A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I've uploaded anything, but I have been busy getting my grades up and attempting to get any/every idea I have onto paper (which is working little better). As I'm now a senior and my workload has lifted a bit, I decided to give my readers (or what little remain of them, after so much time) a present for Christmas of 2011. Hears to hoping the world won't end within the next week, yeah? I still got so much to do!

▫ộ»I Solemnly Swear I Am Up To No Good «ộ▫

Harry smiles lightly as he looks at the veil that took the only link to a family he could possibly have. He might be only seventeen, but he had worked his ass off after Sirius died, and had discovered everything he thought was real was a lie. Now, having worked on deciphering as much as he possibly could about it, (turns out some of the inscriptions on the veil had been in parseltongue, but that didn't mean that's all there was), he'd compiled a list of all the things he knew.

One: There was no possible way to get Sirius back out of it. Sirius would be long dead, or just a husk that would die soon anyway, or atomized by the great forces of magic that swirled within the veils archway. His last moments would likely have either been painless with how fast he died, or so drawn out, nothing could've possibly kept him sane, since he didn't, wouldn't, have a barrier against it like he did in Azkaban.

Two: The veil served no purpose any longer. The only reason the Department of Mysteries had even kept it this long was because they still wanted to know what it said. Now that Harry had figured out and described what it said in it's various ancient dialects, they were going to destroy it in the morning, erasing any possibility of… Harry wasn't even sure what it would erase, but he had a feeling it would leave him emptier than he already was.

Three: There was nothing keeping Harry here. The war was over, the survivors many, the casualties too much to bear for him…

Tonks and Remus had died in a blaze of glory, wanting to keep their only son safe in a new world. They didn't know that the cottage that Andromeda and her husband Ted were watching little Teddy in was being torn apart by some of Fenrir Greyback's completely loyal and insane followers for 'starting his own pack, where the alpha had not given permission'. Never mind that Remus was never welcomed, not had ever wanted to join the reclusive wolves.

Ron and Hermione had ulterior motives to his friendship, despite 'evidence' that they didn't. He had saved Hermione's life, and Ron was his 'best friend' for so many years… Ron wanted to be famous. If he had to be sidekick, at least he had one-upped all his siblings. But eventually, that wasn't enough for him. He eventually decided to get him to marry into the family, to his sister, Ginny. Ginny was oblivious to Ron's motivations. He had planned on using her as well to get a hold on Harry's inheritances, the life of luxury he had always wanted. Hermione had wanted some of his power, his connections, his fame. She knew, in that brilliant brain of hers, that she would get nowhere as a muggleborn. She also knew that any purebloods that were 'respectable' would avoid her on basis of her blood. She hatched a plan to latch onto Harry, who would likely not know a thing, if her books on his whereabouts were in anyway true. His messiah-like worship would definitely endear her to some of the more 'light' communities, ensuring her a life or possibly near-leisure. Even at eleven, she had been the smartest person he had never wanted to meet.

Harry didn't hold it against any of them. At this point in his life, he had come to realize that he was pretty dispensable. Dumbledore had thought the same thing about him, evidenced by pretty much scripting him to die, a 'lamb to slaughter', as Snape, bless his bitter soul, had colorfully put it in the memories he had lovingly provided.

That brought his train of thoughts to the last bullet in his mental list.

Four: What was keeping him from simply getting it over with?

This left Harry in front of the veil, its whispers of happiness taunting him, telling him that it could lead somewhere better, somewhere where he could be the naïve little child he had never fully been able to be, nor leave behind, in childhood. All his naiveté had cost him was his family, his friends, his very life. With all that had happened, Harry wasn't sure that it was possible, finding happiness. Who's to say his horrid luck wouldn't find him again, just to ruin it all in one broad stroke?

He figured he would like to go as Sirius had. Either almost softly, falling into something that wasn't there, or so painfully, death would be welcome even more than it already was.

Of course, he wasn't going to leave anything behind for the bastards that had decided to aid in his misery. Despite not holding it against Ron, Hermione, or Dumbledore, Harry wasn't about to leave anything with value to the former two. The last didn't count all that much. He was nothing now, besides a 'book' Rita Skeeter had written about all the horrid things that had happened in his own life, and a footnote in history books.

Soon, the same would apply to Harry. Despite ending two wars, Harry would soon fade to obscurity, a faceless person who would be so twisted after his death that he might as well be an indoor tree, forever seeking sunlight. After leaving a memoir with Luna, the only person who might possibly be interested in his life, and his familial belongings like his cash and cloak to Neville, who could use something useful for his own children, Harry stood less than a foot from absolute death.

His last thought, before emptying his mind of everything, was of Sirius, and how unfairly his life was cut short. He'll meet him soon. It'd be the most fantastic birthday present he had ever given himself.

Taking his last breath and closing tired green eyes, Harry stepped forward. Everything instantly became blacker, and conscious thought stopped.

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His eyes opened to see a pair of worried blue-green eyes that seemed to almost sparkle at him. "Are you okay?" an almost feminine voice asked. It took a moment before he realized the person the eyes belonged to was talking to him.

He just blinked back at the person, confused. Who was this, and what was wrong with their voice? They sounded all funny. He had a feeling that he had never heard anyone who had sounded like this. "Who are you?" He wasn't entirely surprised to hear his voice sounded so different from this mystery person's. "And where am I? Why do you sound all funny? Why do I sound all funny?"

The eyes seemed bemused almost when suddenly his sight seemed to register this person had a face. It was thin, aristocratic almost, and had some beautiful features on it. A button nose, wide eyes, rosy cheeks, a quirk to the lips. Chestnut hair was spilling over their forehead, a shade of brown he was sure he had never seen before.

"Do you know your name?" the person asked, ignoring his questions. Or maybe he just didn't know how to answer. For some reason, that made him happy. An unpleasant feeling that he knew someone horrible who had known all the answers before washed through him. Bad things happen when somebody knew all the answers to life's little questions.

In an attempt to answer this question, however, his mind drew a blank. Eyes unconsciously narrowing, he blurted the first thing that passed through his thoughts. "Black!"

"Do you have a first name? How old you are, maybe?"

"It's… I think it's Harry," he said hesitatingly. "But… I don't like it. I might be… I… seven… seven something."

"Seventeen?"

Harry Black flinched. "I, yes, but it sounds almost… mean."

There was silence for a heartbeat, before this stranger asked, "You really don't know where you are?"

He just shook his head.

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Kurt didn't know what to think. He had found what seemed to be a half-dead-looking British teen in the middle of Ohio, the middle of the road really, apparently with no memories of any sort. Coherent sort, anyway. They were probably all jumbled. He might just have a concussion. "Do you feel sick or injured in any way?"

A pair of piercingly dark, green eyes latched onto his, wondering something, puzzling it out for a moment before he said, "No, just… sad, I think."

"Why sad? Do you know?" Kurt pressed.

"I don't… I don't remember."

That just confirmed what he already suspected: the guy had no memories.

"So I suppose you don't think anywhere around you is familiar looking?"

"Really, where am I?" Harry finally asked, looking confused after glancing around himself. "Isn't it supposed to be raining?"

"It is Ohio," Kurt said dryly. At Harry's still befuddled face, he clarified, "You're in the United States."

"What the bloody hell am I doing in the states?"

"That's what I would like to know. I do think we should head to the police office, however, just in case people are looking for you. With your current memories, you're not liable to recall many details if most of it is lost."

▫ộ» Mischief Managed «ộ▫

A/N: So what do you think? I got about five chapters of this written up in sequence. I'm already working on the rest of it (hopefully). Hope to try and get one a week (something's bound to hit me any time now a days).