Everything was still. Quiet. Hadn't someone been speaking? Harry was sure he'd been listening to someone but moments before. He must have been mistaken, though, for here there was only silence. No one had disturbed this place—wherever it was—for a long time, and Harry felt that stillness seep into him. No, that wasn't right. He was already filled with it. He felt so calm. He must have been alone for some time, to feel so naturally at peace. Perhaps he'd always been here.

But where was here? Harry finally opened his eyes. Everything was white, obscuring and thick, like fog. It seemed, at first, so brilliantly white that it was blinding, but no…it wasn't, Harry realized. It simply was, and that's all there was to it. He pushed himself up to gaze about. All around him, the same formless whiteness.

Was this all there was? And why was something niggling at his mind? He was sure there'd been more colour but moments ago. Or had that been years? An eternity?

Yellow. He'd seen yellow, he was sure of it. The sun, perhaps? But no, whatever it was hadn't been so bright as his surroundings now. He supposed it really wasn't all that important.

Harry realized he'd been wrong; it wasn't all quiet. He could hear something moving about nearby, and as he strained his ears he heard the smallest of murmurs. He stood, only to realize he was naked. He glanced about this pure empty space for something to cover himself with—that seemed important, though he didn't know why he felt so—and found at once that he was clothed in soft robes. He fingered them, wonderingly.

There was that noise again, off to the left and hidden in the mist. "Hello?" Harry asked, not too loud. It didn't seem proper, somehow, to make much noise in such a place. "Are you okay?"

Whatever it was went silent as he called out, then in response, whimpered louder. Was it crying back to him?

"Stay there. I'm coming to find you." Harry set out in the direction he'd heard the sound coming from. At first, he held his hands up in case he stumbled across something, but as he walked, his vision cleared. It was still white, but it was more a blankness than a fog. A nothing…and for a moment, that filled his heart with a remembered panic. But remembered from where? He didn't know.

But this was so peaceful a nothing. There was surely no danger here, not to him. And so he kept walking to find whatever it was that had cried out to him. It seemed to need comfort, if nothing else.

He found it on a bench. It was a beautiful boy, a small child or perhaps one or two, with inquisitive eyes and neatly combed hair. It looked the spitting image of Tom Riddle as Harry had seen him so long ago in Dumbledore's pensieve, though far younger. The child stared up at Harry and, whimpering, held his arms out to be picked up.

And Harry would, oh, he would. But someone was already holding the boy.

"You." It came out a curse, an accusation.

So much for this being so peaceful a place. Sitting calmly on the park bench, smiling as sickeningly as he was wont to do in life: "Hello, Harry. It is good to see you, my dear boy."

Harry wanted to step back, to disappear back into the mist and never have to see those still-twinkling eyes ever again, but he forced himself to take a step closer instead. "Give him here," he demanded.

Dumbledore's eyes rose high on his brow. "Your time with him is over, Harry," he said, though his only objection when Harry reached down and took the child from him was to sigh. Then he shifted over on the bench, making room, and gestured for Harry to sit.

Harry would have declined, rudely at that, but in truth the child weighed heavily in his arms. So, he shoved down his distaste for the elderly wizard and lowered down beside him.

"There now," Dumbledore said once Harry was sitting beside him. "That wasn't so hard."

Harry shoved away his revulsion at Dumbledore's patronizing tone. "Where are we?" Harry asked. There had to be a way back to…

(Distant memories filtered up of music, of flowers, of rings).

Dumbledore looked about curiously. "This place? I had hoped that you could tell me, my dear boy."

"Don't call me that," Harry bit back. "And how would I know?" But he did look around again. Above him, Harry saw that it wasn't just that thick white fog, as it had been before. Glistening far overhead was what seemed a glass dome. He'd seen something much like it before. "King's Cross Station." He was sure of it, now that the memory had flitted through his mind. And yes, there were the rows of familiar seats and the platforms. Why hadn't he noticed them before?

"Is it?" Dumbledore nodded appreciatively. "How curious. I suppose a station is rather an appropriate choice."

"I didn't choose anything," Harry seethed. "And Tom?" This, Harry wasn't so sure. Surely if his husband had followed him here to this messed up King's Cross, or wherever the fuck he was, he wouldn't be so young. A horrible guess rolled through his mind. He rubbed at his forehead, tentatively and it was as he feared. His scar was gone.

"Yes, the sliver of Lord Voldemort's soul you kept safe has slipped from you. As you well know, the soul piece is lost upon the destruction of its host."

The destruction of…? Any hope Harry had held shattered then. He swallowed thickly. "So, I'm dead then?"

"It would seem so," replied Dumbledore. He offered the silver tassel tied around his beard to baby Tom, who looked distrustful at first but eventually grasped the shiny cord and tugged at it.

"And this is—what? Heaven? Hell?" Harry grit out, because he had to know.

"As with all stations, it is a gateway of sorts."

"A gateway to where?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"Now that is the question," Dumbledore said with a nod, as if this were the most important of philosophical queries. "Suffice to say, I should think, if you wandered not too far, you would find a train carriage. Once you boarded it, it would take you to what is beyond. Tom and I will be boarding our own carriage soon, together. You may follow us, if you wish, though I do believe you might go back."

Harry's stomach plummeted, and he clutched the soul piece—little Tom—tightly to him. "I can't go back." He didn't care that his voice was breaking. "Not without his soul. I need to take it with me." He was nothing without it. Empty.

From very far away, Harry heard something new. He must have been mistaken though, for it sounded like someone was calling his name. Who would call for him? In his arms, he thought he felt Tom stiffen at the sound as well, though perhaps that was simply due to how tightly Harry was grasping him.

"You have no choice, Harry. Not in this," Dumbledore told him gently.

"You're just punishing me," Harry cried out, and at once was angry with how pathetic he sounded. Still, he forged on. "Because of what I did. You expected me to…" But now that his former headmaster was here, he couldn't articulate the terrible betrayal he'd felt since he'd exited Snape's damning memories.

But he didn't need to. Every hurt he had felt—still felt—was reflected on the aged face beside him. "I did, that is true. But I promise you, Harry, that I had every hope that you would again thwart the odds and survive. To prevail, even, no matter what I told Severus. It was a gamble, though, and one I regret having had to make."

"The Greater Good," Harry spat.

Dumbledore face was washed with shame. "Many of my choices—too many, perhaps—were forged to that end. But asking what I did of you? That was the worst of my crimes, and I can only beg your forgiveness. Once more you've moved beyond all my expectations. My dear boy, your choices this past year… I must say, I never thought you would follow the path you did. You have done the unthinkable."

Harry nearly jumped from the bench to get away from the other man and his accusations. He would have done, too, but Tom felt like lead on his lap. "You, you…you hypocrite!" All his anger for his former headmaster came bursting out in a vicious snarl. "How dare you? I did what I had to. How dare you judge me?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed. "Oh, Harry. I wasn't about to condemn your actions. Not at all." He pushed on even as Harry had begun to tell him what he thought of that claim. "What I meant was, you've accomplished something I never once thought possible. You taught Lord Voldemort how to love. I had not thought he could, as I once you told you. And this has changed everything, as only so vital a power can. My dear boy—"

"I told you not to call me that! You don't have the right!" snapped Harry, though his rage was mitigated by Dumbledore's words. Love? What nonsense was this? It must be a trick so that Dumbledore would make him give up the soul piece.

Dumbledore sighed, wearily. "You must forgive a man his long years of habit." He held up a hand before Harry could protest yet again. "In lieu of forgiving that which is unforgivable."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It was true, he couldn't forgive Dumbledore for his intentions. But could it be true, that he'd been meant to live? He'd beaten the odds so many times before, he was starting to wonder if there was some truth to Dumbledore's claim.

There was that call again from somewhere far off. "Who is that?" Harry murmured. He shifted Tom on his lap when he began to fuss again.

Dumbledore looked thoughtfully into the distance. "If I am not mistaken, it is Lord Voldemort calling for you to return to him. He has drawn back other souls before, of course. They have always returned to life at once."

Harry followed Dumbledore's gaze, as if he might catch sight of his husband, a swath of black in all that white. "Then why am I still here?"

Dumbledore nodded down to the baby on Harry's lap. "I believe, Harry, that just as your Horcrux had once tethered Voldemort to life, so it is now anchoring you to death."

Harry looked down at Tom in horror. Could it be? It must be, for the child was so very heavy. Harry felt quite pinned by it, and it was only getting worse. But without it…Without it, there was no point in returning. Without it, he was just Harry. What use would Voldemort have for him then?

Again the call, and yes, Harry could now discern his name in the cry. Tom, still seated on his lap, seemed to get even heavier.

"Harry!"

"If you wish to return, you must give the Horcrux up. Release it and let me take it to where it can join the others," Dumbledore was telling him.

"The others," Harry echoed, barely hearing.

"The other pieces of Tom's soul which have already passed on. There they will wait, at peace, until Tom himself is ready to join them."

Harry shook his head, and not just because he knew Tom would never be ready for that. "I can't leave it," he gasped. "It's been part of me for so long. Who would I even be without it?"

"Learning that, Harry, will be part of living again. But it is best to do that than linger here clutching at a broken soul, especially when you have someone to help you along the way, to help you find yourself again."

"He'll just cast me back, without it," Harry whispered, finally voicing his terrible thoughts.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "That is not so. He knows, Harry, what has been lost, yet is still calling you back. Listen. Can you not hear how desperate he is?"

There came the call of Harry's name again. It was definitely Tom's voice, and it sounded frantic. Pleading.

"Why are you here," Harry asked. "Why didn't my parents come and meet me? Did they not want—" To see me, he'd meant to say. He took a breath and tried again. "He offered to bring them back. But I guess I was right not saying yes, since they obviously don't want me." He felt like he was choking under his words, no matter that he was dead and didn't need to breathe anymore.

"That's not true," Dumbledore told him. "They love you very much, Harry. Absolutely nothing you might do would change that. As for Tom bringing them back? Let them rest, Harry. They've been at peace for a long, long time. It would be unkind to pull them back now."

They both looked out into the distance as another anguished cry called out Harry's name.

"You have to go back, Harry." Dumbledore stood now and held his arms out for the Horcrux child. "You must allow me to leave with the soul piece now."

Harry clutched to the baby even tighter, but it didn't help. Dumbledore pulled it easily from his grip. "Please…" he begged.

Dumbledore shook his head, looking as kindly, as grandfatherly, as ever. He hoisted the child up into his arms and smiled down at it, then back at Harry. "I know it will be hard. Living always is. But you have enough strength to do this, Harry. Of that I am certain."

Harry watched as Dumbledore backed into the mist.

"No…" Harry jumped off the bench and ran to follow, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Dumbledore just got further and further away. "Don't leave me here alone."

"My dear boy," Dumbledore told him fondly. "You've never been alone. And despite everything, know that I am proud of you. Tell Tom that I'm proud of him, too."

And then he was gone. Harry couldn't help the tears that started to flood down his cheeks. He hadn't done anything to be proud of, and now he was dead and it was too late. All his choices had been for nothing.

"Harry!" There was that voice again. Tom's voice. The Master of Death, calling a soul back to him. This time, no longer weighed down by the Horcrux, Harry could feel it really pull at him. "Come home, Harry!"

At each cry of his name, Harry felt himself being dragged that much closer towards that haunted voice.

"But why?" he whispered back, as though Voldemort could hear him from here. "Why would you want me now?" Bearing only his own soul, he would never been enough.

"Please come back to me."

Harry gave one last glance back to where Dumbledore had disappeared. Was that the sound of a train whistle?

"Harry!"

All the white turned to black.