Look at earth from outer space
Everyone must find a place

Being a wizard - that was his identity. He clung to it like lucky charm, like a security blanket, like a friend that would fall if he let go. What was he without it? Who was he without it?

Nobody.

Unwanted, unloved. His life had been aimless, an endless cycle of rumbling tummies, disciplinary beatings, and emotional abuse. He had been worthless, unimportant.

A burden, nothing more.

And now he was that once more. A burden. His life for the lives of his friends?

"On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor."

It was no contest.

He trudged to his death - his mind in turmoil, his heart burning, his feet protesting with every step.

His heritage, this world - it had saved him. He was wanted here. He was loved. Not just because he was The Boy Who Lived, not just because of his fame.

There were people who loved him, Harry.

He imagined them crying - for him, for Remus, for Tonks, for Fred, for Colin, for Dumbledore...

He wanted to cry, too.

But he kept walking.

Give me peace of mind and trust
Don't forget the rest of us.
Give me strength; reserve control
Give me heart and give me soul.

They all stared at him, shocked, excited, crazy. Voldemort stared at him and smiled.

"Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived...come to die."

Goodbye.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Wounds that heal and cracks that fix.
Tell me all your politik.

The green light was blinding - surrounding him, consuming him, fading into black nothing.

The sound of drums was everywhere and nowhere - boom boom. boom boom. - and he was nowhere, everywhere.

He wasn't a body, he wasn't a ghost. He was nothing, again, and he was lonely in this void between life and death.

He stayed, because he couldn't leave. He couldn't remember how to think. He couldn't think to remember. He just was, and time passed, or it didn't. He didn't know, but he didn't care, and he didn't care that he didn't care.

He felt nothing.

But give me love over, love over, love over this

The black washed away in a tide of white light that blinded him for but a second.

.

He was alive.

Or he was dreaming.

Is this King's Cross?

No.

He died.

He was dead.

Right?

Yes.

This isn't real.

This is in his head.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

He was dead. But he could be alive if he wanted to be.

Ron and Hermione were alive.

Voldemort was alive.

He would kill them if Harry stayed here. He'd kill them all.

"Then we say goodbye for the present."

And open up your eyes.

A/N: That was intense. Leave me a review and tell me what you thought?

Written for the Album Challenge, and the Star Light, Star Bright Challenge - Supernova category.