Author's Note:
First off: I IS OWNING NOTHINGS! Except my clothes and my pillows. I'm pretty sure I own those. I think.
Second off: I can't BELIEVE there isn't a story with this idea yet! If there is, then somebody please point me towards it, because I really wanted to read one. My current lack of one to read is, of course, why I am, instead, writing one. Lemme know what you think!
"You, Daniel Fenton, are in a very unique situation."
The young man frowned up at his long-time mentor and friend.
"What do you mean, Clockwork?"
The pint-sized ghost gazed at him, serious and stern as always. "Every human being, when they die, can choose either to pass on immediately, or to tether their soul to this plane of existence as a ghost, dooming themselves to centuries of slow degradation in exchange for temporarily avoiding judgement."
Danny frowned. "What does that mean for me, since I'm already half-ghost? I wasn't exactly handed an options list when I died, or partly-died, or whatever, in the Fenton Portal…"
"And that is what makes your situation so unique," the Master of Time explained. "As a human, you still face the same choice that every human does. However, a portion of your spiritual energy is already permanently tied to this plane – your ghost half, as you call it – and will likely be left behind if you, as a human soul, choose to move on."
The halfa mulled over this revelation for a moment, flexing and extending his fingers thoughtfully as he watched a set of blue rings of light run up and down his forearm, switching it back and forth between ghostly glove and human skin. "What will happen to me, then? Will my… my soul, or whatever, be broken up between this world and the next? Part of me as a permanent ghost and part of me elsewhere, like with the Ghost Catcher incident? Or are you saying that my soul would move on and just leave… what? a random blob of energy or ectoplasm or something behind like a fingerprint?"
"To be perfectly honest, Daniel," Clockwork began, a glint of something almost like excitement flashing through his red eyes so quickly that Danny almost missed it, "I don't know."
Danny blinked at the grandfatherly figure and stuck a finger in one of his ears to clean it out because Clockwork couldn't have actually said what he thought he did. "What?"
The taller ghost dropped a blue-tinged hand to the young man's shoulder and guided him towards the door of the clock tower. "This, Danny Phantom, is a decision that you must make on your own. You have twenty-four hours, like every human."
Both men stopped in the doorway, and on impulse the younger turned and pulled the elder into a brief hug before sailing away across the expanse of green. The other watched him go.
"No, I don't know," he muttered. His shape flickered, then his mouth curved into a buck-toothed smile. "But I can guess."
All anyone really knew for sure was that the Dark Lord had vanished without a trace, and so had the young Potter boy. They left behind them only the curse-torn bodies of James and Lily Potter, two of the greatest heroes of the war, and the smoking ruins of the cottage where they had been hidden.
Despite the scarcity of solid, factual evidence, however, the wizarding world was quick to celebrate The Daily Prophet's declaration of Voldemort's death and Albus Dumbledore's declaration of little Harry Potter's survival and safe relocation. It would be many long years before any of them questioned their decision.
While wizards and witches across Europe congratulated themselves on cleaning up the remaining Death Eaters and finishing the work Harry Potter had started, the little boy himself lay tucked in a basket in a small broom cupboard, his wide, emerald eyes glowing dimly in the darkness.