and gathered together his things. He was at the door when Dorea called out:

"Tomorrow, then?"

Harry hesitated. The word felt rather like a death knell. "Tomorrow."

"I'll have someone meet you at the department entrance."

Harry fled.

Harry practically charged down the corridor, his mind raging- would he see Sirius? But what if he didn't? Had others followed him here? Were they waiting there for him, all this time? What if no one was there-?

And then he collided into a solid body and fell onto his bum.

"Shit," Harry muttered, rubbing at his backside. And then, registering who he'd bumped into: " Shit."

If there was anyone Harry hadn't expected (or wanted) to run into at the Educational Centre, it was Cassius Rosier.

"What are you doing here?"

Cassius smiled without amusement, holding out a hand. "Most people go for 'hello'."

Harry generally went by the notion that Cassius didn't deserve a hello, but he was struggling to think of the reasons right that moment. "Oh, yeah, right. Hullo." He took Cassius' hand begrudgingly and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Still. What are you doing here?"

"My mother sent me to pick up a cousin. He's had his license suspended for apparating into muggle women's bathrooms."

Had Harry expected anything else? "That is… deeply disturbing. I assume he didn't have their permission."

Worryingly enough, Cassius' smile got more genuine. "He certainly didn't, but Miss Abigail Wright will stab him one day in a frenzied panic, so it all works out in the end."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. "Great."

They stood in silence for a moment and discomfort crawled down Harry's spine, although Cassius seemed unaffected.

"Have you told him that?"

"Told him what?"

"That he's going to be stabbed."

"Well, no," Cassius considered Harry dubiously. "I don't think he'd take it very well."

"Because I take everything you say just marvellously."

"But you're the exception, Harrison. You must be used to that by now. I can hardly tell everyone about my gifts, can I?"

"Can't you? Only, Tom was questioning me about my supposed Seer powers the other day- I think he's finally decided interrogation won't scare me off- and I really think I might have made a mistake in going along with this whole thing."

"What did you say?"

"I had to tell him my visions really prefer this one specific period of the 90s." Harry recalled with slight disbelief his vivid description of how beloved butterfly clips were going to become.

"Lies built upon lies. They're hardly sustainable."

"Maybe I should've been more avoidant, looking back." Harry scowled. "And Tom and Orion been asking about my whole 'alternate dimension' story, which I'll admit I didn't fully think through. Really, they've been incredibly accepting of it. Almost unbelievably."

"Almost like it's a plot device."

Harry squinted suspiciously. "I don't know that means."

"That's probably a good thing for the stability of our universe."

"Yeah, sure, whatever- listen, have you seen Orion?" Harry asked, regaining a measure of his urgency. "I need to talk to him about something-"

"I'm quite aware of what you want to speak to Orion about."

Harry hesitated, but his need for comfort momentarily overwhelmed his distaste.

"Am I… Do I… Is it okay?" he asked unsteadily. "In the Death Chamber, I mean."

"'Okay' is very subjective."

Harry opened his mouth to complain, but Cassius cut him off.

"But you do learn what you need to. And that, I think, is the most important thing. You might not agree."

"Right," Harry said, his heart thudding loudly. "Good. I think. Look, I'd still like to speak to Orion-"

Cassius slipped his hands into his pockets, and Harry had the sudden, mind-boggling suspicion that he might have been nervous.

"You can't go to Orion with your problems forever, you know. He's not a constant."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sure he'll explain," Cassius said, looking over Harry's shoulder. "I'll be seeing you later."

Harry turned and, sure enough, there was Orion, hurrying up the corridor and calling out for them to wait where they were. By the time he reached them, Cassius was gone.

"I really don't know how he does that," Harry muttered. "He didn't apparate-"

Orion didn't seem to care much for contemplating the intricacies of Cassius Rosier. Instead, he grasped Harry by the shoulders and announced: "I'm going to Brazil!"

The words took a moment to sink in, but Orion didn't wait for Harry to catch up.

"My supervisor arranged it all - there's an incredible runic program there, run by Karl Dirkwood, if you can believe it – I didn't think I'd get in, really, it's a bit of a miracle!"

"When do you leave?" Harry said. It all felt like a bit of an out-of-body experience.

"In a month."

A month. A month, and Orion would be gone. Harry knew he wouldn't be alone- he had Tom, after all- but he could talk to Orion like he couldn't talk to Tom. Mostly about Tom, if he was honest. Orion was practically his brother. As much as he loved Ron and Hermione - and he did love them, he hadn't given up on his quest to return home – but he had never been quite so unfiltered with them. So emotionally honest. Ron and Hermione had been his only friends in an unfamiliar world, but Orion had been his only friend in a world that should be have been familiar but wasn't.

Different kinds of friendship formed at eleven and at sixteen. Not worse. Just different.

Orion's smile faltered. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am," Harry said, mustering up his strength and smiling back. It was genuine, if hard to maintain. "I just don't understand what prompted all this. You didn't have to move to Brazil just to tell me you didn't like my lasagne."

"Don't be silly. Your lasagne is excellent, I never knew you could add spinach."

"Well, now you know," Harry said dryly. The recipe was a remnant of the Dursleys' health push, to save poor, poor Duddy from a heart attack. "But if it isn't my lasagne…"

"I just need to get away for a bit." Orion let his excitement fade away, and Harry noticed for the first time the dark circles underneath his eyes and his reddened, raw cuticles. Orion was not doing well.

Harry grasped Orion's hands and examined them closely. They were dry and peeling; signs of hours of rubbing and fretting. "What have you done to yourself?" Harry said, his heart sinking. How had he missed this?

"The engagement party was too much," Orion admitted quietly. "It all got very real. So I just need to get away- just for a few months. Live."

"I'm sorry I left the party so early. I hated it, but I could have dealt – for you ."

"You couldn't have helped me," Orion said, gifting Harry with a warm smile. "This is a bit of a trap of my own making, really."

"Don't talk such bullshit. It's your father's doing, that old hippogriff."

"Perhaps." And then Orion tugged Harry into a close, tight hug, and it almost felt like goodbye.

"I'll be here when you come back," Harry promised.

Orion rested his forehead on Harry's, and for a moment, the two breathed as one. "I know."

Harry realised rather late that he'd forgotten to bring up the veil, but the moment felt wrong now. He kept silent.

"So what brought on this despondency?" Tom asked.

The dimly flickering candles, that he'd insisted were 'romantic', cast dappled light along the line of his jaw as he rested his chin on his fist. His face was angled almost perfectly, so that Harry could have leaned across the table and snogged him if he'd so chosen.

But Harry was not in the mood and kept his eyes firmly down and focused on his plate. The lasagne looked distinctly mushy , and far from the piping hot delight it had been on Saturday. Apparently, some food didn't take kindly to warming charms after three days.

He pushed around a pea dubiously on his plate, but he could hardly complain. It was Harry's fault they were still eating leftovers, after all. He hadn't realised that what happily fed a Dursley dinner party might but a bit much for a normal group of four. And Walburga ate like a pigeon, anyway.

"Harrison?"

"Dorea got me access to the Department of Ministries after all. I mentioned she might, remember? So I get to visit the veil. Tomorrow, actually."

"The veil?"

"It allows you to hear the whispers of the dead," Harry said dully, and a mouthful of lasagne tasted like ash on his tongue. "I have a lot of whispers to hear."

"But it can't be real," Tom insisted. "Those who have truly passed on don't come back. And they certainly don't hang around a curtain hoping desperately that someone they once knew will walk past."

Harry smiled without much joy. "Such little faith in magic, Tom."

"I have plenty of faith. I'm merely realistic."

"Or scared," Harry said lightly, but neither of them knew how to deal with that, so the conversation grew quiet.

It took Harry a minute to notice the flyer hidden slightly beneath Tom's plate, headed by a strange curved symbol.

"What's that?"

Tom slid the flyer further beneath his plate. "It's nothing. A venture I'm considering. I wouldn't want to tell you until it becomes something more… solid."

"As long as it's not some kind of nefarious scheme." Harry eyed Tom with suspicion. It hadn't looked like the Dark Mark…

"When have I ever been involved in nefarious schemes?"

"Every day of your life," Harry muttered, chewing dubiously on a piece of spinach and narrowing his eyes at the barely-peeking out flyer. This could only go badly.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop it. I promise you'll approve."

"Somehow that doesn't make me trust you more."

Tom's little smirk didn't help.

"So how is it at the department?"

"Dull."

"That'll teach you to try and sweet-talk Orion's drunk relatives."

"Mr Roberts is Arcturus' friend, not a relative. Besides, I didn't realise how prejudiced he would be without three shots of Firewhiskey."

They glanced at the bin, which still emitted puffs of smoke weeks after the Howler had exploded.

"At least you were moved, though."

"Mmm. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office certainly isn't where I want to end up but it's better than Quidditch."

"You're lucky I need you for this apartment, otherwise you would be well-past dumped," Harry said severely, poked at Tom's forearm with his fork.

"If you want me gone that badly, I'm sure we could arrange something…"

"Shut up." Harry chuckled and his cheeks warmed. Tom's eyes were so deep and dark- and his nose was so straight, irritatingly so, really-

"You know Orion told me about the veil," Tom mused. "A long time ago."

Harry couldn't contain his flinch at Orion's name, and he dropped his fork. The clatter of metal against porcelain seems to vibrate through the apartment.

"What is it really?" Tom said, and his deep, dark eyes were filled with concern all over again. Harry had so almost forgotten.

"Orion is going to Brazil."

Tom blinked. "He's allowed a holiday, isn't he?"

"It's not on holiday," Harry snarled, leaping to his feet. "He's going there to study. For months ."

"He will come back."

"I know he will. But I'll be-"

"You'll be what?"

" Alone. "

This time, Tom rose to his feet and his face slipped into an automatic, ugly sneer. "You're hardly alone. I thought we were a castle."

"I was scared, you didn't mean it."

"I did . But if you're so lonely, perhaps I made a mistake."

Tom might have been a little hurt.

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. "That's not what I meant."

He crossed the room to cradle Tom's face in his hands. As he brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, he felt Tom relax slowly. Tom slumped forwards and rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, and they stood, Harry supporting Tom, for a minute or two.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Harry murmured. "It's you and me, remember? But… things have been weird between us, Tom. We've moved into this apartment like a bloody married couple but I hardly feel like I know you-"

"You know me," Tom assured him. "You've seen me at my darkest-"

- A snake sealed away, a girl lying motionless between them, a glint of fury, anger -hurthurthurthurt-

"-And at my brightest."

-Two boys by a lake, letters scattered on the ground between them, a glint of sunlight, joy -hopehopehopehope-

"How could you not know me?"

And as Harry stood oh so close to Tom, enough that they could have melted into one another, he felt a deep warmth well up within his chest. No, it was deeper - almost like a tugging at his stomach, an intense, fond pull towards this boy who had offered Harry so much. Who might have changed the course of history for him.

Harry pulled Tom into a slow, long kiss. Tom responded eagerly, and Harry felt a deep pang of guilt at how distant he'd let them become.

Tom muttered, "Could Orion do this?" against Harry's mouth, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You're such an idiot."

They stumbled towards the sofa, a mess of flailing limbs and grasping hands. As they fell onto the cushions, Harry found himself braced over Tom, pressing kiss after kiss to his jaw. Tom's hands wandered, squeezing and groping beneath Harry's shirt. The pair drew back, panting and grinning at each other, as if only just realising that they were eighteen , god damnit.

"You're beautiful," Tom said breathlessly, and he looked at Harry like the most exquisite gem he'd ever seen.

Harry's face warmed. "Shut up. You're the most physically perfect person I know. It's sickening."

"You have such a way with words."

Tom pulled them both further onto the sofa and, as he did, Harry became aware of exactly how close they were.

He wouldn't mind being closer.

Harry tried for something casual, but his voice was giddy even to his own ears. "So now we've established that definitely we know each other… How about a bit more biblically?"

Tom flashed his teeth. "I thought you'd never ask."

Despite the pleasant night he'd had, Harry awoke the next morning with a sense of impending doom. Today he'd have to enter the Department of Mysteries, the last place he'd seen his friends, where he'd watched the world dissolve into gold and heard the dead whisper at his ear.

And then he'd have to write an essay on it.

Harry was led through the Department of Mysteries by a man in a set of deep purple robes with his hood drawn up, casting his face in impenetrable shadow. The corridors were entirely empty - of people or distinguishing factors. In fact, there were faded squares on the wall where posters had been stripped away, and Harry suspected it had all been done for him . Because of him. It all felt very Unspeakable-y.

Harry hated it. With every corner they turned, he was confronted by another memory- Ron throwing a blasting spell with a triumphant whoop, Luna dodging between shelves in some strange kind of dance, Harry leading his friends towards a prophecy hall where he was sure Sirius was here, just down this aisle, one more row-

But most of all, Harry was confronted by the fact that they were just that- a memory. Whilst it seemed like just yesterday that Hermione had been beckoning at the end of the corridor- "They're coming, quick!" - she wasn't there now. The corridors were quiet.

Harry dealt with his turmoil by talking.

"So do you like working here?" Harry said.

His companion was silent.

"Doesn't seem like there's much around. I like a place with a bit of personality."

More silence.

"You should have seen Tom's - my boyfriend – face after I brought him this lamp I found. Apparently, it was cursed to slowly turn melt your skin whilst you sleep. But how was I supposed to know that? The lady who gave it to me seemed nice enough."

Even more silence.

"I suppose I should get used to all this, though," Harry gestured around him, "if I want to come and work here."

And finally, the Unspeakable beside Harry let out a deep chuckle and let his hood fall down, revealing a small dark-skinned man with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I hope I'm around when Arcturus receives your application."

"Why?"

"You're the boy who turned his son to the muggles."

"I didn't turn his son- I just showed muggles weren't bogeymen. Hardly a revolutionary concept..."

But as Harry continued to grumble under his breath, he couldn't stop a nagging sense of familiarity arising when he glanced at his companion. Finally, the realisation struck. "Hey. I know who you are."

"I don't think you do."

"No, I definitely recognise you."

"You're probably mistaken-"

"I read an article."

"I just have one of those faces-"

"You travelled back in time."

Gilderys Hawthorne slumped defeatedly, offering up a discomforted smile. "I see my reputation precedes me." He laughed awkwardly, a hand darting up to pull at his ear in a nervous gesture. "We're fairly sure that was a hallucination, anyway. I was really quite ridiculously high. But I certainly intended to time travel."

Harry felt a trickle of disappointment. Gilderys had not travelled in time. Another avenue closed.

"That's why you're here actually," Gilderys continued, oblivious to Harry's crisis. "When I was brought to the department after the '25 fiasco, they were about to wipe my mind and send me on my way. Dorea's father convinced them to hire me. He was also quite high," he added thoughtfully.

"And you owed him – her – a favour."

"I did indeed," Gilderys seemed to find the humour in the situation and offered Harry a wink. "I hope it's worth it. Here we are then."

They had arrived at the door to the Death Chamber without Harry noticing, and as he stared at the familiar door, a new sense of dread stole over him. Sirius could be waiting just beyond, for all Harry knew. Waiting for his godson to bring him home.

"I assume you were briefed on arrival?"

"Extensively."

"Good luck then," Gilderys said, pulling open the door. "Try not to do anything stupid."

And with a hand placed firmly between Harry's shoulder blades, Gilderys pushed the young wizard into the room and closed the door behind him.

Harry had stumbled a few feet into Death Chamber before he realised that he was not alone.

"Sir?" Harry said, his surprise sending the word slipping, unbidden, from his tongue.

Dumbledore turned. "There's no need to call me 'sir', Harrison," he said. "We're hardly in school anymore."

Harry had somehow thought he'd never see the man again. "You're- But- What are you doing here?"

"I am fortunate enough to be rather good friends with one of the employees of this fine establishment, and he keeps me up to date on some of the most exciting happenings." Dumbledore turned a thoughtful gaze behind him. "And the veil has always fascinated me."

"Oh?"

"The veil between life and death is so tightly closed- as well it should be. But the possibilities were it to open…" Dumbledore sighed, and Harry saw his hand twitch.

But Harry suddenly found that he didn't want to step closer, didn't want to know what the veil would say to him. His feet felt glued to the ground where he stood, stuck still, next to the door.

Harry considered his professor- always so distant and unknowable- and was strongly reminded of standing in front of a mirror once upon a time and asking a similar question.

"Who do you hear, sir?"

Dumbledore half-smiled. "Lies are such a wonderfully easy thing. I could perhaps tell you my mother or my dear sister, and thus appear vulnerable enough to convince you. Certainly, their voices are whispers on the periphery; intangible, ghostly." Dumbledore watched Harry closely, as if assessing his value. "But no. It is often best practise to be honest, and the truth, I fear, is far less noble or endearing. Embarrassing, perhaps, although I do try not to be embarrassed by love." Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, and Harry realised that he was nervous . "I hear Gellert. Grindelwald."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You were close?"

Dumbledore let out a startled chuckle. "Close? Why yes, you could call it that. We were certainly close in boyhood, but as men it became something rather more . I imagine you and Tom would understand."

Harry could barely contain his shock. "You were in a relationship with Grindelwald?!" he yelped.

"No, my boy, nothing so… concrete. But the feelings were there." Dumbledore smiled, and it was somehow worse than a frown. More terrible, more mournful. "They were very there."

Harry surveyed this man, this icon of the wizarding world, who he realised no one had ever known well at all. He tried to imagine fighting Voldemort now, if Voldemort wore Tom's face. He struggled. "But, sir… why did you kill him?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a very familiar look: one that he hadn't seen in a very long time, and he realised that was because it was filled with fondness. "Do you know, you're the first person to ask me that? The usual question seems to be 'why didn't you do it sooner?'"

"Well, why didn't you?"

"I set off to face Gellert mostly due to pressures from my mother," Dumbledore admitted. He chuckled, and as he did, he lowered himself heavily into one of the polished benches surrounding the room. "In my 60s and still facing my mother's wrath. And funnily enough, she was pestering me mostly due to you ."

Harry couldn't help but emit a soft sound of surprise.

"She was remarkably impressed by you- I believe the main complaint was that if a seventeen-year-old could face up to Grindelwald, I certainly could." Dumbledore paused. "I do believe she missed the subtleties of my conundrum, but the basics were there. And every day another attack, another death…" Dumbledore shook his head. "It would have been the most complete cowardice to do nothing. I was in Gryffindor, you know." He looked Harry up and down. "And I do believe you might have been. Often, I say we sort too early but, perhaps, in your case, it was too late."

"I would have been in Gryffindor earlier."

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "It is quite something to witness the utter depravity that humanity is capable of; one can hardly emerge untouched. Untransfigured. I do wonder if the Sorting Hat might now say something different were it dropped onto my head."

"Maybe you'd be in Hufflepuff," Harry said lightly.

Dumbledore looked wry. "Oh, I could never be good enough for Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff, Harrison, is a remarkably underappreciated house. I daresay if I were allowed to choose my own… well." He waved a wand, and his previously-charcoal robes took on a garish yellow hue.

Harry shook his head at the turn the conversation had taken. "Harry," he said decisively. "You can call me Harry."

"Marvellous," Dumbledore beamed. He chuckled suddenly. "Whilst you may have a reason for the remarkably tight grip you have on that doorframe, I feel rather ridiculous talking to you as if we were on opposite ends of a Quidditch pitch. Don't you?"

"A little," Harry admitted. He inched nervously forward, his heart thudding with each step he took towards the quietly-rippling veil. When he couldn't bring himself to move any further, he sat down abruptly on a nearby bench, still metres and metres away from the veil. Dumbledore rose to join him.

"Nervous of death, Harry?"

"More anxious of what knowing will do to me," Harry replied, eyeing the veil with increasing dread.

"Wise man. Impossible promises rarely end well."

Harry took a moment to consider the pair of them: Harry and Dumbledore in the Death Chamber, chatting about dead loved ones. He could hardly imagine this happening even in the future.

"I'm sorry, sir, but why are you telling me this?"

Dumbledore let his gaze wander slowly over the room. "I have been very unfair in my dealings with you, Harry. We tend to become unaware of our prejudices over time, especially as age creeps steadily over us-" Dumbledore examined his hands with something like surprise "-and your time at Hogwarts brought to my attention my tendency to look twice at anyone wearing green."

"Why?" Tom Riddle hadn't even become a dark lord yet (at least, he hoped not). Dumbledore hardly had reason .

Dumbledore paused, seeming to properly consider the question.

"Over time," he said at last, carefully. "I have become increasingly aware of Slytherin traits in myself that I dislike."

"Sometimes, a bit of cunning is necessary," Harry said quietly.

"Too true." Dumbledore's beard began to absently plait itself. "But I took a life mere months ago. I'd always sworn I wouldn't, but in that moment… I suspect a lot of it came down to self-preservation, but when I consider the lives I saved- well, it seems selfish to regret it."

But the look he gave the veil spoke volumes.

"You asked me, Harry, why I have been quite so open with you. I confess I hardly know, myself." Dumbledore clambered to his feet, adjusting his robes. "Whilst we all need people to trust and you caught me in a rather emotional moment- frankly?" Dumbledore smiled apologetically. "I suspect it is because no one would believe any of this if you told them."

He began to move towards the exit, and Harry was too taken aback to stop him. Dumbledore paused, looking back.

"Do consider taking up the Defence post in the future. I think you've got the knack."

And then he was gone.

Without the headmaster's overwhelming presence, the room felt suddenly colder. The tattered veil appeared to flutter more agitatedly, as if the person standing just behind it was shaking it violently, perhaps calling for help. Harry knew there was no one there, knew it was just some kind of cruel trick, but he called out "Sirius?" with a sick feeling of rising hope. He'd known as soon as he stepped into the room that Sirius had died; that the veil was a sick trap that wouldn't return its victims, but-

"Sirius?"

And Harry thought he could perhaps hear Sirius' voice, murmuring how proud he was of Harry, how he'd kept his friends safe, he'd done the right thing after all- light and dark, Harry, you did it- and before he knew it, he was stood barely an arms-length away from the veil, his fingers outstretched. He thought he could feel the intense chill of the veil prickling on his fingertips: so cold it practically burnt.

With a full-bodied flinch, Harry dragged himself away. He fell back on the floor, gripping to it so tightly that his knuckles whitened; his chest heaved beyond his control. That had been so close. So like the time fake-Moody held him under the Imperius charm… suspended in peace.

" Fuck ," he hissed, beating the ground in frustration. And the sting of his palm felt right, felt real, so he kept hitting and punching and roaring into the room.

"YOU TOOK HIM!" Harry screamed. "AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW-"

But as Harry took a deep, gasping breath, he noticed something. Nothing. The absence of anything.

The veil was silent.

It was barely swaying, and the whispers were totally gone. Harry would hardly have known it was magical if he'd walked into the room that minute.

Harry clambered shakily to his feet, stuffing his reddened hands into his pockets. He inched closer, expecting a resurge of murmurings, but nothing came. Nothing at all.

"Come on, then," Harry muttered. "You were so talkative before."

He circled the veil, but from every new angle, the veil looked more and more ordinary. Unassuming. It was mocking him.

"Say something," he ordered. He waited. "Say something!"

He was begging now, and the realisation chipped at his pride. He was pleading with a veil.

"You think you're so powerful but you're not. Voldemort beat you, Nicolas Flamel beat you, I beat you! Stop it!" He might have been crying at this point. "Just bring them back ."

His chest felt tight and he hadn't realised how it would properly feel to be back in this room, to be back where Sirius died. He shrugged his robe off and transfigured it into a proper cushioned blanket, settling in for the long haul. It had to speak at some point.

But the veil never made a sound.

Thanks go to my amazing beta Caty, without whom the comma inconsistency of this chapter would be a lot higher. I also wrote a lot of this chapter lying sick in bed so lets see if I regret it when I'm well!