He was put off slightly at the apparent normalcy of it all. One would suspect there was more fanfare in death and what came beyond. Death was a mystery; the living can only imagine what lay ahead. It was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying to no longer have to wonder. After releasing a fortifying breath and steeling his nerves, Harry alighted from the train.
His foot found purchase on forest ground, rife with slowly decaying leaves and scattered twigs. Taking careful stock of his surroundings, he noticed that few roots were visible, and that the bushes grew thick. Navigating might be a small hassle from here on out; there were trees as far as the eyes could see, though it was at least bright, with sunlight shining through spaces in the canopy.
Oddly enough, the smell of the surrounding area reminded him of the forbidden forest. He found it ironic that he'd taken a train to ride to what was, essentially, the same location he had departed from. He blinked a few times, astounded by his mundane thoughts. Perhaps this was all an illusion to soften the blow, so to speak? Guesswork aside, he shook his head as if to ward away more thoughts. That done, he chose a direction at random then started walking.
"Next great adventure, indeed," he muttered sardonically. Wasn't this supposed to be a more climactic point in his life? Oh, wait. Existence? Shaking his head slightly, he only idly noted that the train behind him was gone. Looking around again, he wondered: what was there to do now, after death?
As it turns out, there seemed to still be a lot to do after death. What felt like hours had passed and Harry still had no idea what to do and where to go. Worse, still, were all the sensations he thought he'd never have to deal with again. The loo was never really something he envisioned looking for in the afterlife. That said, neither were potable water and food, but by the itching in his throat and the grumbling of his stomach he needed to look for both, soon. Unfortunately, there was still no end to the forest.
Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice that his surroundings became almost preternaturally quiet. Minutes ticked by and he finally caught on, but it was only because of the tall hunched figure ahead of him: black fur, white bone, and what appeared to be monstrous strength. It looked like a demented werewolf. Foreboding red eyes zeroed in on emerald green. The world stopped.
Oddly enough, there was no fear left in him. Perhaps it was a side effect of having believed he passed on but, put in his current situation, Harry couldn't help but be curious instead. Death after death? It seemed silly, though intriguing. Even the prospect of pain didn't seem to bother him, and that in itself was worrying, but there was only a tentative calm as the creature approached, boned muzzle in the air as if looking for something more.
Then, incredibly, it nudged at his hand. The white mask was cool to the touch. As he marveled at the turn of events, he found himself rubbing behind its ears. The fur was tough, almost sharp, but he continued anyway.
Huh, thanks Hagrid.
Its throat rumbled at the motion, seemingly pleased. It broke away from him after a short while, and once again raised its head up into the now darkening sky. This time, it was to howl. The baying echoed off into the distance. Harry cringed at the volume, but was otherwise content to observe.
Soon enough, more of what seemed to be the same creature flocked towards their location. A pack, then. Each individual approached him just as the first had. That was fine; he had just about enough rubs for all four of them. Just as he did earlier, when he got off the train, he marveled at the seemingly innocuous normality of it all.
Somewhere in Beacon, a white-haired man sipped almost solemnly from his mug. His eyes were riveted to a screen in front him that was showing the impossible: non-hostile interaction with the grimm. Just who was this boy?