A/N: Inspired by In another life: wake up by lily-fox on DeviantART, and posted with her permission.

Disclaimer: Do not own characters, not even the concept is mine.


The pain was all-consuming. He was being ripped to shreds, and the years of bitterness, of wishes, of second-guessing and what-ifs, seemed as though they had been in vain. There was nothing, except this white-hot pain, searing through his entire being. Venom was spreading through his blood, freezing cold and scalding hot, and also a little bit like an anaesthetic as his mind grew confused, his vision foggy. It was the end, he knew it for sure. She was gone already, and somewhere he hoped he may be able to meet her, but what did it matter? She had been gone, and now all his most treasured memories of her were escaping, evaporating, dying with him. But maybe he could still do something, maybe he could…

He wasn't sure if Harry was actually going to collect them. He knew enough about poison to realize that all this could be hallucination. He was no longer sure of anything except the feeling that he was fading, and his vision was filling with black patches, then paling, then blackening again. Let this be over, he thought, and he dug his fingernails into the hand that he could feel was gripping something else. The boy's robe? Maybe, if he was even here.

And then it was over. Just like that, it was over. Death didn't feel painful. It felt… oddly soft. Quite fluffy, really.

Fluffy?

From behind his closed eyelids he could see bright orange, and the light felt warm. Maybe it was the fire of hell, but it didn't feel unpleasant. Wait, hell? Where did that notion come from, exactly? He'd never heard the likes of it. What was that? He was a wizard, he didn't know everything, but he surely knew there was no hell.

A wizard?

What on earth was he thinking?

Wizard, a likely story.

Well, nothing else for it but to open his eyes.

In front of him was a little girl. A sweet little thing, with big bright eyes and thick shiny hair. He wasn't quite sure who she was, but somehow he felt that she was very important. And a long-forgotten emotion poured over him, that unreserved affection that he'd never let himself feel after… after what? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that there was a delicious smell of pancakes in the air and he had one hell of a dream to tell to his wife.

But by the time he'd come downstairs, he'd forgotten it. Sometimes, shreds of the dream would come back to him, many years later, but he would forget them before he could even grasp them. There was a fear and sadness somewhere at the back of his mind, but as he watched his daughter grow up, as he watched his wife grow older and ever more beautiful, it dissipated more and more. This was real life.