"Night, too, shall be beautiful. And blessed, and its fear will pass." –Annie Lennox, 'Use Well the Days'
He never thought that it would end like this. He had always figured Voldemort would kill him before some stupid speeding car did the job. But Voldemort has been dead for over a year now. So Harry had foolishly begun assuming that he would live forever, or at least until he was very old.
As he lies on the cold ground, he is struck by the bitter irony of the fact that he has managed to kill the world's darkest wizard, but that it will be a simple car that finishes him off, nothing more than a drunk driver spinning out of control on a snowy December evening.
He can see his breath in the bitingly cold air. It is such a strong visual reminder that he is still alive, that there is still air pumping through his lungs. But before his very eyes, the breaths are growing shallower and slower.
He fleetingly wonders how much time he has left. An hour? Minutes? Seconds? But time has lost all meaning at this point. Maybe he has been lying here for years, just waiting to die. Maybe that's all he's been doing his whole life, just waiting to die.
Some days he thinks he might be able to begin living now that Voldemort is gone. But other days he looks in the mirror and sees his tired, haggard countenance and feels like he has been struggling his way through this life for eons and eons. This is one of those times. He thinks of his famous lightning bolt scar, the scar that the entire wizarding world knows. But he has so many scars that run deeper that no one can see. He thinks of all his old hurts, his anger at the Dursleys. And he lets it go and forgives them. There's no point in being angry now. He wants to die free of anger and grudges.
His mind drifts to all the things that hasn't gotten to do yet. Like marrying Ginny. And becoming an Auror. And being a dad. He feels tears of regret sting the back of his eyes as he realizes he will never do any of those things. He will never eat another meal at the Burrow again, never share a joke with Ron or tease Hermione about being so smart again. He wishes he could have just one more butterbeer. Or maybe a piece of Lupin's chocolate. Something warm and soothing. Because he feels very cold and numb now. Night is falling, the last vestiges of the sunlight disappearing beyond the horizon, just as he knows he will disappear soon. How apropos, Harry thinks, as he watches the sun sink for a final time. It is both the twilight of the day and the twilight of his life. It had been such a beautiful day, and Harry thinks wistfully of the snowman he had built with Ginny this just this morning. He wishes it could have lasted. But, he reflects as he looks at the glittering stars, the night holds its own kind of beauty. And so the night comes.
Minutes pass and he wishes he wasn't alone. It is so very dark now, and he feels so very vulnerable and scared. So un-Gryffindorish. But, he supposes, death strikes a chord of fear in the hearts of all, even the bravest of Gryffindors. He had always known he might die in the war against Voldemort, hell; he had actually died to destroy the Horcrux within him. But this was different. Last time he knew that his sacrifice would save the lives of all his loved ones and ensure that no one else would die for him. But now it's just him, all alone, dying for no reason other than the fact that a drunk driver spun out of control while Harry took an evening walk. And now there's nothing to do but accept that there is no way to change his fate.
But he does wish he could see Hogwarts one more time, just to say goodbye to his first and only home. A brief hint of a smile crosses his lips as he remembers sitting in the boat with Ron and Hermione the first time they crossed the lake and saw Hogwarts. They were so young back then, not having a clue of what waited for them in the next seven years. Not knowing how drastically their world would change. But as Harry thinks about it, he wouldn't change anything for the world. No regrets, he tells himself. And suddenly he feels very at peace.
He's floating now. It's a very strange feeling, because he's still conscious of the cold snow that he is lying in on the side of the road. Yet at the same time he's aware of two bright shapes moving towards him. Maybe he's going crazy from head trauma. But he finds that it's hard to care about anything when he is drifting between these two strange worlds. The one he comes from is so filled with pain and suffering, yet he still finds it hard to leave and go to the next life. He struggles with himself, remembering that he should fight this, that he should try for Ron and Hermione and Ginny's sake. But he's very warm and comfortable now. The strange shapes are right beside him. He feels strong arms picking him up and looks up to see his Dad smiling down at him. His mother is nearby too, standing beside him and James and gently brushing the permanently-untidy hair from Harry's eyes. A lump grows in his throat as he inhales the long-forgotten scent of his mother's perfume.
"Mum. Dad," Harry whispers brokenly in wonder, knowing that he sounds like a small child but not caring.
"Harry, love, you've done such a good job. We're so proud of you," Lily says. Her voice is more beautiful than any song Harry has ever heard.
"I have to go back. Ron and Hermione and Ginny," Harry begins weakly. But he knows that there will be no returning this time. No Sorcerer's Stone to keep him alive forever. No third chance. He will now live only through memories and history books. But it's ok. He has already escaped actual death once, now it's his time to go. That's just how it works. He has danced around Death far too many times to get away again. But he feels obligated to try for his friends' sakes.
"Son, it's time to go. They're all waiting for you. Sirius and Remus and Fred and Tonks and Dumbledore and even Snape," James says gently.
"I'm so tired," Harry says. And he truly is. Though he has only lived 18 years, its feels like it's been several lifetimes. He knows that he will see Ron and Hermione and Ginny again someday. And with that knowledge, he's ready to go...
"I know, sweetie. Just close your eyes and we'll be home very soon," Lily says, brushing the tears from Harry's cheeks. Home. Harry feels himself finally giving in, detaching completely from his body and floating away, grounded by his father's embrace. His last thought is a brief memory of sitting with Ron and Hermione and Ginny in the Gryffindor Common Room and joking around about ways to get Malfoy expelled. Not a spectacular or particularly moving last thought, especially from the boy-who-lived-only-to-get-hit-by-a-car-and-die. But a very honest last thought of all that was good in this world. It infuses him with the strength to move on. And as Harry's parents carry his soul towards the final train at King's Cross in a strange little parade, he can't help but smile, feeling younger and freer than he can ever remember feeling. So this is how the "savior" of this wizarding world goes, he thinks. Cold, broken, and shattered. But never alone, his subconscious adds as an afterthought, and finally truly happy.