This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Caption is taken from "Dust Bowl Dance" as performed by Mumford & Sons.

First of all, let me tell you that I have planned and plotted and fantasied about this story for years but never had the guts to actually write it for fear of doing it an injustice. Suffice to say, it is a work in progress but I would like a reader's input before I continue. It is therefore obvious that I cannot promise to finish the story and naturally the plot and by default the warnings are severely subject to change, however I will keep you updated on their status if they do. Please let me know in the comments what you think, I beg of you. Enjoy! /Lotesse

Seal my heart and break my pride

I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide

Align my heart, my body, my mind

To face what I've done and do my time

There are theories that religions were created for a singular purpose. Others disagree and claim that humanity created these beliefs of the divine for a multitude of reasons. But even so, most tend to agree that death's unknown and therefore frightening embrace is, by far, the strongest cause. The answer to all questions surrounding it lies at the heart of most, if not all, faiths and systems of religious belief. Even humans not particularly devoted to one tend to form ideas of what death is supposed to be like. There are answers such as the comforting paradise, to the terrifying hell or variants thereof. Then there are answers such as reincarnation wherein death is but a new birth. Whether or not what happens after the dying moment is eternal is also an important question. Though of course, there are the brave humans – or perhaps they are really cowards – who believe that death is simply the end; the everlasting snuffing out of a previously burning flame of life.

Harry Potter was not unique in this. As a child, he might have rarely asked these questions. But he did ask them. He had heard, though he could not remember from where, of people who had had a near death experience. Some had claimed to have seen a welcoming light. Others had also claimed to have seen their lives flash before their eyes. Even if Harry couldn't think of another version it didn't so much matter; he liked that version. It was therefore natural for him to wonder what his parents had seen. This, he had felt, was trickier to answer since he hadn't known them. He hadn't known what their childhoods were like, what they had done in their school years and he knew nothing of their lives together and what might've been important enough to flash before their eyes. He had hoped, however, that it was something nicer than the Dursleys and their life at 4 Privet Drive. Suffice to say, a recurring nightmare of his was that of inevitable death and that he would have nothing better to see.

Never had he wondered which part was to him the most important: the light or the flashing images? Somewhere along the line he had considered them inseparable. And so when his dying moment was upon him, when the fear, pain and heat of battle released their grip on his body, Harry smiled when the expected light beckoned him. He reached with his hand as if to touch it. Tendrils of swirling light danced up his wrist, pulling him forwards and he happily followed. With every step taken his remaining worries melted into glowing nothingness. This extended to his body; as eternities passed – or perhaps no time at all – he was no longer taking steps, but existed rather as a floating haze towards the horizon. But the closer he moved, the wider the distance became. And Harry questioned: where was Hagrid's birthday cake, Ron's dirty nose or even Hermione's bushy hair? Why could he not see the Gryffindor common room's enchanted fires or the vast, open grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? How come there weren't any colourful beams of charms, jinxes or hexes whizzing by? Something stirred within him yet again and he wanted to turn back to where he knew all of these things existed but the light would not let him go. Still struggling against the swirls carrying him forwards, however, they evolved into shades of people.

"…Harry…" one of them whispered. "My poor boy…"

His shadow froze, chilling as it did so. "Mum?"

"Oh Harry…" his mother's voice broke something within Harry. He could faintly remember the frantic pleading words of a mother over her threatened child, but they were happy and playful in comparison to these… these heartachingly crushing ones. So sad, so painful, so shatteringly unfair were they that he cried out for a chance to simply cease existing altogether. But again his wish wasn't granted, as more and more shapes appeared out of the misty light and with them, more and more whispers. Vaguely, he distinguished the voices of his father and of Sirius and even of Cedric. But there were far too many of them to even account for people he had once known. Far too many to even account for the number of people who had died! Worse yet, they were moving towards him from all sides including from above and below. All around him tendrils of light appeared, trying but thankfully failing to claim him.

Harry tried to cry out to them, to shout that they should leave him alone. But he couldn't as a metallic sting like thousands of needle pricks spread throughout his mouth, down his throat and pooling in his guts. Meanwhile, body parts were slowly but ever quicker being returned to him, weighing him down until he had to fight to remain upright. Within him the pain grew into a searing inferno of white flames until there was no more room, until it had nowhere else to go but to burn through his skin in a desperate effort to remain alive. It shattered out of him in a deafeningly high crash and its shockwave took the whispering voices with it leaving him complete silence. Everywhere he could see there were infinitely many shards of glass hovering in utter darkness. Mirrored in all of them was a single image of his broken and hollow body suspended alone in their centre.

"You will live forever now, Harry, I am going to kill you and you are going to like it!"

Harry James Potter screamed.