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Often when people have near-death experiences, they say they saw their life flash before their eyes. Most people take this to mean that that person relived all their memories in an instant, which is in all likelihood what most people do actually experience.
Not me.
I, Harry fucking Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, supposedly prophesied vanquisher of the Dark Lord, am not most people. My whole life I've been different from those around me. What exactly that means has changed throughout my life.
As a child, it was because I grew up in a cupboard. Then, when I turned eleven, it was because I had magic. When I got to Hogwarts, my fame (which I didn't fucking earn and have resented and loathed with a passion since day one, let that be known) immediately set me apart from my peers. In second year it was the fact I can apparently speak Parseltongue. Third year was being the presumed target of a supposed traitor and mass-murder who happened to also be my godfather.
It only got worse after that. In my fourth year, I was forced into the whole farce that was the Triwizard Tournament. I lost the first person I truly loved at the end of that year. Fifth year, though, was easily the worst year of my life. My cousin and I nearly lost our souls, I was tortured by a “teacher” for something I never even said in the midst of battling my own depression thanks to the year before, and I lost my godfather. That was the second loss I suffered and it nearly broke me.
Sixth year was relatively quiet. The biggest thing that year was learning just how fucked up the whole situation with Voldemort truly was– or well, is. Seventh year was entirely taken up by what Ron and I call “the camping trip from Hell”.
Which leads us to now. A few moments ago I stepped forward so that Voldemort could kill me. I’m sure people would like to call it a heroic sacrifice made in the heat of the moment; the truth, as always, is disappointingly boring.
I’ve known for a long time that it would come down to this. Even without it being part of the prophecy, there’s no way Voldemort would allow this to end any other way. And there’s no way I’m going to let it end with Voldemort still being alive. The whole thing with me offering myself up as a sacrifice probably seems counter-intuitive but the others know what needs to be done. If things go to plan, those should be underway right now.
Everything that has happened in my life has led up to now, from the prophecy, to the end of the first war, to being placed with my aunt and uncle. Everything has been to prepare me to be able to do this. The lives of thousands of people, both magical and muggle alike, are relying on me.
I wish I could say something emotional and meaningful like, “It is with a heavy heart that I step forward to accept this responsibility, even knowing that the people I love will be safe,” but the truth is I just feel numb. I’ve had years to prepare myself for this eventuality, and the people I truly loved and looked up to are already gone. I’m left here with people I care about but to whom I’ve never shared, or no longer share, a deep connection with.
I can hear, now, the Dark Lord’s nasally voice (how that’s possible when you have no nose at all is beyond me) uttering his signature catchphrase: Avada Kedavra. I close my eyes as green light fills my vision. That piercing green light that used to give me nightmares is now a comforting blanket against the cold reality of what I know is about to happen.
As the light gets brighter, images play through my mind of what could have been; of a future where I didn’t end up standing here, willingly taking the Killing Curse to save the lives of countless others.
The green light fully engulfs my vision, even through my closed eyes, and everything goes quiet. There are no more jeering Death Eaters, no sounds from the forest around me, just silence. There’s solid, flat, ground beneath me and a soft, white light filtering through my still-closed eyes, and I realise I’m lying down now when I was standing just a moment ago. Finally, I open my eyes once more to see an expanse of pure white– and that I’m starkers but I can’t really bring myself to care too much about that. I’d much rather know where the fuck I am right now.
“I believe the most appropriate term for that would be Limbo,” comes a voice from beside me, and suddenly I very much care about my current lack of clothing.
The voice lets out a soft chuckle, which I’m certain I recognise, and I look over to see a very familiar face.
Great, of course the old bastard is here. Just because he was correct in the end doesn’t make me hate him any less for what I went through thanks to him.
“Interesting. I thought this form, being so familiar, would be of comfort to you in my realm. It seems I miscalculated,” apparently-not-Dumbledore says somewhat absently before gradually morphing in front of my eyes. Whatever form they’ve taken now is still humanoid but I can’t actually make out anything specific. It’s as though there are several forms layered over each other, fighting each other in my mind.
It’s probably impolite to stay lying on the ground like I am but I just can’t find the energy to care. It’s comfortable enough, plus it’s the first time in months I’ve been able to rest. I should probably actually speak to this being, though, instead of attempting to communicate in my head, which is frankly creepy and probably not very effective, given my prior attempts at any kind of mind magic.
“Sorry if this is rude but… since you’re not Dumbledore, who are you?” I finally bring myself to ask. It’s the first word I’ve said aloud in this place; even before somehow arriving here, the only words I had spoken since the start of the battle were spells and even most of those were cast wordlessly.
The being sits down (I think. Their constantly shifting form makes it hard to tell. They’re not as high above me anymore, though, so I assume that’s what happened.) and I decide that I do care enough to at least sit up. I see that at some point I gained clothes, which is rather thoughtful of this place.
“My name is not intelligible to mortals, let alone humans. You may, however, refer to me as Death.”
I startle, looking more closely at the being in front of me.
“So I’m dead, then?” I ask. I certainly don’t feel dead.
Death chuckles again, and this time I can hear an otherworldly quality at the edges.
“Not at all. As I mentioned earlier, you’re in what I like to call Limbo. It is a place that exists between the worlds of the living and the dead.” They pause for a moment, and just as I’m about to ask why I’m here, they continue. “Because of the horcrux placed inside you, the Killing Curse brought you here. There are two connections to the world of the living within you, and another between yourself and the fragment of Voldemort’s soul, thus even the Killing Curse cannot sever your connection to life completely.”
That explains quite a lot, actually, but not enough.
Death sighs, and places a hand on each of my shoulders.
“I chose you as my champion, long before your birth. You may return to your body at the moment you were struck, which is a privilege you have earned many times over. You may also choose to move on into my realm, should you so prefer. I can feel your connection to life fading as we speak, and your lack of pain or discomfort in my presence is a sign that you have little time to tarry here.”
I look away from Death’s piercing gaze to see that the space around us has darkened to a light, smoky grey– wait, since when could I make out the details of Death’s face?
I shake off that thought, remembering the question that has been on my mind this entire time.
“Why would I want to go back?”