Chapter Text
The war is won.
People die.
Harry breaks.
Or maybe he's always been broken. Maybe that's why the Dursleys never liked him. Maybe the only reason he never noticed until now was because he had nothing else to occupy his thoughts. With Voldemort vanquished, it gave him a lot of time to think, to notice things about himself that he had pushed aside 'for the greater good.'
It took him about a week after the war to realize that he was unhappy. And as he laid in bed the night after that revelation, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy, not really. The world had taken on this gray, lackluster tinge without him knowing and it seemed like it had been forever since he'd seen the world in full technicolor.
It wasn't as if he were a stranger to happiness. The emotion wasn't exactly lost to him – he still had brief moments of happiness, where he'd laugh, or realize he was sort of content, but those moments were gone before he could really savor them.
After the war, without a purpose, Harry has time to think, for better or for worse.
And he does.
He thinks about what he wants. Except... that doesn't do him any good at first, because he just wants his friends to be happy. It's then that Harry realizes he doesn't know how to put himself first. He doesn't know how to make himself happy.
And maybe that's the real problem. Harry doesn't know how to make himself happy.
So he thinks and he thinks and he realizes three weeks after the war that he wants his family. And he doesn't want to make a family with Ginny, like most of the Wizarding world assumes – no, he wants his dad, his mom, Sirius, and Remus.
Except they're dead.
And that just makes everything worse.
Harry stops thinking about how to make himself happy after that.
Except he can't stop thinking about Sirius.
Because he's accepted that his mom and dad and Remus are dead, even if it hurts to think about it. But Sirius.
Sirius.
He fell into the Veil. No one really knew anything about it. Maybe it didn't bring death. Maybe it healed him. Maybe it was just a door. Or maybe Sirius had been stuck in the Veil for two years waiting for someone to fish him out.
Harry can't stop thinking about it.
Finding Sirius.
Saving Sirius.
It's four weeks after the war when Harry decides he's got to go after Sirius.
But first – research.
He does this on his own and there's not much Harry can find on the subject. It's all theory because no one who's ever gone through the Veil has ever come back out, not even when in 1919, a wizard named William Helios strapped a charmed length of rope to his chest and had his research partner hold the other end of it. The rope had returned within an hour of Helios walking through the Veil, frayed and cut short where it had once held the man.
Helios was never heard from again.
Harry doesn't think he'd mind too much, leaving this world and never coming back. Sure, he'd miss quite a few people, but there was nothing tying him to this world they way it tied his friends. And if he could somehow find Sirius – that would make it all worth it.
It's five weeks after the war that Harry finds that very same resolve that had him walking to what he assumed to be his death. He knows that he's going through that Veil – the question is, does he tell anyone else that he's going?
The answer to that question is a resounding no.
Harry can only imagine what Ron or Hermione would say. Probably would just convince him to stay. Luna might understand, in that abstract way of hers. Molly would just cry. Merlin knows what Ginny would do – the didn't exactly break up on the best of terms, though that's mostly Harry's fault. It was three weeks after the war. He'd stumbled through an explanation of why they should break up and hadn't had any solid answer for her. He just ... he couldn't do it anymore. It felt like a farce.
Ginny deserved better. They both deserved better.
But still. Harry figures that he owes everyone some sort of explanation as to why he'd walked through the Veil, even if he couldn't do it to their faces.
After thinking it over, he decides that letters are probably the best choice. After all, by the time they would arrive after the fact and no one could stop him from what was probably a bad decision.
It takes him a little less than a week to write the letters. He mulls over them for much longer than he probably should have, but he wants them to be perfect. They are, after all, going to be the last thing he'll ever say to his friends.
It's a month and a half after the war that Harry realizes – quite belatedly – that if he's really going to go through the Veil, he probably ought to bring all of his material possessions he'd miss if he was parted from and a whole lot of money.
After all, if the Veil really was a door, there probably wouldn't be a Gringotts on the other side.
(Or maybe there would be. Goblins were crafty little buggers. If there was the possibility of making a profit, Goblins were sure to come.)
So Harry makes an impromptu visit to Diagon Alley and invites Hermione and Ron along with him, because it might be a selfish way to think, but if he's really going to leave them forever and ever, he'd like to see them as much as possible before he does so.
Harry arrives at the Leaky last and after Hermione hugs him for a good solid minute, she pulls away and just scrutinizes him. For a moment, Harry thinks she must have found out about his plan to travel through the Veil, but she just makes a comment about how he's different than he normally is.
Harry blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it. "How?" He finally asks.
"I don't know," Hermione says, looking him over once more. "You're just ... different."
And there's silence then, stagnant and heavy. Harry wonders if his resolve to follow Sirius, even if it meant his death, has changed him.
Harry tries not to shift uncomfortably in his uncomfortable chair. He's sure that was why the goblins had offered him the thing. They'd never forgiven him for the whole 'breaking into Gringotts' thing, but Harry can kind of understand that. Still, he's an important figure in the Wizarding world and they can't afford to make him angry – literally.
If he went on record and told all the witches and wizards to withdraw their money from Gringotts, the goblins wouldn't have a business left to be greedy over. Still. He kinda feels bad for them.
Maybe that's why he begins his audience with the head goblin of Gringotts with, "I'd like to donate my trust vault." Because hadn't that been a surprise – that the vault Harry had seen at eleven was only a small part of his riches, that he had three other vaults – not including the one Sirius had left to Harry in his will!
Ever the professional, Urnar barely even sneers at him before asking, "To who?"
He's always treated Harry with a cold distance, professional and fair enough to Harry, but never kind. Maybe that's why he takes such pleasure in what he says next. "To Gringotts. Can I do that?"
Urnar blinks. His nostrils flare, but he doesn't say a word. For a good long moment, there's nothing but silence between them. Then, Harry can see the moment where Urnar visibly warms up to him. "Of course. Any particular reason?"
"I'm ... leaving." Harry doesn't quite know how to say that he's possibly marching to his certain death for the second time, but leaving – that sounds about right. "And I don't want to be on bad terms with goblins before I do so." Harry takes this moment to look around the office the goblin who greeted him had taken him to. It's ornate, as can be expected from goblins, but not ostentatious. It's quite beautiful, with its deep, reds and bright golds. "I'd also like to withdraw all my money from my vaults and place it into a bottomless bag, if that's possible."
Urnar doesn't look as incensed at the statement as Harry thought he'd be. Opening with the donation was probably a good idea. "Of course," the well dressed goblin says, removing himself from his plush padded chair and gesturing for Harry to do the same. After Harry has done so, Urnar leads them out of his office and down the hall. Having never been down this way, Harry takes his time gazing at his surroundings and almost misses what Urnar says next. "May I ask where you are going?"
Harry thinks over his next words carefully. "I'm ... going to find my godfather."
And Urnar stares up at Harry, eyes dark and knowing, but doesn't reply.
With Harry firmly (back?) in the goblins' good graces, it takes barely twenty minutes for Urnar and three other goblins to retrieve his assets and have them placed in a bottomless bag. The goblins are even so kind as to give him a goblin-warded bag that's charmed against thieves and will always make its way back to him once it keys onto Harry's magical signature.
He even leaves every one of his friends (and Teddy) a substantial sum of galleons, figuring that he might as well provide them financial security if he can't be there physically to protect them.
It's a sort of bittersweet moment, looking down at a near weightless bag filled with his money – knowing that he's well and truly resolved to this. That he's really going to go through the Veil. That he's really never going to see Hermione and Ron and Luna and Neville after he does so again.
That he's going to find Sirius, even if he dies trying.
(Hopefully, he doesn't die. Because while he's not afraid of death, he's certainly afraid of how mad Sirius might be once he finds out Harry is dead.)
Harry walks out of Gringotts, emotions lighter and heavier at the same time, and meets Hermione and Ron in Flourish & Botts. There his two best friends are – predictably – arguing over whether or not Hermione truly needs another book. Harry makes himself comfortable and watches the two with a smile, knowing that it's probably the last time he'd see them before his trip into the Veil.
It's a month and three weeks when Harry starts to pack in earnest. Urnar had told Harry that the goblin-crafted bag would take a few days to get used to his magical signature, so he spends that time going through the books in the library at 12 Grimmauld Place. Most of them are dark in nature, but many of them look like they might be quite useful. He's not exactly smart like Hermione and he doesn't necessarily like reading a ton of books, but Harry doesn't know everything.
And what if Sirius is in trouble? What if the exact spell needed is in one of those books in the Black Library? Or what if he's hurt? Harry's knows one healing spell and what if that's not enough?
So Harry goes through every single book in the Black Library, cataloging the ones he's going to leave behind and the one's he's going to take with him. It takes him about a week to do so, but that's good, because by the time he's done, his bag has keyed to his signature and it's an easy thing to place the seemingly endless stack of books he's decided he needs to take with him into his bag.
In his packing frenzy, he also decides he probably needs to take some potions. And food. And clothing. And his invisibility cloak. He gets a holster for his wand that straps securely to his forearm and learns some preservation charms for the store-bought potions and food he places in his bag. He makes list after list after list and every time he does so, he finds one more item he's forgotten to pack.
Finally, two months after the war, he's ready.
It doesn't take much to break into the Department of Mysteries again. They haven't changed much on the security front and even if they had, they'd be no match for a determined Harry Potter.
He makes his way to the Ministry of Magic at sunset, after sending off the letters. No one will get them until tomorrow morning and by that time, he'll be long gone. He's wearing his cloak and he's cast a silencing charm on his feet. His wand is strapped to his forearm, his bag is slung across his shoulder, and his hands are steady.
He's not scared, like he thought he might be. He's calm, clear-headed in a way that he wasn't when he walked to his death the last time. It takes him barely fifteen minutes to get into the Department of Mysteries and when he sees the Veil, he sort of stops and stares.
There are these wisps of fabric fluttering in the non-existence breeze, beckoning Harry to come forward.
He does.
He stands just at the entrance of the Veil and closes his eyes, thinks a little prayer to any higher power that's listening.
Finally, after a moment, he opens his eyes. He stares into the Veil, wondering what Sirius was thinking when he'd fallen in.
And Harry takes one step forward, then two steps, and the Veil whisks him away to a world unknown.