Solace

1. Liminal

With every step, her heart feels heavier—
grief and self-loathing, anguish and fatigue.

The air is cold and unforgiving, biting at her skin harshly and freezing her into numbness. She feels as though she's living in someone else's body, numbly watching them make peculiar decisions and wondering, How did they get to this point?

Himani Potter—actually, Himani Potter-Black now—she muses with dry detachment. She's long past explosive emotional reactions; she's exhausted herself to the bone.

She can almost see herself through the murky veil:
her once-healthy, warm skin now pale and dry, severely lacking in vitamin D.
Once-soft, silky curls now brittle and weak.
Dark circles bloom under empty, dark eyes.
She feels like a ghost already—stuck in limbo, unable to move on.

Up until this point, her life had been a vicious, unpredictable rollercoaster:
living in someone's cupboard as an unwanted child,
waking up every day wondering what she did wrong,
what she had done to deserve her fate,
yearning for someone—anyone—to care for her, even just a little.

Then came the truth: who she really was.
A whole new world. Magic.
Belonging.
Fame for something she couldn't even remember—
something that had cost her everything.
She had built connections, forged bonds,
felt hope.
Felt love.
And then lost it all.

Most of them died.
Some of them betrayed her.
And still, she endured.
Until she couldn't anymore.

And that's how she finds herself here—
once again standing before the veil in the Department of Mysteries.
Once again without permission.
But this time, she isn't here to save her godfather,
or to protect a prophecy.

No.
This time, she's here to leave.
To die.
To finally let go, and—perhaps—put her soul to rest.

She's packed everything she owns into her late friend Hermione's bottomless bag.
She's taking everything—and herself—and disappearing.
As if she never existed at all.
To die with everything that was her.

⸻

Falling through the veil feels like floating in deep, open water—
like being gently caressed by clouds.

She feels nothing, thinks nothing—
and yet, somehow, she's still aware. Still conscious, in some strange, detached way.
Honestly, it might be the best feeling she's ever experienced.

And then, suddenly, it stops.
She's not floating anymore.
She's standing.

Why am I standing?

She opens her eyes—
then immediately shuts them again.
The stark whiteness is blinding, her eyes unaccustomed to the light.

She tries again, this time forcing herself to adjust.
Eventually, the brightness dulls, and her vision begins to clear.

She takes in her surroundings.

It's almost like the last time she died—when she found herself at King's Cross, speaking to Dumbledore.
That same stillness in the air.
That same quiet weight of the in-between.
But it's not King's Cross.

She's in the Forbidden Forest.

But why am I here?
Surely there's nothing more she needs to do.