The Locked Room - 1

He watched as Hermione tended an unconscious Ron, but she glanced up at Ginny's shrill cry. He could see Hermione's lips moving and knew she was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear her words. None of this concerned him as he continued to drift aimlessly through the air. Not even the sight of the ancient Veil high on its dais, the same Veil that had filled so many of his nightmares, elicited any emotion from him.

He floated past Draco, lying on the floor – still petrified – with the ghastly mess of innards piled obscenely beside him. Detached, Harry noticed that Draco's eyes were closed, almost as if he couldn't bear to look at what had happened to him and settled instead for unconsciousness. Harry thought it vaguely odd that the one who had actually died was the one with his eyes open, yet both Draco's and the eyes on Harry's own body were closed.

At least, he assumed he was still alive, although he really couldn't be certain. He couldn't bring himself to care very much either way. Even the idea that it was over didn't quite register in his muddled brain. The only thing on Harry's mind at the moment was this pleasant floating sensation. It left him drowsy, and he thought he might like to go to sleep.

Nearly as soon as the thought occurred to him, his eyes opened wide, and his heart began to race. Falling asleep was definitely a bad idea. He somehow knew he was supposed to stay awake. As he became more alert and began to look around in earnest, the pounding of his heart lessened, and the panicky adrenaline-rush subsided. Calmer, he noticed that his bubble had begun traveling further away from the chaos surrounding the Veil.

He drifted over Ron and Hermione's heads, watching as Hermione's wand traveled shakily over Ron's chest. His bubble floated out the door and into the circular room with all the doors. It moved anti-clockwise until it stopped in front of one of the doors. The door was no different than any of the others, it had no distinctive marking or shape, but Harry instinctively knew that it was the locked door. The one where he'd ruined the knife Sirius had given him while trying to open it.

What had Professor Dumbledore told him? That the room was kept locked at all times and contained the force that Harry possessed in such great quantity – love. Riddles…more riddles. Dumbledore had always liked to speak in riddles. How could a room contain love? It wasn't a tangible thing.

Harry watched, feeling disconnected, as his bubble approached the door and floated right through it. He blinked and took a good look around. At first, he saw nothing but murky emptiness and darkly wondered if he'd used up all the love he'd felt in his heart destroying Voldemort. Now, there wasn't anything left but this dark, gray nothingness. It was a sobering thought, but he still couldn't bring himself tofeel any emotion over it. It was as if he was an outsider, merely observing rather than living any of it anymore.

As he continued to float, he gradually became aware of a flickering light in the distance. Without his usual curiosity or burning drive to know, he merely took note of it rather than moving towards it. Gradually, however, the flickering of shadow became interesting as it was the only thing to see, and he began to drift nearer and nearer the light.

When he was finally close enough to see properly, he realized it was a simple fireplace holding a blazing fire that hissed and crackled. Although it was in the midst of great nothingness, Harry imagined it was the kind of fire he'd seen in the Gryffindor common room on many a cold night.