my bane, my antidote

CHAPTER 1: a sacrifice to the ancients

Author's Note: This is just the first chapter; I'm still writing the rest of it and will begin posting regularly around Christmas! This is going to be a massive story and I wanted to plan it all out first, before I began posting.

Based off—actually this is a rewrite of—my other story: home is where the heart is (but you hold mine) but I scrapped that one and this one is what came of it! Much darker, angstier, and better fleshed out.

Thank you to zlevianthanriddle, somethingsmellsgay, and PenRot for looking this over for me 😘

(if anybody would like to volunteer as a beta reader, I am open to it; please say so if you'd like to. I need all the help I can get with these upcoming chapters.)

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CHAPTER 1

a sacrifice to the ancients (my morality, my sanity, my life)

Harry doesn't know why he chose to believe the vision.

But he did.

He chose to believe the vision from a man that wanted nothing more than to kill him.

(At least he'd always been upfront about his intentions.)

He chose to go to the Department of Ministries, to seek out Voldemort, even though his panic and desperation swept away any inkling of rational thought in his brain.

Sirius was at stake.

Sirius who held him during his nightmares, letting him cry all over him.

Sirius who told him that it isn't childish to curl up at his side because he needed somebody.

Sirius who sat up on the roof with him, never judging him if he wanted silence or stories.

Sirius who advocated for him when nobody else did.

Sirius who did everything he could to be by his side, even if it was dangerous to himself.

Sirius who loved him no matter what happened and always supported him.

Sirius was at stake.

And that meant everything.

Harry bolts forward, ducking under spells and running forward — his heart feels like it might burst from his chest, his breaths feel empty and non-existent, his legs burn from constant movement, his magic settles over his skin like a heavy weight — and lunges toward the Veil.

There are screams behind him, loud and echoing, just as desperate as his screams had been just a few moments prior — it felt like such a long time ago but, logically, he knew it hadn't been.

Sirius isn't dead. Sirius can't be dead. Sirius isn't allowed to be dead.

Harry hasn't given him his permission yet. He never wanted to have to give Sirius permission to die because Sirius isn't allowed to die.

"HARRY! HARRY, NO! HARRY!"

His own name rings through the room, voiced in a desperate roar, and Harry almost falters at the panic-grief-desperation in Remus' voice. Almost. He clenches his jaw and continues forward, ignoring the quieting shouts and screams and laughter of all the others in the room as they look towards the scene unfolding in front of them, and Harry lunges forward through the smoke of the Veil—towards Sirius.