1 Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The moon peeked through the clouds, casting its bright light against the darkness surrounding Number Four, Privet Drive. The moonlight streamed through the window of a small bedroom, illuminating a trunk with clothes spilling from its slightly open lid and a newspaper on the desk, blaring the headline:

STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF DEMENTORS PERSISTED

"Apart from the frightening revelation that some Dementors have allied with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," said one Ministry spokesperson, "we remain unable to determine the cause behind the other strange and troubling behavior exhibited by the Dementors still guarding Azkaban prison."

Recently, Dementors have demonstrated unusual and alarming behavior that has left the Ministry deeply unsettled. These foul creatures, known for haunting decay and draining all hope, have acted in ways that compel Ministry officials to uncover the truth. Though the details remain unclear, this cryptic shift in the Dementors' demeanor signals something sinister stirring in their haunts.

"It started in the middle of June this year," the spokewizard admitted tensely. "Prisoners claimed the Dementors' power to inflict misery and despair has weakened considerably, and guards caught them abandoning their posts to visit other Dementors, seeming to converse among themselves."

We do not know if Dementors can talk or communicate in other ways, such as sending signals between their minds or through emotionsâ€"as strange as that may seem. Regardless, the question remains: what—

The rest of the story lay hidden beneath a towering stack of ancient spell books and a birdcage perched atop it all. Inside the cage, a magnificent snowy owl watched over her master with piercing amber eyes as he laid in bed with his back to her.

Midnight had fallen over Privet Drive, and the occupants of number four slumbered deeply, all except one.

Harry Potter lay curled in bed, fuming. Though barely sixteen, his messy jet-black hair and bright green eyes contrasted sharply with the coldness of his stare. For hours, he had been glaring at the empty wall in front of him, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he could barely hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. He was certain that, if not for his unblinking gaze, his frustration would have burned a hole straight through the plaster by now.

The death of Sirius Black, his godfather, still haunted Harry. Anger at his recklessness and disappointment at his own failure to save Sirius had festered since Harry's return to his aunt and uncle's house three days prior. Harry punched his pillow and buried his face in it with a heavy sigh. "I'm so stupid," he said, voice muffled. How could I have let this happen?

With a heavy sigh, Harry rolled over and turned his back to the wall. His eyes fell on the piece of broken mirror on his bedside table, which he had taken out of his trunk that morning. He had examined it again, wishing Sirius's face would appear, but only his own reflection looked back. A small voice in Harry's head said, "He's not coming back. It's too late..."

Harry berated himself for neglecting Sirius's gift - the mirror had languished for months, unopened, in his trunk. If only he had bothered to check it earlier, he could have easily contacted Sirius instead of resorting to riskier methods. Gripped by frustration and self-blame, Harry agonized over his oversight, questioning how he could have forgotten such a useful gift.

Disappointment burned in Harry's throat as he grappled with Sirius's death, blaming himself. He desperately wanted to somehow undo it, to bring Sirius back. But his body sagged as Dumbledore's words echoed—"No spell can reawaken the dead." A Time-Turner then occurred to Harry, remembering the ones he'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, endlessly shattering and repairing themselves. But Nearly Headless Nick's explanation that only some dead become ghosts offered no consolation or hope. "He will not come back," Harry remembered Nick telling him quietly. "He will have… gone on." Harry's anguish and guilt were overwhelming.

Harry's mind asked in frustration, "Gone on where exactly?" He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Harry opened his eyes and reluctantly grabbed the piece of mirror on the table, staring at it for a moment. Though he knew his godfather Sirius would never respond, Harry whispered his name. "Sirius." For an instant, he thought he saw someone else in the mirror—but the face vanished when he blinked. Had he imagined those familiar blue eyes? Perhaps it was just the moonlight playing tricks. Still, Harry was certain the eyes belonged to Albus Dumbledore. Why would he appear now? Did Dumbledore possess the mirror's twin? Impossible—he couldn't have known about it. Or could he?

Harry placed the mirror back on the table and buried his face in his pillow once more, attempting to clear his mind. He hoped to avoid worrying about it all again the next day if possible. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, he finally surrendered to sleep.

Harry had a dream that he was back in Professor Trelawney's classroom. She was passing out glass orbs to the students, each one swirling with Harry's face inside. Harry recognized them right away as the prophecy orbs he had seen in the Department of Mysteries—the ones Voldemort was so desperate to obtain. "Professor, you have to hide these!" Harry said urgently. "If Voldemort finds out you have the prophecy—" But Neville just laughed. "What are you talking about? We passed our crystal gazing test, and Professor Trelawney is rewarding us with these. Pretty cool, huh?" Harry looked around anxiously, half expecting Voldemort himself to appear at any moment.

Ron pointed excitedly at the glass sphere in his hand, calling out, "Look, Harry!" Harry stared in shock as the orb showed him clasping hands with Voldemort, apparently being crowned the new Dark Lord of the Century. "Amazing, Harry! I always knew you were destined for greatness!" The scene in the orb shifted as Harry's dream took a new turn.

This time, Harry found himself back in the cavernous room that held the Veil. The tattered black curtain swayed gently, tempting him to cross through to the other side. When Harry peered closer, he saw Sirius pounding against the veil's invisible barrier, desperate to break free.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out, glancing around the empty room in vain for help. He was alone.

Should he reach out to grab Sirius's hand? Run for help? Harry agonized over leaving his godfather, scared he might vanish again if he did. But who could help? The room was deserted but for Harry and the fluttering veil that beckoned him to cross over.

But what Harry saw next filled him with dread—Sirius had gone rigid, a look of horror on his face as he stared at something behind him. Frantic, Harry rushed forward, desperate to see what had startled his godfather. Yet no matter how he strained his eyes, he could detect nothing there. As Harry drew nearer, Sirius darted deeper into the Veil without a backward glance. In an instant, he had vanished.

"Sirius, no!" Harry shouted, sprinting for the fluttering archway. But before he could even touch it, he was jolted awake by the hooting of owls.

Blinking against the sudden bright sunlight flooding his bedroom, Harry felt a flicker of disappointment as he was pulled from his vivid dream. For a moment, he glared at Hedwig, fairly certain she was the one who had stirred him from his deep sleep and interrupted his intense urge to follow Sirius through the Veil.

With a sigh, Harry realized he had been dreaming again of the locked door in the Department of Mysteries. But this time, it was the Veil that haunted his sleep, with Sirius trapped just beyond its fluttering veil, helpless and waiting. If only Harry could step through and join him...

A loud, sudden knock on Harry's bedroom door made him jump. Moments later, Uncle Vernon's angry voice boomed as the door burst open.

"It's the crack of dawn and the first sound I hear is that blasted bird of yours squawking!"

Harry gazed up at his uncle, whose purple face and white-knuckled fists betrayed his rage. Harry began to rise from his bed. "I'll let her out right now—"

"You'd better, and keep that wretched creature out of this house!"

"Well, she does need to come back now and then, you know."

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE?"

Harry ignored his uncle's angry threats and walked over to Hedwig's cage. He opened it, and with a loud hoot, she immediately took flight, leaving Harry alone to face his enraged uncle.

Still rooted to the spot, Uncle Vernon shook with rage as he shouted, "IF YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING WITH THAT BIRD OF YOURS—".

"All right, all right..." said Harry, hoping to calm him.

Breathing heavily, Uncle Vernon left the room after giving Harry a sharp, piercing gaze, resembling an escaped zoo hippo.

Harry knew it was time to send Hedwig to Grimmauld Place with a letter. It was his third day back at Privet Drive, and he had promised Mad-Eye Moody that he would send regular updates letting the Order know he was alright. Writing to them gave Harry some comfort—it reminded him that even though he was stuck with the resentful Dursleys, there were others who cared about his well-being.

Harry leaned on the windowsill, staring out into the sky as he left the window open for Hedwig's return. She was likely out hunting, avoiding the Dursleys' house as often as she could. Harry knew Hedwig wanted to stay far from his eccentric relatives, only returning to provide him company in this dreary place. He didn't blame her. How he wished to leave the Dursleys' and never come back! If only Sirius was still alive, they could have hidden away together somewhere. But no, Harry had to accept the unfair hand life had dealt him. He would give anything to have his godfather back again.

As the morning sun rose, Harry could hear Aunt Petunia already busy in the kitchen, but she hadn't called him down to cook breakfast. After being threatened by members of the Order at King's Cross Station, the Dursleys decided to leave Harry alone this summer, assigning him fewer chores to appease the wizards. Though as large as a rhino, Uncle Vernon surely didn't want to cross Mad-Eye Moody and his magical eye again.

Uncle Vernon grunted in displeasure when he saw Harry enter the kitchen, before resuming reading his newspaper.

Harry eyed his aunt warily, aware they had been discussing his living situation since his return. His aunt's lack of acknowledgement upon his arrival confirmed what he already deduced from their silence the past two days: they had reached a decision. Though he preferred the silent treatment to their usual commands, Harry still did his chores without prompting, to show he remembered his responsibilities as their household member, however begrudgingly they had taken him in.

The least he could do was pull his weight.

Harry had just placed a pan on the stove when he heard Uncle Vernon muttering under his breath. Then his uncle spoke up audibly and put the newspaper down on the table.

Staring at Harry suspiciously, Uncle Vernon asked, "So, are we getting another one of those letters this summer?"

Frowning, Harry asked, "Another one of what?"

Uncle Vernon eyed him sternly and whispered, "We heard from Dudley that they can fly. So, are we getting another one this summer?"

"If you mean the Dementors—" Harry started, but Aunt Petunia hissed at him, "Ssshh! The neighbors will hear!" As she glared at Harry, Aunt Petunia seemed to strain to hear any conversations outside through the slightly opened window, worried that the neighbors might have overheard.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon demanded impatiently, one eyebrow raised. "Are we? If so, we'll temporarily leave this house until you return to that madhouse you call a school."

Harry thought it would be nicer if they left now, so he could enjoy his summer for once. However, he just shook his head and muttered, "No," without meeting their eyes.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" his uncle growled.

Harry sighed, carefully placing the bacon on the pan. "It means they're not coming back," he explained, then added, "Or at least I don't think so."

The patches of red that had colored Aunt Petunia's face suddenly drained away, leaving her pale and weak-looking when Harry glanced at her. "What you think?" she asked faintly.

Uncle Vernon snorted in disdain. "We don't care what you think, boy. There must be some kind of official statement or warning from your ministry!"

When Harry did not respond immediately, his uncle demanded impatiently, "Well?"

Taking deep, calming breaths, Harry steeled himself before facing his visibly irritable uncle. "Something strange is happening with them right now, and no one seems to know what exactly is going on."

"Is it because of—him?" Aunt Petunia asked with a shudder, and Harry knew she meant Voldemort.

"Maybe," he replied dully, unsure of the cause. "I don't know."

"Well, your ministry had better do something!" Uncle Vernon spat angrily. "We can't have those things out and about here, messing with our son!"

"Speaking of which," said Harry, glancing around the empty room, "where's Dudley?"

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, as if offended that Harry would dare ask about his son's whereabouts. But after a brief, uncertain look at Aunt Petunia, he answered, "We sent him away for a while."

"Where?" Harry asked curiously, only to be met with a sharp glare and curt reply from Aunt Petunia: "Never you mind!"

Undeterred, Harry pressed on, "He's with Aunt Marge, isn't he?" His aunt and uncle remained silent, exchanging knowing looks that confirmed his suspicion.

"He'll only have to stay there for a couple of weeks," said Aunt Petunia, her voice quivering as though on the verge of tears.

Leaning in so only Harry could hear, Uncle Vernon whispered venomously, "Or until your lot decides to take you away from here."

Uncertain of their decision to send Dudley away, Aunt Petunia looked to Uncle Vernon for reassurance, asking "Are we really doing what's best for our Diddykins? Will he be safe?" Though they had agreed on this course of action together, doubt had crept in.

Rising from his chair, Uncle Vernon placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "Petunia, he'll be fine," he said firmly. "You know he'll love it there. And besides," he added with a brief, scornful glance at Harry, "he won't be around him anymore."

Incensed, Harry shot back, "I'm not the one scaring Dudley and making him freak out!"

His uncle turned on him with a stern look on his purple face. "You're the reason they attacked my son! Unless you leave here, things will only get worse for us!"

"Fine then," Harry said angrily as he flipped the burnt bacon in the frying pan. "I'll ask someone from the Order or Dumbledore himself to come get me right now, since you clearly can't stand having me here!"

"Yes, do that!" Uncle Vernon snarled. "And make sure you're gone from this house by tomorrow!" Glaring at the burnt bacon, he added, "And stop ruining any more of our food!"

Breathing heavily, Harry scooped up the bacon and placed it on a plate. He doubted anyone from the Order would retrieve him after only three days at Privet Drive. Dumbledore would certainly dismiss the idea and remind him that he was safest there. Given the choice between the Dursleys' house and Hogwarts, he would rather be at school. His trunk remained mostly packed anyway. He could leave anytime if only Dumbledore permitted him to go to the Burrow or anywhere else. It wouldn't hurt to ask, Harry thought, considering sending a letter. But first he had the list of chores to complete, which he was eager to start in order to avoid his aunt and uncle.

Not wanting to go hungry later, Harry heaped his plate with extra breakfast without his aunt and uncle noticing. After a while, he slipped outside to the garden, pondering the day ahead. Busying himself with weeding and pruning, he could sit unnoticed observing neighborhood goings-on. Oblivious kids tossed a Frisbee or chatted over water bottles. To all appearances, no one cared that the solitary boy sat there among them yet apart.

Harry shifted his eyes from left to right, wondering how many of his neighbors had ever contemplated their future lives. Was he alone in having a predetermined destiny since birth? 'Yes,' said the inner voice in his head. He had no choice but to accept his fate: kill or be killed. Until now, he had obeyed Dumbledore's rules, designed to protect and save him.

He had once held the naive belief that good would always prevail over evil, that peril could be contained, and that events could be regulated. Why else would Dumbledore and the Order issue those warnings? "Don't leave the house." "Stay with your aunt and uncle." "Don't do anything foolish." "Stay out of trouble." The admonitions were endless. Harry had been aware of the menace. He'd been cautioned about the consequences, yet he couldn't stop himself from longing for it all to cease, or to be reborn without fretting over the future or Voldemort. He wished he could be one of those carefree children whose sole concern was catching a gliding Frisbee.

Harry sighed; he had been doing that a lot lately. He was frustrated that nothing in his life seemed to be going right. Sure, he was heading into his sixth year at Hogwarts, so he didn't have to worry about schoolwork for a couple more months. But aside from that brief reprieve, everything else was horrible. He had to suffer through another miserable summer with the Dursleys. He read increasingly disturbing articles in the Daily Prophet about killings happening everywhere. Worst of all, he felt a deep, hollow ache from the loss of his godfather Sirius, the only family he had left. Gone were the days when he could send letters to Sirius, asking for advice or just having someone to talk to who truly understood him. Harry had never felt so alone.

By the time Harry finished tending the last flower bed, morning had faded into dusk. Exhausted from the day's work, his sore muscles begged for rest. Though tempted to skip dinner and head straight to bed, he caught sight of Dudley's gang swaggering down the street, loudly mocking their latest victim.

Harry turned away from the others and thought of his cousin instead. It was strange not having Dudley constantly bullying him whenever possible at Privet Drive. But Harry relished the newfound freedom of not always hiding there. As much as he disliked his cousin, it was for the best that Dudley was safely away, Harry realized, since he'd be an easy target for Voldemort. And whatever the dementors were up to lately, Harry felt certain they were aligned with the dark forces.

Harry thought gravely, what else could it be? But the dream of Sirius came rushing back again. "It must be just a coincidence," he told himself. He had been reading so much about dementors in the Daily Prophet lately, that was surely why he kept having those dreams. The Veil had nothing to do with dementors, so why did he suddenly think it did? What was it that filled Sirius's eyes with such fear? But Harry already knew. As far-fetched as it seemed, his godfather could not have been seeing dementors. There was no way they could be inside the Veil, could they?

Harry shook his head. "It's only a dream," he assured himself. "There's no need to dwell on it. Anything can happen in dreams."

With a sigh, Harry gazed at the darkening skyline one last time before reluctantly going back inside.

No longer hungry, Harry collapsed onto his bed, exhausted and sore. Hedwig returned just then from a successful hunt, hooting reassuringly with a dead frog dangling from her beak. Harry managed a weak smile for her before closing his eyes.

Once again, Harry stood before the Veil in the empty room. As he scanned his surroundings, the curtain beckoned, fluttering gently as always. Cautiously, he approached the archway until a whisper tickled his ears.

"Help me... anyone... please..."

Harry crept closer, straining to hear more.

"Harry..."

Hearing his name whispered sent Harry's heart racing wildly. "Sirius?" he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

"Harry..." the voice murmured again.

With growing trepidation, Harry crept closer to the Veil, reaching out his hand. "Sirius, are you there?" he called out hesitantly.

"Master Harry Potter!" cried a high-pitched voice, jolting Harry from sleep.

Blinking in confusion, he realized the voice did not belong to his godfather. As the room faded, a gentle tugging on his sleeve drew his gaze downward.

"Harry Potter must wake up, sir!" pleaded the voice again.

Still groggy, Harry's eyes adjusted to the silver moonlight revealing a familiar, anxious face with bat-like ears and bulging green eyes peering at him. "Dobby?" he murmured.

The house elf smiled awkwardly in return.

Harry pushed himself up on his pillows and searched for his glasses, which must have fallen off. Before he could find them, Dobby handed the glasses over. Sliding them on, Harry squinted at the clock; it was long past dinnertime. As usual lately, the Dursleys hadn't bothered to call him down to eat. Shaking his head, Harry turned to the elf.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Recalling Dobby's previous warning visit to his bedroom, he added quickly, "Is something wrong?"

Dobby's lip trembled. "I believe so, sir."

Sitting up straighter, Harry immediately thought of Voldemort. "What is it, Dobby? Did something bad happen?"

Dobby stood quiet for a moment, cautiously glancing at the lamp on the desk. Recognizing Dobby's intent, Harry grabbed the lamp and concealed it behind his back; he suspected Dobby wanted to punish himself with it.

Though relieved, Dobby's frightened expression remained. "Thank you, sir... but it's hard, sir... Dobby only came to see Harry Potter, to check if he was alright."

"Why would you think I'm not safe?"

"Ah, sir," the elf said feebly, "I've heard Harry Potter muttering Sirius's name in his sleep."

Harry's shoulders drooped as the dream came back to him once more. "It's nothing, Dobby. Don't worry about it," he said.

But Dobby suddenly burst into tears. "Harry Potter must not dream of it! He mustn't!"

"I can't help dreaming about it all the time, Dobby," Harry said with a frown. "Wait a minute—when you said you heard me mumble in my sleep… have you been watching me? How long has this been going on?"

Dobby shuffled his feet nervously and blinked up at Harry. "Dobby has had to hide himself so he doesn't scare Harry Potter."

"But why, Dobby? You know you're welcome to see me whenever you want."

Dobby's eyes filled with happy tears and he beamed brightly at Harry. "Harry Potter is always so good and kind... but Dobby knows Harry Potter is hurting so much after his loss, and Dobby has come to help," the elf said gently.

Harry gave a weak smile before lowering his gaze. "I'm alright, Dobby. I just... miss him sometimes, you know? It's been hard not to think about what happened."

Dobby shook his head vigorously, ears flapping. "But Harry Potter must not dwell on it!"

"Why? You don't know exactly what I'm dreaming about, so why tell me not to?" Harry asked.

Dobby looked miserable. "Dobby knows, Harry Potter, sir... If only Dobby could say..."

Harry raised his eyebrows and asked, "You know I'm dreaming about the Veil?"

When Dobby remained silent, Harry continued urgently, "The dream won't stop. Unless you tell me what's going on, I may be able to prevent it."

A fearful look filled Dobby's enormous eyes. "It has begun, sir," he said tremulously, "and there is nothing Harry Potter can do to stop it from happening..."

Harry's forehead creased with worry as his heart pounded. "What has begun, Dobby?" he asked anxiously. Though it seemed mad, he added, "Is my godfather in trouble?"

But Dobby's terror-stricken expression answered before he could speak, confirming Harry's fears.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dobby stumble toward the wall. Recognizing that the elf was about to punish himself, Harry heaved himself out of bed and seized Dobby's arm, pulling him back from the wall.

"Tell me what's going on, Dobby!" Harry demanded after releasing the swaying elf. "My godfather couldn't be in trouble because he's..." He trailed off, unable to say the word 'dead' when referring to Sirius Black.

"Dobby cannot speak of it, sir..." said the elf weakly. "Dobby must punish himself for coming to see Harry Potter. If only Harry Potter knew the danger of the legend we house-elves have been told of..." He shuddered.

"What legend?" Harry suddenly wondered if it was related to the Chamber of Secrets.

Dobby hesitated before whispering, "The legend of the Veil, sir..."

Harry had many questions that he wanted answered about the veil, ever since he first saw the archway in the Department of Mysteries. What was the veil's purpose? Why was it hidden away? What were the Unspeakables doing as they stared at it day after day? Had they discovered anything meaningful about it? Could they also hear the whispering voices from beyond the veil? Were they able to communicate with those voices?

Harry's curiosity continued to grow, until finally he asked, "How come we haven't heard the full story about this veil before now?"

"It wasn't ours to tell, sir… Our ancestors were so distraught when they learned of the Veil's use that they decided never to speak of it again," Dobby said with a shudder, adding in a hushed voice, "It was not a pleasant tale."

"Then why tell me now if you're forbidden to speak of it?" Harry asked.

"Harry Potter is Dobby's good friend," the elf replied proudly. "Dobby must help Harry Potter, sir… even if Dobby must dangle himself upside down in the kitchen."

"I forbid you from hurting yourself, Dobby!" Harry said at once. "But please tell me what is happening. Are my dreams real? Is this occurring now?"

Trembling from head to toe, eyes wider than ever, Dobby said, "Harry Potter must cease dreaming of the Veil. Harry Potter must learn to close his mind."

Frustrated, Harry sighed as he suddenly recalled his disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape. "I can't do it," he told the elf. "I'm still learning, and it's not easy, Dobby. How else will I know if my godfather is in trouble without your warning about my dream? If dreaming is my only way to understand what's happening, I won't bother with Occlumency."

"Harry Potter must not be stubborn, sir... Dobby only wants to help."

"Well," Harry snapped, impatience rising. "I'll remain as stubborn as ever unless you start telling me what's going on, Dobby."

The elf bowed his head in resignation. He was silent for a moment, as if considering other ways to negotiate, but merely shook his head as he looked back at Harry.

"If Harry Potter is determined to know the truth," said the elf sadly, "then Dobby has no choice but to punish himself afterwards."

Harry sighed loudly. "You don't need to punish yourself," he said gently. "Let's make a deal—I promise to stop dreaming about the Veil if you tell me everything you know about it. Does that sound fair?" He looked at Dobby expectantly. Dobby hesitated, considering the offer, then nodded slowly in agreement.

"They is not happy, Harry Potter," the elf stated in a low voice. "They is not—"

"Who is not happy, Dobby?"

But Dobby didn't seem to be paying attention to Harry's question when he continued saying, "They is not happy at all… They is angry—"

Harry gripped Dobby's shoulders, jolting the elf back to awareness. "Who is 'they'? Who are you talking about?" Harry pressed urgently. "If this is about the Veil, do you mean the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries?"

Dobby slowly shook his head. "They is guarding the fortress in the North Sea... they is guarding criminals."

Harry's eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Dementors?" he asked sharply. "You're talking about the dementors?"

Dobby eagerly flapped his ears in confirmation, too overcome to speak.

Harry slumped against his pillows, lost in thought. After a pause, he spoke up. "Dobby, if Sirius is gone, why would he get in trouble with the dementors?"

Dobby blurted out "He isn't gone—" then quickly covered his mouth, realizing his mistake. He ran to the wall and banged his head against it in frustration.

Startled, Harry jerked upright. "What? He's alive?" Grabbing Dobby's arm, he pressed, "Dobby, tell me!"

Shoulders drooping, Dobby replied, "Harry Potter must stop dreaming of his godfather... Harry Potter must not follow Sirius from within..."

Within… Harry's heart raced as he pieced together the puzzle. He took a deep breath. Sirius was surely trapped behind the Veil—the only place he could be. If only Harry could walk right up to it and follow Sirius through, maybe he could find and rescue him. But why was Dobby saying otherwise?

"Dobby, listen—" Harry began, but at that moment someone rapped sharply at the door, jerking Harry's attention upward in surprise.

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING TO MAKE SO MUCH NOISE?" bellowed Uncle Vernon's voice from the other side. Before Harry could respond, Dobby had vanished, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and to deal with his angry uncle.

To be continued...