Albus Dumbledore waited patiently on a bench in Kings Cross Station. This was not unusual; he had been to Platform 9 ¾ to take the Hogwarts Express many times, first as a student, then as a professor and finally as headmaster. But never before had he been there as a ghost.

Perhaps ghost isn't the best way to put it. Technically speaking, the Albus Dumbledore in the train station was the projection of a dead man in the subconscious of a living being. And if we are to be entirely accurate, the train station was not actually Kings Cross (although this was already evident by the absence of people and the hospital-like cleanliness that any public place is incapable of acquiring in reality) and Albus was not expecting a crimson train to take him away. Alone but for a whimpering pile of rags in the corner, Albus was waiting for the boy whose brain he occupied; one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who at the moment was walking through the Forbidden Forest to a final confrontation with the Dark Lord.

ooOooOooOooOoo

Harry Potter was unusually calm for someone about to die. At first glance, one could mistake him for a man going for a stroll with nothing to worry him except thoughts about tonight's dinner or tomorrow's meeting. However, closer inspection showed flaws in his mask. His walk was too purposeful to be mistaken for a casual meander, and the falsity of his face's tranquility was betrayed by a determined fire in his eyes. Of course, no one walks through the Forbidden Forest without worries unless he has no care about what happens to his person, and Harry Potter, while still breathing had long since given himself up to death. He would meet his end with no regrets. Harry had spoken to his parents through the resurrection stone (which he had used and then promptly tossed deep into the forest) and knew that happiness would be there for him in the great beyond. It was not that he didn't love his living friends. He did, with the entirety of his lion-sized heart. In fact, it was for them that he was ready to set out upon "the next great adventure" a little earlier than expected. His martyrdom would be seen as tragic, the end of an era, the loss of hope for the Light, but he had faith in his friends that they would live and fight on until all the darkness had left the world. And when they died, in a far off future, they would all meet again.

Victorious shouts reached his ears as he approached an area of thinning trees. Someone was shooting up sparks of multicolored light in celebration, unknowingingly mimicking the effect of a muggle fireworks display. Even Death Eaters can create something beautiful, Harry mused. He smiled sadly, took a deep breath and stepped into the clearing.

The Death Eaters' talking died down instantaneously, as if those present had been hit by a blanket silencio. The wizard conjuring the sparks stopped at his entrance. Harry mourned their absence.

"Ah. The great Harry Potter has arrived at last" Sarcasm dripped from Voldemort's words. "The poor hero, ready to die for his friends. Any last words?"

Harry took another step forward, spine straight, chin raised, refusing to rise to the taunts. Eyes of emerald and blood red met in a fierce look. No hatred or fear passed from green to crimson, just a knowing sense of perception and resignation. Tension gathered as the two stood, a connection so strong a string of energy seemed to form between the two, much like the golden threads of Priori Incantatem had three years previous. And, as he had the first time, Lord Voldemort was the first to crack. He wrenched his gaze away as hatred for the boy overwhelmed him. Almost unconsciously, the Dark Lord raised his wand arm and aimed at the silent figure across from him.

"Avada Kedavra!" he cried into the quiet night.

A furious emerald beam of energy struck Harry in the chest. He remained standing for one long second, then fell to the ground gently as a tree. The light of the wizarding world was gone.

ooOooOooOooOoo

Albus Dumbledore was still sitting motionless on the bench when a rumble startled him out of thought. He leapt to the side with great agility for his age (although the dream state cannot differentiate between old and young anymore than it can living from dead) just moments before a large chunk of plaster ceiling landed on the wooden bench, snapping it in two and sending splinters of wooden shrapnel flying across the platform. He dodged another bit of rubble as the shaking grew more intense. The creature in the blankets began to wail, not the cry of a small, terrified child, but an unearthly, inhuman screech of unimaginable agony. The bundle seemed to grow taller and the shrieks, while not diminishing in volume, became lower in pitch. Enormous tremors knocked Dumbledore to the floor. For a brief moment, Albus saw Harry Potter, standing like an angel in the midst of chaos, eyes closed, emanating peace. Then the moment passed, and Harry Potter vanished.

The previously pristine white surroundings were instantly replaced by those of shining obsidian. In his shock, Albus barely registered the fact that the earth had stopped shaking. He stared aghast at the tall, cloaked being stepping out of the blankets. It turned, and dark bloodshot eyes kept him paralyzed where he lay.

"You lost, Dumbledore," the creature hissed. "This is my mind now."

Everything faded in a cacophony of high-pitched laughter.

ooOooOooOooOoo

"fell gently to the ground gently as a tree": 50 house points to whomever can guess the book reference (Hint: it's not Harry Potter!)

I hoped you all liked it! Please review with comments and criticism. I'm always open to suggestions!

Disclaimer (at the end because I hate when it breaks up the pace at the beginning of the story): I do not own Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. Please review anyway. I receive significantly less mail than she does and will reply to your comments.