Chapter Text
It was strange being back here, after so many years. His feet had led him without hesitation through the closed and darkened Atrium, into an elevator and down to this path that was burned in his brain after the results of one of the hardest years in his life. One of his worst mistakes, which he still had not forgiven himself for, though he let others believe he had done so.
Harry Potter was 39 years old, an accomplished wizard, set to become head of the Auror department within a few years. And yet, he hesitated to open the door in front of him, to enter an all-too-familiar room despite the fact that it had been a brief moment, 24 years ago. With a deep breath, he opened the door, bracing himself. Nothing happened, of course. He snorted in self-deprecation, still afraid of this room after everything that had happened in his life. He stepped through, striding forward until he was level with the object that faced him, dominating the dark room and casting an eerie light.
The Veil, deep in the Department of Mysteries, was still the one object the Unspeakables knew the least about. They had studied it extensively, documenting every detail about it ever since they had built the Department of Mysteries around it, for it was impossible to move or damage with any spell known to wizard kind.
Its pale, misty curtains floated in a non-existent breeze, reaching out towards Harry as if in invitation. He could hear the voices, just like he and Luna Scamander nee Lovegood had been able to hear it all those years ago. Harry had never asked Neville if he could hear the voices, not wanting to know. He had done his best to forget about this place, about the Veil, but it lingered in his mind, his subconscious thoughts wandering to it every day as he came in to work.
He stepped forward cautiously, one foot in front of the other. One voice reached out to him, calling more than the others. So familiar, rough with disuse and bad health, but so desired. He stopped himself just in front of the curtains, staring through their misty substance at the back wall of the room. Was he really going to do this?
Since the end of the wizarding war, Harry had gone through life feeling like something was missing. It had started as a hunger of sorts in the depths of his body and had become so strong over the years that at times it was debilitating. He had tried to fill it with his friends, his work. He’d dated Ginny again, desperate to feel some sort of connection. It had never come.
And then, on a whim, he’d visited Gringotts. And nothing had been the same since. The truths the goblins had revealed to him had ripped any sense of security and balance from underneath him like a proverbial rug. The betrayal, the rage, the enormous sense of loss, it had been overwhelming. He’d fallen into a deep depression, taking a leave of absence from work and isolating himself from his friends.
Two people had interrupted his misery, two had bothered to try and reach out. Luna had been one, forcing herself in on his pain and sternly redirecting it, forcing him to eat, to bathe, to keep going. Without the stubborn, unique young witch his malaise very well could have consumed him. The other had been, of all people, Draco Malfoy. He’d changed considerably since the war, throwing himself into politics and reform, working side-by-side with the Auror department to track down the last of Voldemort’s supporters and followers.
They had forced him to realize that if he wasn’t going to do anything with his new knowledge, he would have to learn to live with it. And he’d tried, Merlin knew he’d tried. There was just so much one wizard could take, and Harry had endured so much in such a short amount of time that the new knowledge was just enough to break his steadfast Gryffindor stubbornness.
It turned out, amongst other things, that the ache he had been suffering from for years was due to a broken, incomplete soul bond. Wizarding soul-bonds were rare, less than 2 percent of wizards found their soulmate. The one person that was not just compatible with them emotionally and magically, but literally their other half. It was why he and Ginny had ended up breaking off their relationship, deciding that they were better off friends. Harry’s broken soul-bond was keeping him from forming any other form of romantic attachment.
Through talking with Luna and Draco, Harry had identified when his issues had begun, and thus the identity of his soul-bond. Considering there had been a soul-bond simmering underneath the surface, their quick connection and loyal support of each other made sense. Of course, even with soul-bonds no relationship was perfect, they’d argued more than a few times.
Sirius Black. His godfather, until he’d been arrested and the Ministry had declared it null and void as was their right to do so. Had he truly been the one to betray Harry’s parents, it was procedure to overthrow the bond, as most children wouldn’t want to have a parent-child connection to the person responsible for their parents’ death. With what he now knew about the war against Voldemort and his own role in it, it suddenly made cold, logical sense for Dumbledore to do so little to try and get him a trial, Supreme Mugwump or not.
Realizing he’d be dealing with this pain for the rest of his life, Harry had attempted to keep going, trying to live his life as his parents would have wanted him to. But it was so hard. And now here he was, standing in front of the Veil that had cost him the most precious thing in his life, then and now, staring at it’s shifting magical curtains as if waiting for something.
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and walked into the cold curtains. He was done. So be it.
*
Harry had expected pain, darkness, not this cool numbing sensation. All that was in front of him was shifting silvery nothingness, similar to the shimmery quality of a Patronus. He closed his eyes and relaxed, feeling the cold drifting further and further through his body the longer he hung in his unsupported suspension. It was similar to flying, and he’d always liked flying.
Harry…Harry…Harry… something seemed to whisper. He opened his eyes, staring at flowing silver, wondering what the sound was coming from and why he hadn’t actually died yet.
A soft sound like laughter in his ears, distinctly feminine. As he relaxed a bit more and the numbness spread, his eyes gradually began to see and feminine form in front of him, shifting in the silver like the curtains of the Veil. He opened his mouth to speak and choked, unable to draw a breath. Trying to move sent his body into a series of convulsions until a peculiar warmth started in his chest and eased the pain from his airless lungs.
Focusing on the form in front of him as the pain eased, Harry frowned, wondering how to communicate with this ethereal being.
A gentle, motherly feeling fell across him and he heard the endless voice again, more inside his head than with his ears. Think to me, dear one. My precious childe.
The first thought that came to mind was, Who, or what, are you?
Amusement filtered through the air, gaining a temporary response from his own emotions, without his thought or direction.
My name is Nimue, Harry. As for who I am, I am Magic, the Goddess. All of those with magical gifts come from me. My power is dwindling in this modern world, Harry. There are fewer and fewer who truly believe in me, who thank me for their gifts.
The disappointment and sadness filtering through the air filled Harry with a powerful grief. How?
I was once a powerful being, Harry. At the time of Merlin and Morgana, I was at my peak, loved and known to the world. I showered my gifts to wizards with abandon, resulting in some of the most powerful witches and wizards in history. After the war between Merlin and Morgana, something began to happen. Something insidious. The Romans invaded the British Isles, persecuting those who loved me. My people began to hide their love for me, to survive.
And then one of my people termed magic that Morgana used ‘Dark’, and that of Merlin ‘Light’. They started to declare some of my gifts more worthy than others, some of my people more worthy than others. Over time the little Rituals and Blessings of my people started being condemned, and then exclusively became that of ‘purebloods’.
The creatures I made were hunted and prosecuted, the Lycans I loved so much diminished to werewolves, creatures of children’s nightmares and cautionary tales. Higher beings like the centaurs delegated to ‘beasts’.
Now so much of the magical world has changed that those same Rituals and Blessings are illegal to perform, still done only by a small fraction of my people, those original ones I blessed so long ago. And yet they don’t see the consequences, they try and find logical reasoning for the fact that fewer and fewer children are born with my gift. Soon, I will be gone from this world, forever. Magic will cease to exist.
Just the thought of a world without magic horrified Harry. It had changed his life, granted not all for the better, but he couldn’t imagine living in a world without it. I’m sorry, he thought to the Goddess.
I know, she said, and he glimpsed what could a been a rictus of a smile in the shifting silver. There’s nothing that can be done about it however.
Then a slightly mischievous air danced through Harry, becoming cautious. At least not here. Tell me Harry, when you entered the portal to my domain, what did you seek? Was it Death? Or something else?
Harry considered the question for a long time, or at least what felt like it. Eventually he composed his thoughts and answered Nimue. I’m not sure, actually. I was prepared to accept Death as a possibility, yes. It has long since stopping scaring me, the idea of passing on. I guess I wanted release, more than anything. Release from the pain of my broken soul-bond, release from the guilt of my mistakes that have cost so much. Release from the pain of betrayal, of poor choices and the hubris that had me making them.
The goddess in front of him seemed to give his answer due weight and consideration, and they stayed in the portal for a long time, long enough for the comfortable numbness of deep cold to travel up through Harry’s shoulders, up his legs and through his stomach. He felt fathomless, lighter than air and yet deeper than the depths of the sea.
When Nimue ‘spoke’, it was after such an amount of time that it startled him. I have the power to do one thing, Harry. I have given the last of the gifts I am able to, the last magical children born. There are only four in England. They number under 100 worldwide.
I can and will release you, Harry, if that is what you desire. You can join your parents in that which lies beyond life, and you will be able to rest. Whether you knew it or not, you were one of my Champions and I will not deny you that if it is your wish. There is another option, one that would not be approved of by many, but I am Magic, I care little for the opinions of others.
I can send you back, to a year of your choosing. You will go back to that age, but retain all your memories. I will not stop you from meddling in the fate of the wizarding world, in fact I hope you will meddle in some things. Perhaps you will be able to change the destiny of us both, Harry. Perhaps not. You seem to be a favorite plaything of Fate and she doesn’t like me very much at times.
An almost derisive amusement filtered through with her last words, though Harry wasn’t paying attention. He was being given a choice? Was this what happened to every being who entered Magic’s domain?
Something of his thoughts must have trickled past his barriers, because Nimue’s resonance became sad. You are thinking of Sirius Orion Black III, when he came through my archway. No, he was not given a choice Harry. He was already dead when he came into my domain, Death carried him away as his dignity and life deserved.
Part of Harry had always wondered if it had been the Veil or Bellatrix that had killed Sirius. It was nice to have his theory confirmed. He floated, thinking. On one hand he was tired, ready to be done with his life. If Nimue was finished with the world, perhaps he should be as well. He would be able to see his parents finally, as he knew even if he did go back, he wouldn’t be able to save them from dying.
But then there was the other possibility. To go back, memories intact and undo all the betrayals before they wound him in a tangled net that he would never be able to get out of. To go back and have Sirius back, to try and make things right and have a happier ending. To help Nimue, Magic, gain back the respect and love she deserved for giving them all such an enormous gift.
He looked at her, shifting in his eyes like a shimmer vision in the desert, ethereal and yet very much real as well. His jaw clenched, stubbornness kicked in again and he felt more alive than he had in years. His conviction firm, Harry said, I’ll go back. I’ll change things and neither one of us will suffer when this year comes around again.
Pride and love suffused the distance between the two of them and he could clearly see Nimue’s smile now. She pushed a filament of silver out of the way like a lock of hair and her voice filled him. I am prouder of you than words can ever express, Harry. Know that even if things do not change as much as you would hope, that I love you and you are one of the greatest gifts I have ever given. Now, have you decided when and where?
Harry already had considered it, and really it was a moot decision. He’d decided on it already just by walking into the building and coming to this place again. 1995, the summer before my fifth year. Before the dementors, if you please.
Amusement and love flickering through the air around them, Nimue’s shifting form disappeared, not before he felt the caress of fingers down the side of his face and along his jawline. As you wish, precious one. A fair warning, this may hurt a bit.