HP:Fighting From the Shadows

To Harry, the moment seemed to last an eternity.

Sirius was falling backwards, as though in slow motion. Bellatrix's curse had struck him directly in the chest, and his eyes were wide, looking at Harry with horror. Harry watched in disbelief as his godfather fell directly through the Veil of Death and disappeared from sight.

For several agonizing seconds, Harry waited, half-expecting Sirius to reappear on the other side. This couldn't be what it looked like, could it? Never mind Bellatrix's triumphant shouts of glee, or the collective gasps of the gathered Order members who witnessed the event. Sirius could not be dead.

"Sirius?" Harry called out weakly. There was no response.

"Harry…" a soothing voice spoke in his ear. Remus Lupin had hurried over to him, grabbing him lightly across the shoulders. "There's nothing you can do. He's gone."

"No, he's not!" Harry denied. "He's just there, on the other side of the archway. He'll reappear any second."

"It doesn't work that way, Harry—" Remus tried to console him, but Harry tuned him out. He couldn't lose Sirius. He'd already lost so much: his parents, Cedric, his childhood, his innocence. He couldn't lose the closest thing he had left to a parental figure. He wouldn't.

"Let me GO!" Harry roared, wrenching himself free of Remus' grasp. He charged forward after Sirius, determined to find him, to bring him back to the land of the living. He would not let one more person die on his behalf. So, ignoring the screams and cries of fear from the Order members behind him, Harry plunged directly through the Veil after Sirius.

Harry felt a brief flash of cold, then darkness. He blinked rapidly, but could not clear away the oppressive blackness surrounding him on all sides. He could not tell where he was, if anywhere at all – the Veil, the Department of Mysteries had disappeared. Was this the end? Had he just died?

Far off in the distance, Harry saw a faint trace of light, as though he were standing at one end of a particularly long tunnel. He pressed forward, not conscious of feet moving underneath him or even his own heart beating. Did he still possess a body? Or was he just a floating spirit, deprived of a living host to occupy? He moved more quickly now, growing nervous, hoping to find some kind of answer at the other end of the tunnel.

He emerged quite suddenly in a wide, spacious room of light. It appeared like a cathedral, with its high vaulted ceilings and tall pillars stretching upwards to infinity. Harry looked around, noting that he was stood on some kind of platform, lined with stone benches and iron guardrails. It reminded him quite like Platform 9 , though surely he couldn't be there…

Soon Harry realized that he was not alone. He turned to his left and saw a figure approaching him, dressed in robes of deepest black. Harry could not discern the identity of the figure, though it looked vaguely familiar to him. He knew not how old the figure was, nor even what gender it was – it seemed to exist as all possible identities at once, as paradoxical as it sounded.

"Greetings, Harry Potter," the figure said with a wan smile. "I suppose you're wondering where you are?"

"Erm...yes," Harry admitted, looking around. "I was just thinking that it looked a lot like King's Cross Station."

The figure looked around the room along with him. "I suppose that makes sense," the figure said. "We are in a transitory space between life and death. Everybody's mind perceives it differently, but a train station is a perfectly reasonable interpretation."

"So I am dead, then?" Harry asked, crestfallen.

"You are neither alive nor dead," the figure smiled mysteriously. "People usually pass directly over to the plane of the dead, but your case is different, Harry Potter."

"How so?" Harry asked, frowning. Why could even dying be simple in his cursed life...?

"Normally, death is the crossing over of a single soul from one plane to another," the figure explained. "However, you possessed two souls within your body, and only one is required to complete the passage."

"Two souls?" Harry repeated, bewildered. "How can I have two souls?"

"You, Harry Potter, are but one soul," the figure explained patiently. "But the portion of Tom Riddle's soul within you was also just killed. The portion that resided within your scar."

"I had...part of Voldemort's soul living inside my head?" Harry asked, horrified. He wanted to vehemently deny such a possibility, but suddenly it all made perfect sense. His unexplained abilities such as Parseltongue…the Sorting Hat wanting him in Slytherin…his inexplicable connection to the Dark Lord's mind…

"Yes, you did," the figure nodded. "The man you knew as Voldemort performed a terrible bit of magic in his pursuit of immortality. He never intended to place one such part of his soul within you, but his plans backfired when his Killing Curse rebounded all those years ago."

"So you're saying...he'd done this before?" Harry asked, horrified. "He split his soul multiple times to keep himself alive? That's how he was able to come back?"

"An abomination, yes," the figure said sadly. "I must thank you for returning one such stray soul fragment to me. Tom Riddle may seek to run and hide, but he cannot evade me forever."

"Sorry...but who are you, exactly?" asked Harry.

"I am Death," the figure said calmly. "I do not often speak directly to human souls, but for you, I have made an exception. Because I have a proposition for you."

"You do?" Harry asked, perplexed."Yes," said Death. "Normally, I would give you a choice between passing on to the plane of death, or returning to your living body. Unfortunately, your body itself has crossed over through the Veil, so that second option does not exist for you any longer."

"So I'm forced to go on...to die?" Harry asked, once again crestfallen.