The moon appeared behind the clouds; its light shining brightly from the surrounding darkness of number four Privet Drive. From then on, it passed through a window of a small bedroom illuminating a slightly opened trunk on the floor with clothes protruding from its gap, and a newspaper that sat on the desk, blaring the headline:

STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF DEMENTORS PERSISTED

"Aside from the horrible fact that some Dementors have joined forces with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," said one Ministry spokewizard. "We still cannot pinpoint the cause of another unusual and alarming behavior being shown by the remaining Dementors still guarding the Azkaban prison."

Dementors are known as the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. But what unusual and alarming behavior have they shown that left the Ministry more uncomfortable in such a way that they have become restless to know the truth? And when have the Dementors shown such behavior?

"It started in the middle of June this year," admitted the spokewizard tensely. "Prisoners claimed the power of the Dementors to inflict misery and despair has lessened a great deal and have been caught abandoning their stations to visit other Dementors as though to talk among themselves."

We, of course, haven't the slightest idea whether a Dementor could talk much less to communicate with other means. Do they perhaps send signals between their minds or—as absurd and bizarre as this may seem to be the case—their emotions? Nevertheless, what—

But the rest of the story was obscured by a large pile of old magical books and a birdcage that stood on top of it. A magnificent snowy owl was perched inside, her amber eyes surveying her master whose back was facing her.

It was midnight, and all the occupants in number four Privet Drive were deeply asleep, except one.

Harry Potter, barely sixteen with messy jet-black hair and bright green eyes lay curled in bed, fuming. The tick of a clock that hung on the wall near his door couldn't muffle the sound his heart had been making; it was pounding hard against his ribcage and he had been letting it drag on for hours while staring coldly at the empty wall in front of him which—he was sure of it—would have already produced a hole by now if he had no intentions of breaking the eye contact any time soon.

The death of his godfather, Sirius Black, still lingered in Harry's mind, and the feeling of anger for his recklessness and disappointment of not being able to save Sirius had doubled over ever since he came back at his aunt and uncle's house three days ago. Harry punched his pillow and buried his face in it with a heavy sigh.

"I'm so stupid," he said in a muffled voice. How could I have let this happen?

With another great, heaving sigh, Harry rolled over and turned his back against the wall. This time, his eyes fell over to his bedside table where a broken piece of a mirror lay flat on the surface. He had taken it out of his trunk that morning, examining it once again and wishing Sirius's face would show himself. But it was no good; Harry could see only his own reflection looking back at him. He's not coming back, said a small voice in Harry's head. It's too late…

Harry cursed himself for not unwrapping the mirror right away when Sirius gave it to him. It was sitting in his trunk for months waiting to be opened and yet he hadn't bothered to check. How could he have forgotten about it? Why did he have to act stupidly and resort to other means of communication when Sirius already provided him the easiest way? Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, questioning everything that had happened and blaming himself.

Disappointment was burning in his throat. He couldn't live with the fact that Sirius was dead and it was his fault. He had to do something… anything that could bring him back somehow. But his body drooped suddenly when he remembered what Albus Dumbledore told him in his fourth year, "No spell can reawaken the dead." But it wasn't a spell that he wanted to use, it was a Time-Turner. But then, he also remembered the Time-Turners he saw at a glass cabinet in the Department of Mysteries which seemed to have been broken when it continued to fall, shatter, and repair itself. And to make Harry's feelings even worse, Nearly Headless Nick's information regarding dead people turning into ghosts hadn't helped at all in easing his misery. "He will not come back," Harry remembered Nick telling him quietly. "He will have… gone on."

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

Opening his eyes again, Harry reluctantly grabbed the piece of mirror on the table and stared at it for a moment. "Sirius," he whispered even after knowing full well that his godfather would never respond back. However, he thought he saw someone else looking back at him—but it was gone the second he blinked. Harry swore he saw blue eyes, but that could be just the trick of the moonlight cascading down from his window. Those eyes were so familiar to Harry that he was positive it belonged to Albus Dumbledore. But why would he see him at this time in that mirror? Was it because he had been thinking of him? Was the other mirror with Dumbledore? He couldn't have known about it, could he?

Harry placed the mirror back on the table and buried his face in his pillow once again, trying to get rid of all his thoughts. He would have to worry about it all again tomorrow if he could help it. He took several deep, calming breaths before finally accepting sleep.

Harry dreamed he was in Professor Trelawney's classroom where she was handing out glass orbs to everyone with Harry's face swirling in it. Harry recognized them immediately; those were the orbs he had seen in the Department of Mysteries, which Voldemort wanted so badly to get his hands on. "Professor," said Harry, looking alarmed. "You have to hide them! If Voldemort hears the prophecy—" Neville laughed and said, "What are you talking about, Harry? We passed our crystal gazing exam and Professor Trelawney promised to reward us with this. Isn't it amazing?" Harry glanced worriedly around the room as if expecting Voldemort to appear at any moment.

"Oh, look, Harry!" Ron said brightly, pointing at the glass sphere he was holding. Harry gasped when he saw himself shaking hands with Voldemort for becoming the next Dark Lord of the Century. "Wow! That's so cool! I always knew you had it in you, Harry!"

The dream changed…

This time, Harry was back in the large room where the Veil stood, tempting him to go through its tattered black curtain that was gently swaying. "Sirius!" He gasped when he looked closely at it and saw his godfather pounding his fists desperately from the inside as if wanting to break the invisible barrier and get out of there… Harry glanced wildly around the room hoping to get some help, but no one was there… He was all alone.

Harry contemplated whether to offer his hands toward Sirius so he could grab him, or perhaps run towards the door to look for someone… but he was scared… he didn't want to leave his godfather… he was afraid that he might disappear again…

But what Harry saw next made him want to rush forward to Sirius who suddenly stood stock-still and a look of horror appeared on his face as he glanced behind his back… Harry was desperate to know what his godfather was looking at… but he couldn't see anything behind him… He walked closer to him but Sirius had run deeper inside the Veil without looking back, and he was gone.

"Sirius, no!" Harry shouted. He ran toward the Veil, but before his hand could even touch the surface, he heard hooting noises from somewhere and then he awoke.

Harry blinked at the sudden bright sunlight on his bedroom, feeling rather disappointed. He glared at Hedwig for a moment, fairly certain that she was the one who had awoken him in his deep sleep and had interrupted his strong impulse to follow Sirius through the Veil.

Harry sighed. He felt as though he had been dreaming again of that door in the Department of Mysteries that wouldn't open, only this time it was different; it was the Veil that he kept visiting in his dreams, and each time he would see his godfather there, trapped and helpless. If only he could walk right up to it and follow Sirius…

A hard rap on Harry's bedroom door startled him. Seconds later, Uncle Vernon's voice thundered when the door flew open.

"IT'S EARLY IN THE MORNING AND THE FIRST THING I HEAR IS YOUR DAMN BIRD!"

Harry stared at his purple-faced uncle who had his hands curled into tight fists which turned his knuckles white. Harry made a move to get up from his bed. "I'll let her out now—"

"YOU BLOODY WELL SHOULD AND KEEP HER OUT OF THIS HOUSE!"

"Well, she has to come back from time to time, you know."

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE?"

Harry ignored him. He walked over to Hedwig's cage and opened it. She gave a loud hoot and took off right away, leaving Harry to deal with his uncle who still stood rooted to the spot and shaking with rage.

"IF YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING WITH THAT BIRD OF YOURS—"

"All right," said Harry, "all right…"

Breathing heavily like a wild hippo on the loose, Uncle Vernon left the room after giving Harry a sharp, piercing gaze.

Harry knew he would have to send Hedwig to Grimmauld Place. It was, after all, his third day back in Privet Drive and he had promised Mad-Eye Moody that he would send letters informing them that he was still okay. Somehow, that soothed Harry a little. At least there were other people looking after him aside from the Dursleys who had been grudgingly and regretfully taking care of him for fifteen years.

Harry leaned heavily on the sill, and stared out of the window for a while. He left it wide open for Hedwig so she could fly back whenever she wanted without making any racket. She had undoubtedly gone hunting as she normally would when she was back at the Dursleys. Harry could tell Hedwig wanted nothing more than to stay as far away from his crazy muggle relatives as much as she could, and would only come back so Harry could have a pleasant company for a change. He didn't mind it very much. He, too, wanted to leave this place and never come back. If only his godfather was still alive, they could hide together and live peacefully somewhere undetected. But no… he had to endure the life he was given… the unfairness of it all. What wouldn't he give to have Sirius back again…

The beautiful morning sunlight slowly rose up by the time Harry decided to come downstairs. He could hear his Aunt Petunia already working in the kitchen. She had not bothered to call him to get up and cook after being threatened by the members of the Order in King's Cross Station. The Dursleys thought they ought to leave Harry alone and not give him too many chores in the house to "please their kind" as Uncle Vernon had loudly stated. Big as a rhinoceros as he was, Harry knew for sure that his uncle wouldn't want to cross Mad-Eye Moody and his swivelling eye.

Upon seeing Harry enter the kitchen, Uncle Vernon gave a grunt of displeasure before resuming his reading on the newspaper.

Harry cast a wary-looking eye at his aunt for he knew that she and his uncle had been talking about his living arrangements ever since he came back. It hadn't taken long for Harry to deduce what had been decided when his aunt gave no sign that she had seen nor heard her nephew enter. It had been like this for two days; the endless silent treatment. Harry was okay with it, preferred it even, but he'd still do the chores without asking their permission to let them know that he still hadn't forgotten his responsibilities even without them listing it on a piece of paper. They had, after all, taken him in the household, though grudgingly, and that was the least Harry could do.

Harry had just taken out and placed a pan on the stove when he heard his uncle muttering something under his breath before speaking audibly and putting the newspaper down the table.

"So," said Uncle Vernon, eyeing Harry beadily. "Are we getting another one of those this summer?"

Harry frowned. "Another one of what?"

"We heard from Dudders that they can... fly," Uncle Vernon whispered but still kept a stern look at Harry. "So, are we?"

"If you mean the Dementors—"

"Ssshh!" Aunt Petunia hissed, giving Harry a glare. "The neighbors will hear!"

Harry thought his aunt was straining her ears to catch conversations outside in case they had been overheard when she gazed at the slightly opened window.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon demanded Harry impatiently with a raised eyebrow. "Are we? Because if that's the case, we'll temporarily leave this house until you go back to that madhouse you call a school."

Harry thought it'd be nicer if they leave now so he could enjoy his summer for a change, but he merely shook his head and simply said "No" without looking at his aunt and uncle.

"What do you mean 'no'?" His uncle growled.

Harry sighed while placing the bacon neatly onto the pan. "It means they're not coming back—" But then he added as an afterthought, "or at least that's what I think."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Patches of red in Aunt Petunia's face seemed to have drained suddenly and was now looking pale when Harry glanced beside her. "What you think?" she asked weakly.

Uncle Vernon snorted. "We don't care what you think. There must be some kind of an official statement... or a warning or something from your ministry!"

When Harry did not respond, his uncle spat, "Well, boy?"

Harry took deep, calming breaths before facing his irritable-looking uncle. "There's something odd going on about them at the moment, and no one could tell what."

"Is… is it because of—him?" Aunt Petunia asked with a shudder.

Harry could tell his aunt meant Voldemort. "Maybe," he replied dully. "I don't know."

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

"Speaking of which," Harry looked around for any sign of his cousin. "Where is Dudley?"

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes at him as though he was forbidden to question Dudley's whereabouts. But he answered after a hesitant glance at Aunt Petunia. "We sent him away for a while."

"Where?" Harry asked curiously.

"Never you mind!" Aunt Petunia snapped, shooting Harry a glare once again.

"He's with Aunt Marge, isn't he?"

His aunt and uncle didn't speak. They merely exchanged knowing looks at each other, confirming Harry's suspicion.

"He'll only have to stay there for a couple of weeks," said Aunt Petunia, her voice quivering as though she was about to burst into tears.

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

"We're doing what's best for our Diddykins, aren't we? That he'd be safe?" Aunt Petunia asked Uncle Vernon uncertainly, sounding as if she wasn't entirely convinced of the idea they'd both come up with together.

Uncle Vernon stood from his chair and placed a gentle hand to his wife's shoulder. "Petunia, he'll be fine," he reassured her. "He'll love it there. You know he would. Besides," he glanced at Harry for a split second before turning his attention back to his wife. "He's not with him—"

Harry glared at his uncle. "I'm not the one frightening Dudley and making him go nuts!"

His uncle rounded on him, a stern look on his purple face. "You're the reason they attacked my son! And unless you're gone from here, the better it'd be for us!"

"Well, then," said Harry furiously, flipping the burnt bacon on the frying pan. "I'd better ask someone from the Order to pick me up right now, or better yet Dumbledore since you can't handle my presence!"

"Yes, you do that, boy!" snarled Uncle Vernon. "And make sure you're out of this house by tomorrow!" And looking down upon the bacon, he spat, "Stop burning any more of our food!"

Breathing heavily, Harry scooped the bacon and placed them on a plate. He was sure that no one from the Order would pick him up after only staying at Privet Drive for three days. Dumbledore would certainly dismiss the plan and remind him again that he ought to stay where he was safest. He'd rather stay at Hogwarts if it was between this house or his school. He hadn't fully unpacked his things from his trunk, anyway. He could leave any time he wanted if only his headmaster would permit him to go to the Burrow or anywhere else. It won't hurt to ask, Harry thought to himself while he considered sending a letter. But he would have to do that after the list of chores he had prepared for himself in which he was keen to begin with to get away from his aunt and uncle.

Not wanting to have lunch later on, Harry doubled his servings of breakfast without his aunt and uncle noticing. He went out in the garden after a while, thinking about the day ahead. As long as he busied himself to weeding and pruning the garden, he could sit and watch the activities in the neighborhood, almost invisible to people who wandered around in their self-absorbed trances. Here and there, kids were tossing a Frisbee back and forth, while others were talking and sipping from water bottles. As far as he could tell, no one cared that he was there.

Shifting his eyes from left to right, Harry wondered how many of his neighbors even gave much thought to the lives they were going to lead. Was he the only one whose life had been predicted ever since he was born? Yes, said the voice inside his head. He had no other choice but to follow whatever was in store for him: kill or be killed. And up until that point, he'd believed and followed the rules set for him by Dumbledore, rules to protect and save him.

He'd held the naive view that good would triumph over evil, that danger could be corralled, that events could be controlled. Why else would Dumbledore or the Order say the things they did? "Don't leave the house"."Stay with your aunt and uncle". "Don't do anything stupid". "Stay out of trouble". The list went on and on. Harry had known about the danger. He'd been warned about what would happen, but he couldn't help himself from wishing for everything to stop, or to be born again without worrying about the future, or Voldemort. He could be one of those kids whose only problem was to catch a gliding Frisbee.

Harry sighed, and he noticed how much of it he had been doing lately. Frustrated at the fact that none had been going right so far in his life. Sure, he was on his way to his sixth year, and he needn't have to worry about homework or anything school related for at least a couple of months, but aside from that, everything else was just horrible; he had to suffer yet again and endure his stay with his relatives, read articles from the Daily Prophet that keep getting worse and worse every day with all the killings happening here and there, and worst of all, the hollow feeling he felt for losing the only family he had left. Gone were the days when he could send letters to his godfather to ask for his advice or opinion, or simply having him to talk to when no one else could understand him. Harry never felt so alone in his life.

By the time Harry had reached the last flower bed, morning had already turned slowly into dusk. He decided then to leave the remaining task that he needed to do for the next day. He got up and stretched, noting how tired his muscles were. He wanted to skip dinner and go straight to bed. However, he caught sight of Dudley's gang of friends walking across a street and talking animatedly. Harry could tell that they had beaten up another kid when one of them did a ridiculous impression of someone cowering in fear.

Harry turned his gaze away from them and thought of his cousin instead. Harry found it very odd not to see Dudley and be bullied by him whenever he got the chance. But Harry savoured the freedom he felt for not having to hide all the time he was at Privet Drive. It's for the best, he agreed to himself. At least his cousin was away from harm and wouldn't be an easy target for Voldemort. And whatever the dementors have been doing, Harry was certain that it had something to do with the dark side.

What else would it be? he thought gravely, but the dream he had of Sirius came rushing back once again. It's only a coincidence, he told himself. He must've been reading a lot of dementors in the Daily Prophet that was why he kept having those dreams, and the Veil had got nothing to do with the dementors, so why did he suddenly consider that? What was it though that Sirius saw that filled his eyes with so much fear? But Harry already knew what it was. Far-fetched though it may have seemed, his godfather couldn't have been seeing the 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 think about it. Anything can happen.

Sighing, Harry looked up at the slowly dimming horizon before trudging back inside the house.

With no appetite to eat, Harry laid his aching body onto the bed. Hedwig gave a comforting hoot upon arrival, letting him know that she was back from yet another successful hunt; a dead frog dangling from her beak. Harry smiled at her before closing his eyes.

Harry found himself standing yet again in front of the Veil. He looked around, scanning the empty room before facing the archway. Like always, the curtain gently fluttered and swayed, inviting him in. He walked cautiously towards it until a whisper reached his ears.

"Help me… anyone… please…"

Harry inched nearer, wanting to hear more.

"Harry…"

Harry's heart gave a wild lurch from hearing his name. "Sirius?" he said softly.

"Harry…"

With apprehension, Harry inched much closer to the Veil with his hand outstretched. "Sirius, is that you?"

"Harry Potter!" a high-pitched voice said loudly. "Master Harry Potter!"

Harry blinked in confusion. His godfather would never call him master. Suddenly, the room he was in vanished, and he felt someone tugging on his sleeve gently.

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

Eyes still heavy, Harry slowly opened them. From the silver glow of the moonlight, he saw a large pair of bat-like ears and bulging green eyes peering anxiously at him through the darkness. "Dobby?"

The elf smiled awkwardly.

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows. He searched for his glasses that must've fallen off from his face, but Dobby handed it to him; Harry slid them on and squinted at the clock on the wall; it was way past his dinner time. The Dursleys had not bothered to call him to eat; they never did these days. Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention to the elf.

"What're you doing here?" he said, and remembering the last time Dobby visited his bedroom to warn him, he asked quickly, "Is something wrong?"

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

Harry sat up straighter, immediately thinking about Voldemort. "What is it, Dobby? Did something bad happen?"

Dobby was silent for a moment, tentatively eyeing the lamp sitting at the desk. Knowing what it meant, Harry seized the lamp and hid it behind his back; he had a suspicion that the elf wanted to strike his head with it.

Dobby released a breath of relief, but the terrified look on his face didn't change. "Thank you, sir… but it is difficult, sir… Dobby only came to visit Harry Potter… to see whether he was safe or not."

"Why would you think I wouldn't be safe?"

"Ah, sir," the elf said weakly. "I keep hearing Harry Potter mumble in his sleep, always saying the name Sirius."

Harry's shoulders drooped slightly, remembering the dream once again. "It's nothing, Dobby. You don't have to worry about it."

Without warning, Dobby dissolved into tears. "Harry Potter mustn't dream of it, he mustn't!"

"I can't help dreaming it all the time, Dobby. I—hang on," said Harry, frowning. "When you said you keep hearing me mumble in my sleep… did you mean to say—how long have you been watching me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet and blinked anxiously up at him.

"Dobby has to hide himself so as not to frighten Harry Potter, sir… when he least expected Dobby to come…"

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

Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes.

"Harry Potter is always so noble and kind… but Harry Potter is suffering so much for his loss and Dobby has come to help Harry Potter."

Harry smiled weakly at the elf before lowering his gaze to his hands. "I'm okay, Dobby. I just… miss him, you know. It's been hard sometimes not to think about what happened."

The elf shook his head vigorously, his ears flapping. "But Harry Potter mustn't dream of it!"

"Why? You don't know exactly what I'm dreaming about, so why are you telling me not to?"

Dobby looked miserable. "Dobby knows, Harry Potter, sir… If only Dobby can tell…"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You know I'm dreaming about the Veil?"

When Dobby didn't speak, Harry went on, "The dream won't stop, Dobby, and unless you tell me what's going on, I may be able to prevent it."

A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's immense eyes.

"It has begun, sir… and there's nothing Harry Potter can do to prevent it from happening…"

A crease formed between Harry's brows while his heart hammered fast. "What has begun, Dobby?" And as crazy as it may sound, he asked, "Is my godfather in trouble?" But he needn't have to wait for Dobby's response for the elf's terror-filled look confirmed his suspicion.

Out in the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Dobby stumble toward the wall. He knew the elf was about to bang his head, and so he heaved himself up from his bed and immediately seized Dobby's arm, pulling him away from the wall.

"Tell me what's going on, Dobby!" Harry demanded after releasing the elf, who swayed on the spot. "My godfather couldn't have been in trouble because he's…" he trailed off. The word 'dead' still sounded foreign and wrong to him when talking about Sirius Black.

"We don't speak of it, Harry Potter, sir…" said Dobby weakly. "Dobby can't tell… Dobby has to whip himself for coming to see Harry Potter… Oh, if Harry Potter only knew the danger of the legend we've been told..." he shuddered.

"What legend?" Harry suddenly had an inkling feeling that the legend may have been the same as the Chamber of Secrets.

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

It's true, then, Harry concluded to himself. The moment he saw the archway, he'd been curious enough to let it linger in his mind longer than necessary; all the questions he'd wanted answered: What was that Veil? Why was it hidden in the Department of Mysteries? What were the Unspeakables doing other than staring at it? Have they found out anything at all? Could they hear the voices as well? Were they able to talk to them? The list went on.

With mounting curiosity, Harry asked, "How come we haven't heard of the story before?"

"It wasn't ours to tell, sir… our ancestors were distraught when they learned of its use that they decided not to speak of it ever again…" Dobby shuddered once more and added in a low voice, "It wasn't a pleasant story."

"So, why tell now if you're not allowed?"

"Harry Potter is a good friend of Dobby," said the elf, beaming with pride. "Dobby has to help Harry Potter, sir… even if Dobby has to dangle himself upside down in the kitchen."

"I forbid you to hurt yourself, Dobby!" Harry said at once. "But tell me what's going on. Is my dream real? Is it happening at the present time?"

Trembling all over and eyes wider than ever, Dobby said, "Harry Potter must stop dreaming of the Veil. Harry Potter must learn to close his mind."

Irritated, Harry sighed at the sudden recollection of his devastating Occlumency lessons with Snape. "I can't," he told the elf. "I'm still learning how and it's not easy, Dobby. How else will I find out that my godfather is in trouble if you hadn't come and warned me that my dream is real? If dreaming is the only way for me to know what's going on, then I wouldn't bother with Occlumency."

"Harry Potter mustn't be stubborn, sir… Dobby only wants to help."

"Well," snapped Harry, suddenly impatient. "I will be as stubborn as ever unless you start telling me what's going on, Dobby."

The elf bowed his head in defeat. He didn't speak for a moment as though thinking of other options to negotiate with, but he merely shook his head as he looked up at Harry.

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

Harry sighed loudly. "You don't have to do that," he reasoned. "There must be another way for you to say things openly without resorting to punishments. How about—" he quickly thought to himself. "How about I give you my word that I will stop dreaming of the Veil, but you have to tell me everything about it? Is that a good deal, then?" He gazed hopefully at Dobby.

Dobby seemed to be weighing it down when he didn't speak. After a while, he nodded with a hesitant look on his face.

"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 went on saying, "They is not happy at all… They is angry…"

Harry clamped his hands over the elf's shoulders, and Dobby seemed to have come back to his senses. "Who are 'they'? Who are you talking about? If it's about the Veil, then do you mean the Unspeakables who work in the Department of Mysteries?"

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

Harry's eyes widened in realization. "Dementors?" he asked abruptly. "You're talking about the dementors?"

Without speaking, Dobby flapped his ears eagerly as an answer.

Harry slumped his back against his pillows, thinking.

"Dobby," he said after a while. "Why would Sirius get into trouble with the dementors if he's—gone?"

"He isn't gone—" Dobby blurted out and quickly cupped his hands over in his mouth when he realized what he had said. Once again, he ran towards the wall and banged his head on it.

Surprised, Harry jerked himself up from his pillows. "What? He's alive?" he asked while grabbing Dobby by the arm again. "Dobby, tell me!"

Shoulders drooping slightly, Dobby replied, "Harry Potter must stop dreaming of his Siwi… Harry Potter mustn't follow his Siwi from within…"

Within… Harry's heartbeat quickened as he pieced the puzzle together. Siwi… Did Dobby mean Sirius? He must've been talking about him. Harry took a deep breath. There was only one place he knew Sirius would be at the moment, and it was that Veil. He was stuck in there, and Harry was certain of it. If only he could walk right up to it and follow his godfather then maybe he could find him and bring him back. But why was Dobby telling him otherwise?

"Dobby, listen—"

But at that precise moment, someone rapped at the door and Harry jerked his head up in surprise.

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING TO MAKE SO MUCH NOISE?" said the booming voice of Uncle Vernon from the other side of his door.

Before Harry could reply, Dobby had vanished into thin air, leaving him to his thoughts and to deal with an irate uncle.

To be continued...

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Beta-read by Legacy of Hecate, hollyfrost666, Lillie Tano-Syndulla