Book - Alternate Endings

Authors - phirypinkflamingo, Vastly-Superior

Chapter Two - King's Cross Station (Again)

Disclaimer - Dialogue is ours, the rest isn't. Also I suggest reading HP7 prior to reading this FanFic. Unless you want the semi-death of Harry ruined for you.

Harry awoke.

Hang on, he thought. I can't awake, I'm dead.
He sat up to find that he was at King's Cross station. Again.

"But wasn't I just here?"

Harry was elated. He must have cheated death. Again!

"No, sorry," said a voice behind him, and he jumped, quickly thrusting his hand into his empty pocket where his wand should have been.

"You don't have your wand, boy, that was not physically part of you at your death," came the voice again.

"Dumbledore?" Harry asked in disbelief. This was just as before... so he had escaped death again!
"You haven't," Dumbledore said for no apparent reason.
"What?" Harry asked, feeling Confunded (he assumed so much, anyway, as he was not aware of ever having been Confunded).
"You haven't cheated death. That's why this time you're wearing a white bathrobe." He said, smiling. At Harry's perplexed expression, he added "courtesy of the guys up there -- here."
Amazed, he realized that Dumbledore had just read his mind. Then, the words he'd actually spoken sank in. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you are dead, Harry."

"I -- but -- you -- we -- before!" Harry sputtered.

"Yes... ," Dumbledore said sweetly, smiling like Mrs. Weasley did when she watched her family eat a fresh batch of her cookies.

"So...," Harry trailed.

"This is different."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean you weren't dead before!" Dumbledore snapped, a hint of annoyed annoyance betrayed in his tone. "Before, you were having a little tea party in your mind, so to speak. This time, it is in your soul. Everyone's soul hosts one last tea party before it disappears into nothingness. The soul invites one person whose, company it wants."

Oh, yeah, where's the tea? Harry thought sourly.

"No need to get moody, now." Dumbledore said in his more strict voice, the one that was naturally developed by anyone who spent more than a week working in a school.

"Yeah well, I'm kind of DEAD here. It's not exactly my favorite day ever," said Harry. He glanced up at Dumbledore. "Besides, why aren't my parents here? I want to invite my parents!"

"The soul chooses who to invite, Harry. It also chooses the setting and, I'm afraid, the drinks." Dumbledore frowned at the barren landscape before him.

"So you mean deep down, I don't want to meet my parents?" Harry seethed, his fists clenched.

"You want answers."

"Fuck answers! I want my mother!"

"Calm down"

"And why should answers matter now? I'm freaking DEAD!"

"Anyway, this is your soul's final tea party. Savor every moment," Dumbledore continued, ignoring him.

"But..." Harry began, at last calming down a bit. "I'm really dead, this time, eh?"

"Yes."

"Not just my soul, then, the whole package is dead?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore rolled his eyes. "Yes, Harry," he said through a sigh.

Shit, Harry thought for the second time that day --
"Hey, watch your language, young man."