Chapter Text
It was too late.
He was too late.
Harry lunged for The Veil where Sirius fell through just seconds before.
Before he could make his way into the Veil to follow Sirius, he felt firm arms wrap around his waist. He jerked back from the mere strength of the hold, only to realize that they were holding him back.
Harry thrashed, and screamed as he tried to break the circle of arms.
He could barely make out the sounds around him, because all he could hear is a high-pitched ringing noise in his ear.
He couldn’t hear the sounds of his friends and The Order fighting all around him. He couldn’t hear Bellatrix laughing and screeching about her success in murdering Sirius Black. He couldn’t hear the soft, if shaky, voice of his former Professor in his ear, trying to calm him down.
All Harry could do was fight, if not for him, for Sirius.
As he thrashed, Harry noticed black shadows take shape in the blue-grey mist of the Veil.
He stopped his thrashing, if only to focus more intently on it. Harry couldn’t believe his eyes, as his previously dead Godfather was spat out of the Veil, right at his feet.
“Sirius… How?” Harry finally managed to mutter, as the sounds of the battle came to a halt. It was as if they were also transfixed on the disgruntled man that laid at his feet.
Sirius, at the sound of his name, peered up at his one and only Godson, with sheer relief in his eyes. Harry was stunned. Never had he seen such a freeing, but tortured look in a man’s eyes before.
“You’ll never believe me, even if I told you, Prongslet,” Sirius finally responded, as he pushed himself off the floor to stand tall in front of him. He moved out of Harry’s way, and to his side, as if he was removing himself from in front of him to direct his gaze towards The Veil.
Before Harry could respond, he saw two other figures make their way out of The Veil, just as his Godfather had moments ago. This time, though, they were a bit more graceful than Sirius.
A man and a woman stepped out.
Dark, messy hair was the first thing that Harry saw. So similar to his own, Harry felt stunned into silence for what felt like the first time in his life. He recognized the mop of hair, and as he gazed down at the rest of the man, he realized that he knew this man.
James Potter had stepped out of The Veil.
Harry felt like a fish out of water. Mouth wide open, gaping as if he was suddenly deprived of water.
He noticed that James-- No, his father, was holding hands with someone.
When Harry glanced over at the person holding his father’s hand, he felt a tortured gasp escape his throat.
Lily, his mother.
Her ginger hair fell perfectly down her shoulders and back, with no stray hair in sight. When him and his mother finally made eye contact, it felt like the world stopped.
It felt different this time in comparison to when he believed his godfather to be dead. This time he didn’t feel grief, or the loss of hope, rather, he felt his hope increasing in size until it was practically suffocating him.
His parents stopped in their tracks. They only had eyes for him, their son.
Harry felt the arms around him finally recede from his waist. He was now free to move as he pleased.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even glance away from the sight in front of him.
He couldn’t see or hear that the battle had ceased, and had been for a while.
He couldn’t hear Remus’ intake of breath when his formerly dead friends had stepped out of The Veil.
He only had eyes for his parent’s, for his mother.
“Harry.”