This story is an alternate universe that branches off at the end of OotP.

I am a bit rusty when it comes to my HP fandom, so please feel free to give this any input you like. This story is being cross-posted to my Fanfiction.net account (username Plaidbutterfly) and my account on TheForce.net (username Harpalyce). Once approved, I will post the 2 following chapters to this fic. It's far from complete but there's a bit more content to post, I don't want to overwhelm everyone right off the bat.

As usual, if I owned all of this, I wouldn't be wasting my time online here, now would I? Characters and setting belong to Rowling, used with respect and affection.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

----
Beyond the Veil
----

Sirius Black was not sure where exactly he was.

There had been the sensation of falling back, true, and the bright flare of anger at the triumphant look on Bellatrix's face. He remembered trying to call out to Harry, trying to grasp for something - anything - to pull himself back - a ledge, a bit of the black cloth of the veil - anything to get back to the Department of Mysteries. But there had been nothing to hold onto - just the blackness, just falling perpetually backwards until...

Until now.

He would have thought either heaven or hell would be less subtle. Instead the room was a rather pleasant reflection of the one he had just been in. It was calm and dark, and all that he could hear was the steady dripping of something in the corner - water, perhaps, though he couldn't tell if it was a burst pipe or a natural moistness as if he were in a cave with budding stalactites. For a brief moment of panic he thought he was back in Azkaban, but despite the darkness there was no oppressive atmosphere. It was cozy, even.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, giving a sharp wince - or rather, a small growl underneath his breath. Apparently his instinct had been, while falling, to transform into his Animagus form of a large, shaggy black dog. Given how his ribs ached, he wasn't in a hurry to reverse the process. Besides, the dim light was easier for canine eyes to process.

The steady dripping from the far corner made his ears twitch. And the veiled archway fluttered gently, oddly unyielding.

There was a soft murmur from the doorway above. He immediately scrambled to press himself into a corner, looking as inconspicuous as possible - easy enough for a black dog to do in a room full of black shadows.

"...an abnormal reading was detected so we must investigate. That is the entire basis of society - neatly ordered lines, fulfilling of contracts, duties given and completed - I am sure I have told you again and again, Penelope -"

"It's Penny, Nick."

A harsh sliver of light cleaved its way into the room like an axe biting at soft firewood. They were merely silhouettes for a moment, but their two figures became clear enough: a brown-haired and utterly bland-looking man, followed by a red-haired woman. He was wearing a uniform - the badge read Ministry of Magic, though he was not wearing robes, but instead an outfit of suspiciously Muggle-like make. She, on the other hand, looked as if she had just stepped out of some party. Her breath still stank of cheap alcohol and her high heels hit the stone floor like the lopsided gait of a drunken horse.

"My name is Nicholas, Penelope -"

"And my name is Penny. As long as you keep calling me Penelope, you're getting called Nick," she drawled.

"Penelope is the name you have on file. If it is incorrect, you should have taken care of this issue weeks ago by filling out -"

"Form eighty-one B, yeah, yeah. You keep telling me that." She stood in the sliver of light to examine her fingernails. "Hurry up, I've got places to be."

The man gave a frustrated sigh. "You aren't even going to help me take these readings? You know the Lady's orders, we're to examine this every time there's a spike or fluctuation -"

"Uh, yeah, and that's your job, not mine. I'm your boss, remember?" She said lazily.

"A token effort would be appreciated..." He dropped his voice to a mutter. "We can't all have comfortable jobs due to family connections."

"What was that?" She said harshly.

"Nothing, nothing..."

"Good, because I'm sure that you don't want me telling my little sis how you're having traitorous leanings, yeah?" She leered at him before giving a snort. "I'm going outside for a smoke. Give a yell when you're done."

Sirius had one thing to be thankful for: arguments made fantastic distractions. The man turned back to his work, cursing and muttering underneath his breath, as the woman wandered up the stairs to the Department of Mysteries proper. It was more organized than he remembered it. More homogenized, perhaps. Less magical in a way that seemed oxymoronic. There were cubicles. But most importantly there were plenty of shadows to hide in as he followed the woman out to a side entrance.

The dingy alleyway certainly did not seem like part of Diagon Alley at all, or really any part of the Wizarding world. But the woman left the door propped open and promptly pulled out a cigarette that, from the smell, was laced with at least three potions the Ministry had outlawed for reasons of public health. By the time she had leaned back against the building and let out the first puff of thick smoke from her lips, Sirius was long gone.

He dashed out into the main road with a loping gait, ready to run, preparing himself for split-second decisions - but they were entirely unnecessary. The city seemed to be deserted, quiet in the small hours of the morning. It was also wholly unlike anything Sirius had seen before.

Or, rather, had smelled before. It was so similar when he was in his canine form. Cement that was as young as he was, new brick-work, gutters, sewers. Brownstone townhouses marched down either side of the street. He could smell the magic, what little residue of it there was. He was used to the peppery-citrus bite of spells being woven, something he had tried to describe to others a dozen times and had not been able to fully communicate. The lamps were lit with magic, but were in Muggle style. It seemed every other house had a car in it, and all of them had magic brooms stored outside as if expected to serve in exactly the same capacity. There were as many basketball hoops and football practice goals as there were sets of Quidditch equipment. It was unnerving, deeply so - even for him.

It was a maze of houses, suburbs that seemed to be almost artificial in nature, dead-ending in cul-de-sacs. Occasionally there was some signage pointing towards names that seemed familiar, at least superficially. By the time the first tinges of dawn light appeared, dim fingers clinging at the urban horizon, he was still lost in the jungle of brickwork and asphalt.

If this was the afterlife, Sirius was rather disappointed. He expected heaven to be obvious, and hell to be even more obvious, though he regarded each idea with little more than skepticism. Maybe this was reincarnation. He supposed that there were certainly worse fates than being a dog. No Dementors, no obvious threat. The neighborhoods were quite friendly, even if in an artificial sort of way - as threatening as a bowl of oatmeal.

Gloaming was warming into dawn when he froze in his tracks at the sound of a voice.

"Here, puss-puss-puss..."

An older woman's voice, quite pleasant. As he trotted nearer, he caught the scent of her perfume - roses, maybe with a hint of lavender. The metallic-fishy tang of canned tuna. The sound of the tin top peeling back made his ears twitch.

"Here, puss-puss-puss... there you are," the woman soothed, setting the tin of tuna up on a waist-height brickwork fence. A thin tabby kitten was sitting on the other edge of the fence, staring suspiciously at her. She stepped back before snugly pulling her cardigan around her - eggshell blue-green, embroidered with a few white flowers at the sleeve. "Eat all you like, dear. I'm not going to hurt you." She smiled, and the cat snuck forward over the brick fence to sit at the can of tuna, nibbling and staring suspiciously at the woman. "Poor thing, so thin..."

Sirius' shoulder ached, and his ribs hurt. And the tuna smelled awfully good. And he was tired. Given all of those things, he knew when it was time to take advantage of a good opportunity.

His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he panted to make himself more obvious. The woman only gave a small jump before giving him a smile. "Oh, hello there!" She kept her hands tucked underneath her arms - the morning was rather chilly, after all. But her face was kind, framed by a halo of slightly frizzy grey hair piled into a messy bun. Instead of running in fright and assuming he was a Grim, a premonition of death, she took a few delicate steps forward and crouched down, keeping her hands warm but still inviting him to come closer.

Sirius wasn't entirely used to playing the part of a friendly pet, but he limped over in a friendly way, tail wagging. As he came closer, she extended a slim hand to let him sniff before petting him gently. "My, what a handsome fellow you are!" It was a stupid indulgence, and Sirius hated to admit it, but he did enjoy the simple pleasure of being scratched behind his ears while in his Animagus form. "What a lovely coat. You must be eating well. But no collar..." She frowned, looking worried, before meeting his gaze directly. "And that limp. Poor dear... are you lost?"

"Rrrouf," he managed, wagging his tail and trying to hit the right balance of a smart dog, yet a dog not smart enough to raise suspicions.

A bright smile crested over her face. "Well. I'm sure that I can at least get that leg looked at... maybe help you find your way home. How about that, hmm?" Another scritch behind the ears, and Sirius wagged his tail. "Come on then, dear. Home's not far from here."

He trotted alongside her, and considered that if this was his next life in reincarnation, he could have done much worse than living the luxurious life of a pet.

Many thanks to Hera for helping me with the minor issue in the title This newbie-in-oldbie's clothing appreciates it.

Posting a chapter per message to help alleviate wall of text syndrome.

---
Breakfast
---

Half an hour later, Sirius had a warm fire to his back, and already it was curing many of his aches and pains. He had even made his peace with the other animal inhabitants of the townhouse. Sirius had never learned to speak Cat, or rather, the full intricate set of body language and scent cues that a dog could use to communicate with another animal. Nonetheless through a few ear twitches and stances he managed to get the few old cats to understand that he was not there to eat the tuna or to take their places on the bookshelves. The few refugee cats all were old and battle-worn, but radiated the same thankfulness for shelter and warmth that Sirius himself did.

The older woman had made herself a cup of tea, and now was settling down on the sofa. She was humming softly to herself as she opened a small basket beside the seat, and delicately pulled out a half-pieced quilt. Her calm eyes flicked down to him, and she gave him another smile. "Go ahead and settle down, dear. You look awfully tired." Gingerly, she sorted out one of the pieced blocks of quilt and started to sew.

Despite how tired he was, his curiosity still got the better of him. Afterlife or not, it was simply smart to be concerned with where he was. One could tell a lot about a person from their surroundings and right now, Sirius needed all of the information he could get.

It was a small but pleasant space - comfortably full without being cluttered, decorated but not stuffy or smothering. Bookshelves lined the small living room's walls, though most of the books were thoroughly mundane guides about practical household magic. Besides books, the shelves also held at least three grumpy cats, one missing an eye, all of them curled up as if doing their best impressions of bookends. There were a few figurines and knickknacks, most cheaply made but of sentimental value. The porcelain deer figurine on the mantle made Sirius irrationally more trusting of her, as if she came pre-Prongs-approved.

The endtable next to her mostly was there to hold an assortment of sewing notions, but there was one framed item - an elegant shadowbox, though the gold leaf on the frame edges looked as if it had been in use for some time. It took him only a moment of staring to place the dark-haired, smiling girl in the photograph - the same older woman who was now sewing on her quilt. The magical picture moved slightly, a memory preserved behind glass. The girl smiled at the camera and waved timidly before going to press herself closer to the man next to her - a man in an army uniform with a beaming smile. A handwritten label on the photograph read June 2, 1944. There was an impressive medal underneath the photograph, but no mention of what became of him.

Sirius suspected that was all of the story that needed to be told.

The clock on the mantle continued measuring time in neatly ordered beats, and it was hard to fight the urge to doze despite his curiosity and lingering wariness. Truthfully, Sirius was rather surprised at the sudden attack of sensibility. He was usually the one to rush headfirst into things - perhaps he had, following the woman and entering her home. He expected at any moment to be seized with the urge to claw his way back to the Department of Mysteries and try to use the same portal so that he could make sure Harry was safe. But, truthfully, he still was not sure that all of this was not some sort of afterlife, limbo, or purgatory. It was certainly enough of an interesting question to keep him awake, drinking in the details of the room with large brown canine eyes.

"Not going to sleep, dear?" The woman murmured gently, looking up from her sewing to give him a smile. "I can understand. It's sure to be a new place to you." She paused for a few more stitches before pinning the next block to the quilt. Sirius was momentarily content to let her talk. After all, the more she talked, the more he could figure out who or what she was. "Petra would certainly laugh at me if she caught me talking to you, but I always think animals are smarter than they seem. Besides being excellent conversational partners, of course." She smiled, going to her sewing needle again.

"I suppose I should have warned you sooner," she murmured quietly, "but I do hope you will be patient with Samantha." Her face quieted into solemn worry. "It's been years, but she's never been the same since - well. I'd rather not go over the specifics, again, for her sake. I suppose you will have to trust me when I say there is a very bright, very clever woman underneath, and I hope someday you might meet her. Until then," she soothed, "please don't bite her, dear. You seem a gentle enough dog, but..."

The stairs creaked and another woman called down softly: "Awake already, Teresa?"

Sirius raised his head, inwardly giving a sigh of relief. Names to faces - that would help. The older woman's name was Teresa. And now, another - about his age, perhaps - slightly plump, dull mousy brown hair -

"Petra!" Teresa smiled, looking back. "I always get up early, you know that. I was going to pay a visit to that tabby that lives a block over, he'd be a fine pet if I can just get him indoors -"

Petra froze at the bottom of the steps and sighed before slowly walking over to stand behind the couch. "I thought you were bringing home a cat, not a... a shetland pony in a bad fur coat."

"Rrouf!" Sirius objected, though immediately followed the bark with a tail wag to show his good intentions.

"I'm sure it'll only be for a few days..."

"He'll eat us out of house and home before then! Honestly, look at the size of him," the plump woman said, flailing a bit. "He'll eat more each day than Samantha eats in a week, I'm sure!"

Teresa turned in her seat to pat the younger woman's arm. "We'll make do! We always have. It may mean more oatmeal for breakfast and less bacon, but I won't mind. We'll see this fellow home without spending any appreciable size of money. Besides, you know I have enough, just in case -"

"It's not Gringotts I'm worried about, it's the Ministry! I'm sure Lucille can tell you about all the joys of a 'frivolous decadence' proceeding..." The younger woman shook her head. "Never mind, never mind. I'll go get some proper breakfast started. Tell Samantha that I'll bring it out when it's ready, you know that girl can curdle oatmeal - and I'll find some scraps for this oversized mutt..."

Teresa chuckled, shaking her head and turning back to her sewing. With a small grunt, Sirius drew himself up. Shoulder was still sore. Ribs, less so. The rest had helped. He was sure that food would help even more.

Another long few minutes passed. He let himself settle back down and start to doze - the fire was so warm, the atmosphere so pleasant - just a little while more, perhaps -

Halting footsteps on the upper stairs - his ears twitched. Then massive jumps, as if someone was taking the stairs two by two. Sirius yawned slowly, raising his head - and was immediately startled awake by a screaming squeal.

"A puppy! A black puppy! He's perfect, he's perfect!" A blur of motion flung itself at him, and Sirius gave a worried yelp. The impact was, fortunately, softer than he had expected.

"Rroouf?"

"Samantha! Don't choke the poor dear - I'm not sure if he's that healthy -"

"He is! He is, I know he is -" Arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him - the woman's voice became muffled, buried in his fur as she nuzzled against him. "I've been waiting - I already know him, Teresa!"

"Samantha..." The older woman leaned down, pulling the younger back. "Give him a rest, darling. I know you're excited."

As she pulled back, Sirius could finally get a clear look at her. To his amazement, she appeared to be about his age, despite her mannerisms being childish at best. Her stringy black hair was in a mess behind her, and her face was alight in manic glee. Gently, her hands went to hold each side of his face, guiding his canine head up to meet her in the eye.

Her black eyes seemed bleak, limitless - for a brief moment he felt as if he was falling back into the abyss, through the Veil again. It was the first time since falling through, Sirius realized, that he was really and truly terrified.

"Dogstar," Samantha said dreamily, black eyes wide. "You're the Dogstar. I know you."

---
Dogstar
---

"I've been waiting for you -"

"Samantha, dear, he's hurt his paw," Teresa soothed, finally managing to pull the other woman away. Immediately, Samantha's face fell from an enthusiastic smile into confused disappointment. "Petra will have breakfast in a bit. Here -" Teresa shifted on the sofa. "Sit down and I'll braid your hair for you."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded in assent and moved, her manic excitement still there, though quieted now somewhat. "He's here! He's really here, I've been waiting so long..."

"I know, dear, I know." Samantha quieted further as the brush began running through her hair, guided by Teresa's slim hands. "You've told me all about your dreams about a black dog. He'll only be with us a few days, I'm sure, but -"

"I know his name."

"You do?" Teresa smiled. "Well, if you'd like to name him, I don't see the harm. How about something regal? Prince, or Duke... Rex, maybe?"

"Dogstar," she said with the same dizzy enthusiasm.

"Doesn't that seem a little... well, long?"

"His name is Dogstar. I know it!" Samantha gave a worried huff. "I know it. He told me."

"All right, all right... his name is Dogstar, then. I'll put your hair up in a french braid, dear, i's a little bit fancier. Lucille's coming tonight, along with the barristers. I'm sure you'll be happy to see them, won't you?"

"But is Dora coming with Lucille?"

"No, dear, Dora is still at Hogwarts... it's the school term, remember? You'll get to see her come this summer..."

Sirius let his head drop before giving a yawn, his tongue unfurling like a red banner before he settled down in front of the fire more in earnest. He was tired, that was true. And sore. Perhaps just a few more minutes. Perhaps with some rest, this would all make sense. In any case, they seemed to be sliding into small-talk that he didn't care to listen to, and...

It was hours later when he experienced the uniquely canine sensation of waking up nose-first. He was standing and had the third piece of ham in his mouth before he was really awake, but to be honest, it wasn't a bad way to wake up. His last meal seemed very far away, now, and he was hungrier than he liked to admit. But as long as there were morsels of ham, well, it was only hospitable to go ahead and eat them, wasn't it? His tail wagged reflexively as he continued to follow the small cubes of ham. It was an easy enough trail to follow, even as it wound up through the foyer onto the staircase. He caught a glimpse of Samantha as he did; the woman was backing slowly up the stairs, a bowl of ham cubes - likely leftovers of some type or another - in one hand, continuing to set down the trail as she walked.

Well. He was hungry enough, and his fear of her had abated. What would be the harm?

He loped up the stairs awkwardly, shoulder still aching. It was a good opportunity to explore the rest of the house. Three stories, it seemed - a house built vertically, only a few rooms to each level. Samantha methodically continued laying out the trail, leading into her room at the end of the hall. When he crossed the threshold, he raised his head, looking around. It was a bland room, all told. A polite and grown-up looking plain bed, surrounded by bookshelves. But the bed was covered in a colorful quilt, and the bookshelves held an abrupt switch. Like a vast cavern marking the scar of an earthquake, the contents of the shelves went from dry and academic volumes to children's books - or no books altogether, but simply small stuffed animals of various shapes and sizes. One especially boring title made him laugh - The Hierophant and the Popess: Voices of Religious Order in Modern Tarot, by S. Snape. The thought of Severus Snape ever reading, or writing, such a book was ludicrous. It likely didn't hurt that the book was in a position of some honor, nearest to the bed, and was flanked by a copy of Goodnight Moon and a floppy velveteen rabbit.

Despite the inherent humor, he still flinched when the door shut behind him. Samantha was almost shivering in excitement, but she sat down beside him, a momentary clumsy tangle of arms and legs. "I'm so glad you're here, Dogstar," she half-whimpered, giving him another clinging hug. "I've been waiting, I've seen you so many times. You'll be here to guard us..."

"Hroo?" He made a small questioning noise. This time the hug wasn't as clinging - he wasn't terrified. But she also hadn't looked him in the eye again...

"It's all right," she whispered, reaching up to pet him behind the ears. "You won't be alone for long. The Fawn is coming and he'll be here, too."

As she pulled back, he tilted his head in the universal canine symbol for utter confusion.

"The Fawn!" She stressed again. "Your Fawn, the one you protect. You escaped for him." Sirius' ears twitched - did she mean Harry? "He's going to fall just the same way you did. And the Phoenix and then my Fox-brother..." He twisted his head the other way before she clung to him again.

"I'm scared of him, Dogstar. I'm scared and I shouldn't be. He's my Fox-brother." Her voice dropped to a whimpering murmur. "He was supposed to break into the hen-house and kill all the roosters and tear apart the hens and break all the eggs. But now he's here. I can't be mad if he chases me and breaks my neck. I won't be. Foxes eat rabbits, it's what they do. But you're here. You're a guard-dog. I live in the house, now... I don't have any burrows to hide in, not even from hawks. But you're here, Dogstar." A soft whisper, her voice near tears. "Thank you."

Sirius' ears were flat against the back of his head in anxious worry. Perhaps she was less terrifying, but the woman certainly spoke in riddles. "Hroo?"

There was a call from down the stairs. "Samantha! - Samantha, it's dinner -"

She hopped up, a wide smile on her face where terror had been only a moment before. "I told Petra to cook you a steak, Dogstar! Just for you! Or - or at least a whole slice of roast, all to yourself. I don't know. But there are guests, and guests always mean special food..." She opened the door, and he followed, the smell from the kitchen hitting him.

Well, Sirius told himself, he was never one to be so rude as to reject such a dinner invitation.

There were more voices coming from downstairs, some of them unfamiliar. The door was opening - a whiff of fresh air - and as Samantha took the stairs by twos she went to shyly stand behind Teresa. The new visitor was dressed in a smart business suit, pencil skirt and jacket. It was a distinctly Muggle design, but the only hint of her Wizard nature was the pattern of her lapel was of magical fabric, the embroidery slowly moving. "Irene, it's so good to see you!"

"It's good to be here, Teresa! - Hello, Samantha. Has Lucille made it yet?"

"I'm in here," a snuffling, warbling voice answered. Sirius' ears perked as he trotted into the living room where they all seemed to accumulate. Besides the businesswoman, there was another new face. She looked exhausted, still wearing a plain blue dress that was likely some sort of uniform. She had even been too tired to take off her nametag. To his keen nose, she reeked of old frying oil, ketchup, and salt - a waitress of one type or another. She did valiantly attempt to put her grungy, limp blonde hair into some sort of order.

"Please, don't get flustered," Irene said, opening a folder and pulling out several documents. "I'm awfully sorry to make you do this before dinner."

"No - no, it's all right. I don't think I can eat until it's - it's decided."

"You're sure you want to do this, Lucille?"

She was pulling out some sort of legal document, bearing the Ministry's seal. The blonde woman quieted, staring at it as if it were a monster, and Teresa sat beside her to gently rub her back in a show of support.

"If... if it means maybe there will be a bit more money - maybe I could send Dora to Beauxbatons. She has no friends, and I worry about her at Hogwarts..." Lucille gave another sniff, wiping at her red eyes. "I don't - I don't know."

"There's a sympathetic few," Irene said quickly. "Better now than before."

"The courts are our best chance, Lucille," Teresa soothed.

"I know! I know - it's just - " She choked back another upset sob. "I'll be the face of it, and... and what if they come...?"

"You'll have all the protection we can provide by law. I won't even reveal your name until the third round of proceedings," Irene boasted, smiling brightly. "It's dangerous. I can't deny that. But it's worth it. ...Want me to read it out so you can make sure everything is fine?"

"Yes, please," the blonde waitress said, nervously folding her hands in her lap. "I promise, I'll have decided by the time you finish."

"All right. 'Lucille Malfoy, represented by the honorable Irene Crabbe and Georgia Goyle -'"

Sirius' head popped up, his ears forward, his eyes wide underneath shaggy black fur.

This had to be a joke. A joke in rather poor taste. There was no way...

" '...hereby brings these charges against the Support for Hybrid Superiority act'..."

There was no way that this shabby-looking woman was a Malfoy. There was no way this keen lawyer was a Crabbe. It was completely contrary - it was completely opposite as expected -

As different as the tome on divination through tarot by S. Snape sitting upstairs next to a children's book and a velveteen rabbit...

" '...on account of the violation of basic civil liberties.' Should I go on?"

"No, no. I'll sign."

And Sirius began to wonder in earnest just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

----
Gossamer
----

"I'm so sorry, dear," a thin woman said, gripping Harry's arm for just a moment before being called away. Her supervisor seemed mildly furious that she had stepped away to speak with him, but he could barely manage a smile to make it worth her while.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the door, arms crossed, looking rather anxious. Being called back to the Ministry of Magic was not part of the plan, but Harry didn't object to a chance to get out of Privet Drive. The dull heartache of grief continued to weigh down his limbs, and he was glad that, for once, he wasn't the center of attention. Instead he had found a ledge to sit on and was idly kicking his feet. It was slightly insulting, being dragged out so - given the nametag that read Harry Potter - Test Subject - but he couldn't bring himself to argue.

In the daylight, it was easy to see what a mess the Department of Mysteries had been left in. A frazzled-looking wizard seemed close to tears as he swept up some of the debris. It was obvious they had been working for days on cleaning up the mess, but there was still so much yet to do. From the expression on the faces of the Unspeakables milling about, it was obvious that the battle had destroyed decades if not centuries of careful experimentation.

Harry simply could not bring himself to care. There was a space where he felt some sympathy for them might have been, a sense that it would be polite to apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to any sort of action. He had lost the one last bit of true family he had, academia be damned. He wasn't going to apologize for anything, not even if they started crying right in front of him.

It was, admittedly, far too easy to be bitter.

But he continued to kick his feet, staring at his shoelaces. He only winced when a wizard to his left twiddled with a complicated-looking contraption that gave a shrieky hum as it started up. They certainly seemed to be very serious about... something.

"Potter. Come this way, please?" One of them said distractedly, not looking up from the instrument but motioning him forward. He looked back to Shacklebolt, who nodded once; with that assent, Harry followed the given path. As it became evident they were leading him towards the room with the Veil, his stomach started to churn. Was this someone's cruel idea of a joke? Had some Ministry bigwig or powerful pureblood put them up to this, just so the newspapers could go back to discrediting him? The Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Had a Nervous Breakdown... admittedly, not as catchy, but after the last year he was certain they would print such rubbish.

One of the instruments gave a steady pip, pip, pip, and the witch holding it seemed dismayed, even as they stepped closer to the chamber which held the veil. When the door opened, Harry perhaps saw why.

The archway was still there, yes. But the flimsy, diaphanous cloth had been replaced. It did not flutter any longer like gossamer smoke. Instead they were thick, weighted down velvet curtains - a room divider, Harry supposed, only slightly less solid than a door. They were split at the middle as if meant to be entered. There were even small golden weights looped at the bottom in decorative shapes - bells, perhaps - perfectly ordinary though exotic in a way Harry couldn't explain, as if he had always imagined such doorways in some sultan's castle while he read some novel of Scheherazade's tales.

"Would you take a step forward, please?" One of the wizards muttered, looking nervous. Obediently, Harry did so. The voices were easier to hear, now - he took another step, and leaned in. It was hard to pick out threads of conversation in the tapestry of whispers, but now it was doable...

...He was supposed to break into the hen-house and kill all the roosters and tear apart the hens and break all the eggs. But now he's here. I can't be mad if he chases me and breaks my neck...

Harry's eyebrows knit together as he gave a worried frown. Perhaps he was asking too much from the Veil to have the conversations actually make sense. Behind him were more echoes, though solid and physical - he recognized the calm yet firm voice Dumbledore seemed to be using against Ministry officials more and more these days, but the nasal whine that answered was a new one. The official's tone was bitter and a little too loud. "He came of his own volition, if you have more objections you'll have to become his legal guardian..."

...I suppose I simply collect strays, dear. A few more won't hurt...

The argument wasn't as interesting as the whispers he could hear. He took another shuffling step forward.

...Please, sit. Have a drink. ...Ah, child, whoever said we were equals?

"Potter? - Harry Potter? Please, that's quite close enough," one of the Unspeakables said. "We don't want any accidents."

...You've meddled... you've interfered for too long...

The cold voice was mesmerizing in a way he couldn't explain, as sharp and bitter as it was. There were so many speakers - he hardly knew how to distinguish them. So many murmurs, like listening to the Great Hall at the end-of-term feast... but not as easy to pick out voices.

To his back, there were steps heading down the stairs. He could hear Dumbledore's voice clearly, now. "I understand the regulations perfectly, Trewick. All I am asking is that a little common sense be applied to the situation -"

It didn't stop Harry from taking another step forward, peering at the thick velvet curtain. The Unspeakable to his left gave a squeak and flailed. "Please! Safety is of utmost importance, you understand... We may be dealing with some sort of inter-dimensional portal here, if it becomes unstable..."

...Dogstar... Dogstar, are you there? A soft, melodic whisper, with a tremble to it, as if the woman speaking was about to cry. And then...

And then -

Yes, I'm here.

It was unmistakably Sirius' voice.

"Harry -" Dumbledore's voice was sharp in warning as he called out, finally arriving in the chamber. Harry looked over his shoulder at the other wizard, and for a moment, they locked eyes, Dumbledore not believing that Harry would truly do it until it was done. One of the Unspeakables shrieked; the other cursed. Despite one lunging at his foot, he kicked the Unspeakable free, parting the thick curtain and hurling himself through the portal.

And then he fell.

---
Classified
---

Harry had been expecting to land a little more awkwardly. All things considered, a sprained ankle that he could walk off wasn't a bad exchange for landing safely....

At first it seemed to be the same room, only somehow much neater. He was alone. A harsh pang of regret ate at his stomach and he clawed the curtain back, but now there was a solid, invisible force that prevented him from going back. Perhaps it was a one-way trip? The curtains clung to each other, knitting together into one solid veil again with a soft golden shimmer. There was magic at work, he just couldn't tell what...

In any case, there were voices from up the stairs. There was no sense waiting for a rescue. He had to find Sirius.

The Department of Mysteries was far more clinical and neat than he remembered, but Harry had to admit most of his memories of it were of dodging Death Eaters, which didn't make for the best mental map. Fortunately there were polite signs pointing him to the elevator up, and he was quickly in the Ministry of Magic lobby. Given the late time on the clock, it was all but deserted. Everything seemed altogether too clean and neat, the central statue intact and gleaming...

"Boy! What are you doing here?"

Harry jumped, turning to see a uniformed man striding up to him. For a moment he thought it was a Muggle policeman until he saw the Ministry badge. Truthfully, the man was the least interesting person Harry had ever seen, with a completely nondescript face and mousey-brown hair. Despite his blandness, he did seem distinctly aggravated. "The Ministry doesn't officially open for four more hours! Where are your papers?"

"Uhh..." He pawed at his pockets, gulping, trying to quickly formulate a correct lie. "I've... left them at home?"

The man gave a snort before eyeing him closely. "Sneaking through the Ministry as a shortcut, were you? Bloody children gallivanting across the Lobby, happens all the time, just because they want to get home a little earlier... I bet you were off to see some girl, weren't you?"

"Oooer -"

"Not a bad walk to that non-magical subdivision. You were off to see a girl, then. Is she a Muggle?"

"Uhh..."

"Aha! No need to be bashful." His disposition immediately improved. "You're doing a fine thing, romancing a non-magical woman. A fine thing for yourself and for England. ...Because of that, I'm only going to write you a warning." The man whipped out his pad of paper, immediately starting to scrawl on it. "If any other officer asks where your papers are, tell them you've already been warned for it, but I expect you should get this matter attended to immediately. The next time someone catches you without your papers, it's a fine of no less than one-hundred-fifty galleons. Sign here, please."

"Um... of course, of course. Yeah, I won't be out without them again," Harry agreed, quickly scrawling his signature in a purposefully messy manner to obscure his name. "Definitely. Won't happen again, sir. I'm very sorry."

"Ah, quite fine, quite fine. Good luck with the girl." The officer gave him a firm pat on the back. "You'll want the exit there. Through the double doors and you'll be on your way home."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, still feeling a bit dazed (and rather glad that the bluff had worked). He paused to look down at the citation. The officer's signature was clear and forceful - N. Tonks.

Something very strange was going on here.

It only got stranger as he exited the building. The lampposts were dim, but he could have sworn for a moment he was back at Privet Drive. There were lines of neatly manicured brownstones, driveways leading off of a wide and crisply paved road. It looked... very Muggle. It would have continued to look very Muggle if he hadn't noticed the subtle details, like broomsticks instead of cars (or alongside cars). Everything was clean... neat... orderly. The buildings were new. The gardens were carefully kept.

Quite frankly, it was creepy.

Eventually there was a postbox and, next to it, a newspaper vending machine. To his surprise, it still held copies of the day's Evening Daily Prophet. More to his surprise, there was not only a slot for three sickles, but there was also a slot for one pound coin. After rummaging in his pockets, he came up with a pound coin and fed it to the machine before hopping up on top of it and settling down to read in the dim light.

There was no use trying to find Sirius blindly when he didn't understand what was going on, even if that was his first impulse. Besides, it was worth seeing if Sirius was in any trouble already. But the headlines were wholly unremarkable. Cricket and rugby matches were reported alongside Quidditch games. The Fashion section showed both robes and scruffy-looking youths in oversized plaid shirts and ripped jeans. Even the title story was boring: Australia Considers Hybrid Act. Nothing more than a bunch of boring-looking politicians meeting. He skimmed past it. Evidently, wherever he was, it was a lot quieter than home. There was no mention of any sort of unrest or strife.

There was also no mention of any large Grim-like black dogs or mysterious strangers answering to Sirius Black. It was both a relief and a worry. He idly flipped past the advice columns, past the obituaries and announcements, past the job advertisements - though he paused a moment, and went back. The job advertisements were split into two sections: Job Opportunities and Moore-Act Compliant Job Opportunities. There were very few regular job opportunities - apparently a magical tailor was looking for a partner, a company was looking for a financial clerk - fairly well-paying jobs. The other section seemed to be full of jobs that made Harry grimace. Sewage inspector. Fry cook. Waitress. Janitor. Gringotts night guard. There were certainly a lot of them, all low-paying and seemingly based on manual labor... it made Harry momentarily glad that he wasn't here job-searching.

The classifieds continued, and he idly flipped past a few more pages before his heart gave a leap at a small, moving picture of a black dog. It was unmistakably Sirius, panting at the camera and giving a worried half-wag of his tail, as if too worried to let on that he was an Animagus instead of a common pet.

The advertisement beside the picture read:

FOUND
Large Black Dog
Very Friendly
No Collar, No Tags
Answers to Dogstar, Snuffles, Baron, and I Have Bacon
Please Contact T. Riddle,
290 South Camellia Way

He left the rest of the paper behind, taking only the address as he started to quickly walk down the street, a sign for South Camellia Way already in view.

Last Updated: 13/07/11