Lemon Kitten's "Write the End to Book 7" Competition Entry

Odd to think that it was over. Odd to think that everything was over. Everything. Harry blinked slowly, gazing at the strangely shaped doorway, hearing the whispers and thoughts of all that had passed through it, caressing him with their melodies. Odd to think that Voldemort was actually gone, released, dead, reborn, who knew. Odd to think Voldemort's ending had been from the tip of Voldemort's own wand. A couple of hours ago he didn't think he could have survived. Freshly graduated from Hogwarts with a number of possible professions laid out before him but now... now he stood before the veil.

His wand hand lifted up to touch the cracked stone of the archway. It was a little cool, as if there had just been a frost and the rock was still maintaining the temperature. The veil fluttered slightly and the whispers called to him.

Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione where he would be; he hadn't had a chance. They had been guarding Snape while he, Neville and Luna had walked, flew, and apparated the dangerous path to Azkaban. “You must destroy the Dementors,” they had been told. So they went. And they fought.

And then Voldemort had come.

The murmuring noises were growing clearer. He could catch various words and almost thought he understood them, but they were quickly lost from his mind like a dream. Harry's left hand crept slowly up towards the veil, and he watched it with interest. His other hand gripped the stone, feeling the cool seep into his bones until finally, his fingertips barely touched the black. A warm feeling spread from his fingers all through his body like a hot bath--the only remaining cool piece of his body was his right hand, gripping the stone, feeling the texture, and wondering what it would be like to place both hands onto the veil.

Wondering what it would be like to step into it.

Harry had felt this before. This strong inclination to walk through it, see what laid beyond it. But Hermione was not here to save him now. She was probably still watching for Death Eaters, keeping Snape under control and safe, and talking with Ron. Besides, Sirius was here. Harry's right hand quickly touched the veil, and suddenly, he knew those whispers.

He blinked.

"Hermione, we’ve been through this before...We're not going through every exam afterward, it's bad enough doing them once."

A small tear dribbled down his cheek. Why was he crying? "Voldemort is dead," he whispered to himself.

"I am afraid… I am afraid that you are in grave danger!"

His nose was almost touching the sheer surface. If it did, would he be able to see beyond it? Would Sirius be there, waiting for him to come save him from whatever lay there? Despite the warmth in his body, Harry noticed his breath was starting to condense and come out as fog. Another tear fell.

"Yeah -- he’s mine -- bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year -- I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the --"

What would it be like for wizarding kind now? Would another Tom Riddle, another Grindelwald, another Fudge appear to torment them? Probably. It never ended. Not that it mattered. There would always be a Harry Potter to defeat them. Fight for righteousness. Make Godric Gryffindor proud. Harry sighed and watched his breath weave its way through the curtain; he pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

"I'm going to be a knight."
"But one does not parade the fact that one is All- Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."
"I believed it myself -- until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder’s map never lies ... Peter's alive."
"Because of... erm... Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

Harry didn't realize that he was inching forward, that his hands had escaped beyond the veil, and his nose, and his foot was getting ready to step inside. He could feel things drifting through his hands; it felt like when Sir Nicholas had touched him. He shivered, yearning to find, straining to hear, not knowing what would happen, wondering what people would do if he never came back, hoping that the archway was like the Mirror of Erised...but it just made it all come true instead.

"It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago."
"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall."
"Where’s my Dudders? Where’s my neffy poo?"
"There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends."

"Harry!"

Eyes still clenched shut, Harry didn't know what one of his feet was resting on. It felt solid. He turned his face away from the veil, still not ready, still wanting to see Sirius, still wanting to speak with Hermione and Ron, and still thinking about all the things Dumbledore had never told him about. The whispers were no longer whispers, but screaming voices, reminding him of all that he had done, what he would never be able to do. Voldemort.

"Flesh -- of the servant -- w-willingly given -- you will -- revive -- your master."
"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh. Harry -- yer a wizard."
"Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk palely where their living selves once trod. But very few wizards choose that path."

Decided, he stepped through the veil, looking back one final time at the place he would be leaving. As his other foot fell into the darkness and he felt himself slipping away, staring at him outside of the veil, was Sirius.

"Harry..."