The Guardian
Summary:
It's no coincidence Harry's managed to survive things that have defeated smarter men. One parent sacrificed her life for him. The other is sacrificing his death. will be done in three parts
Author's Note :
Well, I haven't written anything Harry Potter in a really, REALLY long time, and out of the blue this idea just popped out of nowhere and I made myself start writing it. The second part is underway and it's going to be more like a three part one-shot than anything. This first part is really weird/confusing, but the second part will make more sense. I was in a sort of crappy mood when I wrote this (if you couldn't tell) but it gets lots more upbeat and/or interesting. Oh, on a side note: this does address some spiritual themes, and I want to make it clear that I'm agnostic. I don't know exactly how preachy/religious this comes off, but I'm not trying to force my own personal opinions on anybody. I was brought up Catholic but I've chosen to pursue a different religion than the rest of my family and this is just a random idea I had about what death might be like. So, phew, basically what I'm trying to say is please don't get offended or anything; my intention isn't really for this to be an allegory. Gah, anyways, I'd love some feedback, so if you get a chance, drop me a line!
--
Part One:
The Waiting Room
James has learned one very important thing from being dead.
The dead, he muses, are wiser than the living.
People always think that death is the end, like there's nowhere left to go. Even people who claim to believe in Heaven and Hell don't see any good to it; they cling onto their lives so desperately, too terrified to not exist, to simply be gone—merely a memory—that they will do everything in their power for another breath of air, another moment to feel the warmth of the sun on their faces.
James wishes he could tell them all that life is overrated. Because you know what? James now sees the world for what it is: a shitty place, and he wonders why he wanted to keep his life so dearly now that he sees everything he couldn't see before he died, knows all the secrets kept from him. He wonders why he thought that life mattered so much, because in the grand scheme of things, it didn't. He was so easy to defeat, so simple to kill. Human beings are so utterly fragile it's almost laughable.
That's another thing about being dead, see.
You start to forget why people want to be alive.
Human emotions are foreign to you; you observe everything objectively, see every side of the story, hate nothing, love nothing, fear nothing. It is peaceful, in a way. Emotion is so volatile that it's easy to become a slave to it—James was that way himself, he recalls dispassionately. He once loved a woman so deeply it often tortured him, once hated a man with such fierce intensity he nearly destroyed a life because of it, once cared so genuinely for three men, gave them his friendship and loyalty, that when one of them betrayed him he didn't even realize it was happening until it had.
James is finished with all of that now, and happy to be so. Love, anger, loyalty, rage—they mean nothing, and he is glad he cannot feel them. He doesn't remember why those things ever controlled him so to begin with.
When you die, your life flashes before your eyes. You see everything that has ever happened to you in the space of a second (including the things you didn't know about), everything you did, said, thought—and strangely, every single thought anyone ever thought about you, everything anyone did to you, said to you. All at once, you grieve for yourself, hate yourself, love yourself, say goodbye to yourself—and then you close your eyes, and when you open them, you are sitting in a room, much like a waiting room.
It has white floors, a white ceiling, a white reception desk, and white chairs.
It also has a white sign that says: PURGATORY.
James would have laughed if he had been alive, but now he feels nothing, not even curiosity. He glances around the room, sees a few people are already sitting in chairs. Some talk quietly, but mostly, they just sit there and stare blankly into space. James walks up to the receptionist desk and nods at the woman sitting there. She's dressed in white and looks unremarkable except for the fact that she has a faint glow about her, like she's radiating a soft, shimmering light.
"Name?" the woman asks crisply.
"James Potter," James answers.
"Yes, we've been expecting you," the woman says. "Have a seat until your name is called."
"All right," James says, and turns to sit. Suddenly though, he remembers Lily, wonders if she died too. More because it seems like the right question to ask than because he really cares or not, he asks the receptionist, "Has my wife been here?"
"No," the receptionist says without bothering to check. For some reason, she looks slightly sad. "She's in a different place, dear. You won't be seeing her for a while."
"Oh," James says, and he goes to sit down.
--
"What do you think it is we're waiting for?" a man with blonde hair, an American accent, and a hole in the side of his head asks.
"I don't know," James answers. "This is Purgatory. We're supposed to be waiting for redemption, I guess."
"Yeah." The man pauses. "I'm Langdon," he offers.
"James."
"How'd you die?"
"Avada Kedavra," James answers at once. "Voldemort found me at last."
"Shame," Langdon sighs.
"And yourself?" James asks after a long pause.
"Drive-by shooting." Langdon points to the hole in his head.
"Pity," James replies politely.
Then, because there is nothing left to say, they each resume staring at the ceiling.
--
Everybody in the waiting room has been called, even the people who got here after James did. James doesn't mind; it's not like he has plans. Besides, he honestly has no concept or grasp of time, no anxieties, no boredom. He just sits and waits, and waits and sits, and stares at the ceiling. After a life full of action and years full of fighting, it's kind of restful.
"Potter, James," a voice suddenly calls through the silence. James looks up and sees a young man with dark eyes and a pleasant smile standing in front of him, holding a thick file. "Please come with me." James nods and stands, follows the man unquestioningly through the single door in the room. They walk together down a long, empty hall, past doors labeled Redemption, Damnation, Orientation, and One Last Chance, before the young man stops at one with a sign on it that says Judgment.
They enter, and James notes that it is empty, save for two chairs. The young man says,
"Please have a seat."
James does.
"Now James, this is your lucky day," the young man announces without preamble, also seating himself. "I've reviewed your file, and it happens that you have a chance for Redemption."
"Could I ask why I'm here?" James looks at the man, idly wondering who he is.
"Certainly!" He looks pleased. "I suppose I should explain. James, my name is Peter. I decide who goes to Heaven and who does not."
"Oh." James nods.
"Now, you're here because you, like almost every single other human being, have unfinished business."
"I see." James nods again. He did leave a lot behind, back in Life. He really hasn't thought about it much until now.
"You sinned, James, but He is giving you a chance to atone for that. You are, once again, not unlike the rest of your kind in this, for everybody sins. You have actually spent less time here in Purgatory than most."
"I don't feel anything," James observes. "I don't even know how long I've been here."
"Ten years, by mortal time," Peter says.
"That long? Hm." James raises an eyebrow.
"Purgatory extinguishes emotion," Peter explains, almost apologetically. "I'm afraid it's part of the deal. In a few moments though, that could all change. Now, James, if you're interested in repentance, we've decided to make you a Guardian."
"Guardian," James repeats. "As in…angel?"
"No, James, you will not be an angel. You are a man." Peter smiles as if this should be obvious. "Guardians protect people, keep them safe, bring them happiness, occasionally. We only assign Guardians to those who need them most—and you have the fortune, once again, to be assigned to someone very familiar!"
"Okay," James agrees. "For how long?"
"Until he no longer needs you," Peter says. "In this case, you will be assigned to him for eight years. By then, you will have repaid your debt…and he will not need you to watch over him."
"Where will I go?" James asks. "After that?"
"Heaven," Peter says simply. "You were a good person. We do not send good people to Hell."
"But you said I sinned."
"Did I not tell you? Everybody sins. Many people pay far more dearly than you shall for their actions in Life. There are few who do not pass through here. There are, of course, Special Cases, who go either directly to Hell or directly to Heaven." He beams at James. "Like Lily."
"Lily. She must be in Heaven."
"Yes."
"Why is she a Special Case?"
"She made a great sacrifice," Peter explains. "We would have probably made her a Guardian as well, but she protected without our help. She was a powerful witch, and a good woman."
"Yes," James agrees, because it is the truth. He sighs, then asks Peter, "And who will I Guard, then?"
"Your son." Peter smiles yet again. James wishes he remembered how to do that.
"Harry. He lived?"
"Yes. He needs you, James."
"All right." James nods.
"Now, listen to me. You have two other choices, which I should mention now." Peter leans in. "You can choose to return to earth as ghost. Ghosts are visible to Wizarding kind, of course, and remain human. They forget this experience and choose to spend eternity on earth because they are afraid of what will happen next or aren't strong enough to complete their repentance."
"No, I won't do that." James is indifferent, but he vaguely recalls feeling sorry for ghosts when he was alive. If he will experience human emotion again, he does not want it to be self-pity.
"Very well." Peter reviews the thick file. "James, you can also chose to remain here, in Purgatory. Let me be perfectly clear: if you become a Guardian, it is merely a chance to have a better afterlife, to go to Heaven, to be truly happy. You will sacrifice your Death, your right to rest-in-peace for a long time should you choose to Guard. You can make a Death for yourself here, in Purgatory—working reception, perhaps returning to earth occasionally to answer a prayer. It will be peaceful, simple, uneventful. You will not be happy, but it won't matter to you, because you will not be able to feel. You had a hard life, an eventful one, and it is understood if you wish to remain in this place. It is not bad here, as I'm sure you've noticed."
James pauses to consider this. He doesn't like Purgatory, but then again, he can feel nothing—can barely remember what it is to feel anymore. Peter is right: it is peaceful here, something he barely knew in life. For a moment, he almost says yes.
Almost.
Maybe it's because it's Harry and somewhere he remembers loving his son. Maybe it's because he thinks Lily would want this, and somewhere, that matters to him. Maybe it's because he remembers what it was like to be James—the real, alive James—for a split second.
For whatever reason, James looks at Peter and says quietly,
"No. I'll be a Guardian."
"I thought so." Peter grins. "Now, you will be invisible to everybody, James, even wizards. Even Harry. That is part of the burden you must bear, for when you return to earth, you will feel again, feel the same things you did in Life, become the man you once were. You are, for a third time, lucky enough that you will Guard one who you love unconditionally. It will make it difficult to see his suffering and not give be able to physically comfort him, but also easier for you to protect him."
"If I'm invisible, how will I protect him?"
"Creatively," Peter says dryly. "Don't worry. It is all part of the plan, what you will do. It is what you are meant for, He has chosen you for it, and wants you to know that He believes in your strength, that you have the means to endure this."
"He?"
Peter lifts his eyes upwards, his smile as bright as ever.
"Some call Him God," he says softly. "Others call Him nothing, or do not believe in Him. The truth is, He is everything and nothing, neither male nor female, nothing humans can truly comprehend. It is simpler for you to have your ideas about Him, put Him in a book, worship from afar. Or to simply choose to deny Him."
James doesn't know what to say, so he merely stares at Peter, allowing this to sink in.
"Well," Peter says at long last, "you have made your choice, so I'll take you to Redemption. Let's go."
They stand, walk out of the Judgment room and back down the hall, stopping when they reach the room marked Redemption.
"Any last questions?" asks Peter.
"Yeah." James looks at the door, scuffs his shoe along the floor. "Will I be able to get revenge on Wormtail?"
"No," Peter says at once. "It is not for you to sort out, He will take care of it. You are to focus only on Harry, and Guarding him. Should you attempt to harm Wormtail, this Redemption will be revoked, and you will return to Purgatory where you will be re-Judged and given One Last Chance."
"All right, I understand. Just one last thing."
"Of course."
"How come you're sending me to Harry now? Why not earlier?"
"He is about to be in very grave danger," Peter says solemnly.
"But why?"
"History has a habit of repeating itself, James," Peter murmurs sadly. "And now you must go." James nods, squares his shoulders.
"Goodbye," he says, because he might not be back. The door swings open, light spilling out into the hall.
"Good luck," Peter tells him, and then James takes a step forward, and lets the brightness wash over him like sunlight.