A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for QLFC Round 11.
Prompt: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Specifically, I'm drawing inspiration from the season 5 episode Forever and the season 6 episodes Bargaining Part 2, After Life, and Once More, With Feeling.
Optional prompts: (word) pattern; (location) St Mungo's; (quote) We all want to escape our circumstances, don't we? — Benedict Cumberbatch
This is an AU in which Harry isn't given the chance to come back during the Battle of Hogwarts. Instead, when he dies, he dies.
Also for the Build a Zoo Challenge with the prompt 'St Mungo's'.
Thank you to Emiliya Wolfe and The Lady Rogue for betaing.
Word count: 2852
Dim light. Warmth. Love. Silence. Freedom. Joy. Sheer, unadulterated joy.
Then, suddenly, darkness. Cold. Discomfort. Noise. Restraint. Resignation.
He doesn't know what to do for a moment, then he remembers. Eyelids; that's what they're called. He opens them, and his eyes squint in rejection of the harsh brightness surrounding him.
The noise gets louder. Voices. There's one word that they're saying more than others — a name?
Yes, a name, and not just any name; his name. Harry.
There's a blur of motion, and an object collides with him, squishing him, pushing him into the hard, stiff ground. Breath expels from his lungs at the sudden force, and a hoarse sound escapes his dry throat.
"Harry! Harry, can you hear me?" Something forces its way into his hand. It's warmer than anything else around him, but it still registers as cold and rough. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Where are they? What is this place? Why is he here?
Is this hell?
"You're squishing him, Ginny."
"Just squeeze my hand and — go away, Ron!"
"Harry!"
Harry tries to move his hand, but his muscles won't move. It's odd; he's not sore, just weak — weaker than he's ever been.
The world fades to black once more.
-x-
The next time Harry opens his eyes, he's in a small room. It's quieter here, but everything else is just as coarse and rough and overwhelming as last time. There's a heavy object covering him. It's white, the same as everything else, and there's a raised pattern knitted into it. He touches it with his hand, but after his endless drifting, even that small amount of pressure hurts.
Down here, everything is pain.
He doesn't know how long he stays there before someone realises that he's awake. In that time, he manages to remember the names of everything around him — a bed, a blanket, curtains, a pillow — as his mind slowly comes back to life.
But knowing what they are does little to explain why they're here. Or, more accurately, why he's here.
Squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut out at least some of the unwelcome sensations, he tries to piece together what happened. He died, offering himself up to Voldemort to make the dark wizard mortal — he remembers that much. Then, he went to that place of endless, thoughtless bliss. Now, he's here.
In hell, he thinks again. That means that the place before was purgatory. He doesn't know much about the place; his… aunt is Catholic, but his uncle isn't, so Harry never used to go to church. But he knows enough to know the basics.
Harry died and went to purgatory, but he was found wanting, so he was sent on to hell. That makes sense.
Except for the fact that it doesn't. Ron and Ginny are here — and they can't be in hell. That must mean that he isn't, either.
But where does that leave him?
The door opens and Ron, Ginny, and Hermione come into the room. Harry knows that he should be relieved that they all survived the final battle, and intellectually, he is. But somehow, that doesn't quite translate into feeling. Deep down, all he feels is anger.
"See?" Ron says, turning to Hermione. "He's here. He's fine."
Hermione scoffs. "He's here, alright, but I'm not sure that I agree with your definition of 'fine'. The Healer said he hasn't regained consciousness yet."
"From what you've been saying lately, I'd think you'd see that as a good thing," Ginny mutters. "It would be easier for you that way, wouldn't it? If he just never woke up?"
"Don't put this back on me, Ginny," Hermione replies, shaking her head. "Don't you realise what you did — what you risked?"
"He's alive. Why can't you just be happy about that? You didn't even have to get your hands dirty."
"Hermione," Ron says, his tone placating, "I get what you're saying; it felt wrong to me at first too. But Harry's alive. He… He's been fighting to create a world free of Voldemort for the better part of seven years. Now that we've finally succeeded, he deserves to be here to see it."
"He does. But not like this."
Part of Harry wants to stay silent so he can eavesdrop for as long as he can. But their voices are getting louder and a headache is starting to develop. He can't handle yet another source of pain right now.
His throat is dry and hoarse, but he forces out a single word: "Hullo."
Ron turns to him, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Harry!"
All three of them rush towards him, but he holds up his hands to stay their progress. "No hugs," he says. "Too sore."
"You're in pain?" Ginny asks. "The Healers didn't find any injuries… What did Voldemort do to you?"
Harry shakes his head. He doesn't have the words to explain it.
Ron's watching him, his gaze probing. It makes Harry feel like he's a chessboard that Ron is trying to analyse. Suddenly, his expression clears. "You must be confused. The Battle of Hogwarts took place six months ago. You… After you died, we killed Voldemort. Nev got the snake, and then a bunch of us swarmed Voldemort until one of us got a shot in. Gin and I have been looking for a way to bring you back ever since. Once we succeeded, we brought you here to St Mungo's so the Healers could take care of you."
"How…?"
"An ancient ritual. I found it in a book at Grimmauld Place." Ginny moves closer and, cautiously, reaches out to hold his hand.
He lets her. How could he possibly explain that objects and actions that they associate with comfort or pleasure now give him the exact opposite?
Harry glances over at Hermione. Conflict is etched across her face; her eyebrows are furrowed together, her mouth thin, her gaze wary. But when she sees him looking, she smiles, and there's a flicker of hope in her eyes.
"When do I leave?" he asks. He isn't ready yet; the world out there is even more intimidating than the world in here. But he needs to know what he's looking at.
In an instant, Hermione's expression falls. "It… it may not be for a while, Harry. The ritual Ron and Ginny used — "
"The Healers will want to keep an eye on you for a while." Ginny's tone is hard and pointed, leaving no room for further discussion.
Whatever she and Ron did to bring him back, they don't want him to know the details.
-x-
Two weeks pass before Harry's able to get Hermione alone. Throughout that time, all he knows is white walls, concerned Healers asking questions that he doesn't think he'll ever have answers to, and that blasted pattern on his blanket. They offer him entertainment, but he has never been a reader, and the radio is too loud. People visit occasionally, and he'll talk as a way of passing the time, but all he's really doing is distracting himself while he waits.
Finally, one day, she comes to visit on her own.
"Sorry I haven't been by much," she says. "It's just… uncanny. You've been dead for months, and I've grieved, and now you're back, and… Don't get me wrong; I'm glad to see you. But it's also…"
"Unnatural?" he supplies.
"Yeah. No matter how much I learn about magic, it's like there's always something else around the bend."
The words themselves are nothing new, but her tone surprises him. She sounds almost dejected — like, somehow, learning has lost its shine.
"Tell me about the ritual," he says, his fingers tracing along the raised pattern on the blanket in a way that has quickly become a habit in the time he's been in here. He finds that if he focuses on that coarse feeling, everything else fades away just that little bit.
"Harry… are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
A reluctant expression flits across her face. Then, her voice cool and eyes hollow, she starts to speak.
Most of the terms are too technical for his still-adjusting brain, but what he does understand terrifies him. Blood magic, unicorn sacrifices, and minor self-mutilation… Bile starts to rise in his throat, and it takes a conscious effort to push it back down.
He understands now why Hermione has been acting so uncharacteristically, flitting between being distant and taking veiled digs at Ron and Ginny. "How could they?"
"Because they love you, and because they lost so much." She sighs, and her voice grows quiet. Most people would have to strain to hear it, but for him, the drop in volume is a relief. "The Burrow… for the first few months, it was like a cemetery. Everyone was so quiet, so lost… It was like they were walking on eggshells all the time. And it's different for them; they've always been able to rely on magic to fix their issues. I think they hoped that if they brought you back, they'd be able to do the same for Fred, and then for everyone else as well."
"A quick fix to end all quick fixes."
"And an effective one, it seems. Of course, now that the authorities know what they did, they aren't going to let them do it again."
"When…" His fingers hesitate, and he presses them harder against the raised pattern. The last time he asked this question, she didn't give him a straight answer. "When can I leave?"
"When they're sure it's safe for you to leave."
"It's safe now," he says. "My mind's clearer, and I'm eating solid foods again. I walked the length of the room yesterday. What can they do here that they can't do at Grimmauld Place?"
"Harry…" Hermione blinks rapidly, and there are tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry, but they don't mean safe for you."
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. "You mean safe for everyone else. They think I might hurt someone."
"They don't know. The ritual is prohibited for a reason; it's just as likely to bring someone back evil as good."
"They think I might have defeated one dark wizard only to be turned into another."
"Is it really that surprising?" she asks. "They've been asking that question since you were one year old."
"I don't feel evil."
"Did Voldemort?" She sighs. "Ron said you wouldn't, you know. He said you could never be evil — that it's not in your nature."
That's something, at least. Still, Harry doesn't know what it's worth. If someone does a terrible thing out of love, do their motives absolve them of the blame? If they honestly think it won't hurt anyone, does that make it less immoral?
"They have a point, you know. I may not agree with their methods, but you do deserve to be here."
"Maybe I do," he replies, although he's not even sure of that much. So many people died for him over the years. He finally had the chance to repay the favour, and even that was wrested from him. "But what about what I want?"
"What do you want, Harry?"
He wants so many things that he doesn't even know where to begin. He wants to go back to that blissful, floating paradise. He wants to escape this coarse harshness and be happy again. He wants to be free. He wants peace.
But at the same time, he wants to be with his friends. He doesn't want to leave them alone again. He doesn't want to waste this opportunity to see what life can be like without war. Peace is possible down here, too. He knows it's out there; maybe all he needs to do is stick around long enough to find it.
"I don't know." Perhaps he never has. Between the Dursleys and Voldemort, most of his wants have been as simple as surviving and escaping whatever bad circumstances befell him that time. Even the idea of becoming an Auror was based more on a sense of duty than any actual desire for it. Now that everything is over, what's next?
Instead, he settles for a different answer. One that, he hopes, will convey his inner conflict just as clearly. "Hermione… I think I was in heaven."
At that, her tears well over, and she lets out a wet sob. He finds that he's crying, too. The water is slimy and uncomfortable against his skin, but he's grateful for it.
For the first time since he opened his eyes, he is feeling something other than fear or disgust.
-x-
As eager as he is to leave St Mungo's, when the day finally comes, it's almost overwhelming. After a month of scrutiny, the Healers have decided that he's not a threat and have agreed to release him. But as eager as he is to be somewhere — anywhere — else, it scares him. For the most part, he's grown used to the sights, smells, and sounds of his hospital room. But how will he cope out there? Will he be able to hold it together?
It doesn't help that the rest of the wizarding world is bound to be curious about his return. They caught wind of it a few days ago, and reporters have been trying to force their way in ever since. He can't say he blames them; if he were in their position, he wouldn't stop until he made sure he wasn't a threat. Still, it doesn't make it any less annoying.
"The car should be pulling up any moment now," Hermione says as they catch the lift down to the ground floor. Harry isn't ready to try magical transportation yet, so the plan is for a Ministry official to drive them to a street near Grimmauld Place, then for them to walk the rest of the way. "Your main Healer is the only person who knows when we're leaving, so we should be fine, but we'll be ready to block you if — "
"Hermione, we know," Ginny says, but unlike the first time Harry woke in the hospital room, there's no malice in her voice. "We've gone over this already."
Harry glances at Ron, and the redhead raises his eyebrows pointedly. "War or no war, some things never change."
He lets out a snort of laughter. "I suppose they don't."
When Hermione told him about what Ron and Ginny did, Harry thought he would never be able to forgive them. There's still a part of him that recoils whenever he thinks about the details, disgusted that yet another life was sacrificed to save his. And because of that, he knows their friendship will never be the same.
At the same time, he'sbeginning to find the answer to the question he asked himself that day. Motives don't excuse actions; nor do they absolve wrongdoers of blame. But they do, sometimes, create room for forgiveness.
And Harry is determined to take advantage of that to the best of his ability. Dumbledore never had a shortage of second chances to give, always determined to see the best in people, no matter what the cost might be. In contrast, Voldemort never forgave; everything he did stemmed from the fact that he was unable to forgive his father for leaving and his mother for dying. Harry isn't sure that either wizard had it exactly right, but given a choice between the two of them, he would rather be like Dumbledore every time.
Since he reached that conclusion, the tension has eased somewhat. It's still there, of course; they don't know the truth of where he went after he died, and it hangs over every word any of them say like a guillotine just waiting to drop. But it's manageable, and that's enough for now.
The doors ding and slide open, and the four of them enter the lobby. This is the furthest Harry has walked in a long time, and his steps begin to slow as reality sets in. He was never meant to survive the war. What now? Now that he has escaped his circumstances, is there anything out there for him?
A man with stained-purple skin is standing at the reception desk, and he turns to gape at them.
"Come on, Harry," Ginny says, putting her hand on his elbow to guide him forward. "The slower we go, the harder it'll be."
Meanwhile, Ron, bless him, turns to face the man directly. "What're you staring at? You're the one with purple skin."
"I…"
Harry completed the release paperwork that morning, so they walk straight for the doors.
At the threshold, he hesitates. Light is streaming in through the windows, and he knows that the moment he steps through them, everything will change. For the first time, he won't just be expected to survive; he'll be expected to live.
Harry glances over at Hermione. She smiles, and he takes the final step — or, more accurately, the first one.