Harry woke up that morning feeling restless and unsettled. Although he'd had a good talk with Gaius, he hadn't forgotten the intense sensation he'd had in the early evening, and he showered and dressed early with the idea in his head that he would go look at the veil for himself to see if it was really sealed or not.
Approaching the Ministry from the Muggle side to try and avoid being recognized as long as possible, Harry spotted Sirius' motor bike right away, and his heart gave a stutter-step of dread. It took a long time to make his way to the veil room, and all he found was the veil itself, clear, empty of the physical magic Harry had poured into it to seal it up, the curtains drifting lazily as if there was a breeze in the room. There was none, however; Harry had always imagined the breeze came from the other side.
He sat there for hours, cross-legged in front of the veil, trying to detect magic flowing into it - there was none - and listening to the voices that once again called to him. Sounds and half-spoken words, washed over him, none of them fully formed. Or real. Or Sirius. At one point, Harry thought he heard his mum and da talking to him, telling him to go home, to find his friends, but Harry only woke up from a dream, laying on the cold stone floor of the room, stranger's voices calling and not-calling to him.
Knowing, he left then and launched the bike almost directly into the sky, Muggles and Ministry be damned. Harry was wearing Sirius' second-favourite leather jacket, the one Sirius had always kept in a small compartment under the seat in case he needed it. It also had ended up being the one Sirius had worn the most because he had often taken off on the bike without a jacket, regretting it later. Although it had been snug on Sirius, it fit Harry about right, the sleeves and length just a little long. Harry didn't alter it, preferring to hide in its bulk as he pushed the bike as fast as it would go toward Haven's Loft.
Harry wasn't sure if it was the speed of air flowing past his unprotected eyes or real tears streaming back toward his temples, but the wind took them all, just the same.