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For some reason, Harry Potter had always imagined that death would be a loud experience. He would be forcibly ripped from the world, torn like a missed stitch in a giant tapestry. He had always thought his life would pass before his eyes, a collage of all the moments that meant the most to him, roaring by him, too fast to touch.
Instead, death was quiet. It snuck up on him. Oh, he always went into battle prepared to die, and he lived his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for some attacker, but he hadn't expected to actually die. He was just prepared for that eventuality.
As the curse hit him, tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his last vision of the mortal world. There was only one loud sound – a sudden crack as though a door were being slammed shut. With something akin to horror, Harry found himself floating above his body, looking down on the twisted remains of a victim of the Avada Kedavra, a sight he had seen before. It had just never been quite this intimate.
He was floating now, up and away. He could hear Ginny's tortured screams as she ran to his body, and he wanted to get to her to comfort her, to tell her that for some reason, he just knew everything was going to be all right now. He was warm all over, a warmth that he'd only found in the security of Mrs. Weasley's hugs, and there was an overwhelming sense of sunshine, though he knew England was, as ever, gray.
Time slowed down, became nonexistent. He could not tell how long the journey up was. The voices of his friends, the people he had come to know his family, both seemed farther away, untouchable, and yet closer, ringing in his ears. Every loving moment of his life passed in front of his eyes as he watched – the instant he and Ron had made friends with Hermione after the troll, his first real hug from Mrs. Weasley in his fourth year, the tender kisses he'd shared with Ginny.
As the atmosphere darkened, so did the scenes flying by him. Still moving upward, he relived every confrontation with Voldemort, from his first year to what should have been his seventh. He recalled the times he had fought with Ron, or been moody or unfair to his friends, teachers… Professor Dumbledore.
Suddenly, what had been a hazy picture sharpened. He recalled his last moments on Earth with stunning clarity. He saw the curse leave Voldemort's wand, headed for Ginny Weasley. He saw himself jump in front of that lethal green stream of light…
…And he saw himself die.
He saw the funeral, Ginny draped in black, silent tears rolling down her face; Hermione, standing next to Ron with her head buried in his shoulder. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley mourn him as they had mourned the loss of Percy. He saw Remus, standing in the back, worn and tired and he somehow knew it would not be long before he saw his old professor.
Harry Potter, a gentle voice said, wrapping him in warmth. I, too, gave My life for love. I welcome you to the home of My Father.
His soul became light, a vision in purity. His body, gone, though he still had form. He saw his parents, standing at the edge of a gate, waiting for him.
He was home.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Please review.