The word "Avadakadavra" boomed through the entire dark forest, shaking everything. The force of the spell threw Harry backwards into a tree and his body smashed to the ground with a thud. He could feel himself drifting; dying. Beams of light penetrated his eyes and the woodland surroundings among him slowly started to disappear.
He thought he was truly gone, and that he was going to open his eyes to a world where he would finally unite with his parents, Sirius, and former teacher and friend Remus Lupin once again. He was mistaken.

He awoke with a gasp, desperately trying to catch his breath. But why did he feel so desperate? He was dead. It wasn't necessary for him to breathe, when the ghost of him wouldn't need it. He pinched at his throat, his fingers meeting the bulging adams' apple. The sweat poured from his forehead and armpits, soaking his plain grey t shirt that displayed the dark patches. With his spare hand, he ran his fingers through his hair-which was also drenched. He whipped his hand back in front of him and to his amazement, chunks of dry blood snagged at his fingernails. In disgust, he tried to flick them off.
His small breaths got out of control and became enormous gasps, like a dog panting after running up and down a field several times. He had only just gotten the chance to observe his surroundings. The walls and ceilings were sugary white; a blue curtain wrapped around the bed that he was trapped in, somewhat protecting but in other ways, restricting him from the freedom of the outside world. The tubes that sucked at his skin became him. Beside him, a large machine with numbers and lines bleeped every few seconds; it actually began to irritate him more.

The irritation progressed to anger. He tugged and struggled at the wires that grabbed his limbs. It stung as the suckers started to peel away; he gritted his teeth at the pain. The beeping rang louder and faster in his ears, like a shriek of Forks, the pet bird Dumbledore owned before he died. Suddenly, a man, which Harry recognised but couldn't understand why he was here, ran into the room and hauled him back down again and pinned him there. The man gathered the tubes that Harry had ripped out of him, and restored them to their places.
"Sir," the man said, "sir, calm down. You've just woken up from a coma. I understand that everything is a bit overwhelming for you."
"Ron-" Harry spoke between breaths. "-Volder-mort-Elder-wand-snake-die-".
Ron stepped back, his mouth hanging open in shock. My eyes bored into him. "You...you listened?" Ron mumbled anxiously.
"What?" Harry snapped.
"My stories...you...you heard me?"
"What stories? What are you on about, Ron?"
"The stories about...the wizarding world."
"They weren't stories, Ron! I've known I was a wizard since I was eleven years old!"
"No, sir...Harry..." His eyes gloomily dropped to the floor. "You're not a wizard...you believe you're a wizard because...I told you..."
"But...what?" Harry glowered at him.
"What really happened is," he explained in the same voice that he had when Harry was living in the wizarding world, if he really did live there, "you got into a car accident with your parents...about a year ago...you remained in a coma that whole time...until now."
Harry was reminded of the lie he was told by his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Pertunia that his parents had died in a car crash, and the truth from Hagrid that they were actually murdered by Lord Voldermort. He shot upright to look Ron dead in the eye.
"Are...are they still alive?" Harry questioned him, craving this one answer. Ron shook his head gravely.
"Your aunt and uncle arrived the day of the crash, but since then they've only visited every couple of months. They agreed to take you off life support, because it looked like you were never going to wake up, but...I didn't want to give up on you." Ron grabbed a chair next to Harry's bed and continued with his story.

"I sat here, every single day, and made up stories, about a world with wizards and witches. I told you that your parents had been killed by this evil dark wizard and that when you were eleven, you escaped your aunt and uncle to go to a school of magic. In that school, you met me...and a girl, called Hermione. We were all the best of friends. We had so many adventures and we saved lives. And then earlier I got to the part of the story where, you went to face Voldermort for the final time. It was my lunch break then, so I'd stopped there. And...you just woke up." Ron gave him a small smile; Harry just sat there gaping at him.
Something hard hit him in the centre of his chest. Like the force of the death curse, but forlonging, which made the pain excrutiating.
"My whole life...wasted...a lie..." Those were the last words Harry Potter said that day.
After five minutes of silence, a scuffing of feet and a squeaking of shoes occurred. A woman, with brown-gingery hair, darker than Ron's darted into the room and eyeing Harry in bewilderment. Hermione.
Her gaze switched to Ron, who was admiring her with the same look of awe he always showed whenever she said something crazy or intelligent.
"He-" she spluttered, "-he's alive?"
Ron nodded.