"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That is up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh, yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to … let's say … board a train."

"And where would it take me?"

"On," said Dumbledore simply.

A memory, from a lifetime ago. Now there was nothing. The nothing was so dense it almost seemed to be something… perhaps everything, but everything had a nasty habit of circling back around to nothing.

"On," said Dumbledore simply.

He had boarded a train. Images of bodies, too many bodies lingering on the mind of a seventeen year old. Mum, Dad, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin.

No more.

No more, he had decided. No one can die for a person when the person themself is dead.

"On."

This was the void, this was beyond the veil, this was the enemy he had spent so long outrunning only to stop at the very end to embrace it.

Death.

There was a sudden flash of nothing so bright, it had to be something. Yes, a something, growing bigger and bigger, suddenly all around him, suddenly-

Everything.

Harry inhaled sharply, opened his eyes, sat bolt upright.

Through ears that were quickly remembering how to work he heard whoops of joy. "It worked," someone cried.

His eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He lay in a pool of water. It was freezing. Three men stood before him, looking at him with purest joy and wonder.

"I-" Harry's throat was sandpaper.

"Here, drink this," said one of the men, offering a vial of clear liquid.

Harry squinted at the man. "D- D-"

"Dennis," he said, wearing a strange smile that told Harry the man had almost forgotten how to do so. His face was scarred, he was much bigger than Harry remembered him, but it was unmistakable.

Harry downed the potion quickly and tossed it aside. "Dennis Creevey," he said through a clear throat.

"Yes." There were tears on Dennis' face. "If you remember me, you surely remember my brother-"

"Colin," said Harry in an empty voice.

"Yes," said Dennis again, nodding quickly. Harry pushed himself out of the pool, feeling his blood remembering how to circulate around his body, strength returning to his muscles. "I've spent the last five years doing everything in my power to bring you back," said Dennis. "The world needs you, it's so different to how-"

"I have a beard," Harry said, voice still dull and empty. He patted his face, feeling the unfamiliar little wires sticking out. He noted, too, that the rest of his body was also quite different to how he remembered. Stronger. He saw muscles he knew he definitely never had, a tone and definition he could have only dreamed of. It barely felt like his own body.

"That's because of the potion," said one of the other men. He was gaunt, but his face was friendly. "I'm Lang, by the way. And this is Jarren."

"Hiya," said Jarren, waving at him. Both of them still wore a look of shock on their faces.

Harry stepped out of the pool. "Do you have clothes I can wear?" he asked quietly.

Dennis quickly filled Harry's arms with things to put on. Harry didn't care that he was naked. He might have, long ago, but now… he wasn't sure what he felt. Cold. That was one thing he definitely recognized.

He pulled on trousers, woolly socks, a thermal shirt and thick jacket, slid on some trainers, and Dennis held three more items out to him.

The first was a cloak, silvery, almost like a liquid. Harry's Invisibility Cloak. That brought an emotion to the surface. Happiness? Nostalgia? It was hard to say. The second was a wand. Draco Malfoy's wand, before Harry had stolen it in Malfoy Manor.

The third was a small, mokeskin pouch. Harry recognized it instantly, remembered Hagrid, and it almost made him smile. He opened it, checked his most treasured possessions were still there.

"These were the most important parts," Dennis said, as Harry took them from him, stuffing the cloak in one pocket, the wand in another, and putting the pouch around his neck and tucking it under his jacket. "There were a lot of fake Harry Potters running around various markets, as word got out pretty quickly that the Death Eaters lost your body. Most people knew about the cloak, so that was a staple on any fake, but very few knew about the wand. It was not common knowledge that your own wand had been snapped. But what really sold me was the pouch around your neck. No one could open it. No one had even known you had it, so why would one bother to put it on a fake? You had to be the real thing. That, and for various other reasons."

"No magic can bring back the dead," said Harry, frowning. "There are no exceptions."

"Harry," said Dennis, grinning, "the pouch wouldn't open. You were dead on a technical level, but- but I think your soul was still here! In this body!"

Harry frowned. That would make sense. If death was a choice for him, get on the train or don't, then he could have very easily stayed alive. He had been a Horcrux, and Voldemort would have only killed the fragment of his own soul within Harry. And his mother's blood, coursing through Voldemort's veins, tethered him to life.

"No magic can bring back the dead," Dennis continued, "but one can argue that you never really d-"

The metal door burst off its hinges and there was a quick flash of green light. Dennis Creevey flew through the air and hit the ground.

Three masked and cloaked figures, Death Eaters, ran into the room, shouting and waving their wands. Lang turned around, was hit by another flash of green light. He fell to the ground.

Harry pulled his wand out, processing the deaths of the two men much faster than he once would have, much faster than he ever should have. Was he numb? "Expelliarmus," he roared, and one wand spun to the floor.

Jarren got his own wand out and stunned the disarmed Death Eater, sending the enemy into a wall. The other two fired more jets of green light, and Harry weaved to the side, saw Jarren dodge swiftly. The Death Eaters closed in. The room was small, too small for a proper duel. A stray spell could hit anyone, and they hadn't the time to wave their wands when the enemy was within arm's reach.

Harry leaped forward and threw a punch at his Death Eater. He had never tried to punch in his life before, and his fist glanced uselessly off the side of the mask. The Death Eater dropped their wand and slugged Harry in the stomach, winding him. Then they wrapped an arm around his throat, trying to snap his neck. In desperation Harry lifted his leg and brought his foot down on the side of the Death Eater's kneecap. There was a sickening crunch, and the Death Eater screamed. Harry took the opportunity, brought his elbow up, catching his opponent on the chin. Then he waved his wand and the Death Eater was sent flying across the room, hitting the metal wall and crumpling onto the ground.

Jarren stood over the third Death Eater, catching his breath. "They must have followed me here."

"You alright?"

"Yeah." He winced and stood up straighter. "I don't know how long it'll be before more come. We need to wipe their memory and get out of here before-"

The Death Eater by Jarren's feet was still conscious, and managed to flick their wand.

Harry watched as a hole the size of a Quaffle was blown through Jarren's chest. He could see the metal wall on the other side.

Jarren fell to his knees, then hit the floor, leaking a puddle of blood.

Harry flicked his wand and the Death Eater slumped, unconscious. He looked around the room.

Dennis Creevey had died with a smile on his face. Harry wondered if Colin had, too. Lang looked terrified. Perfectly understandable.

Jarren only looked shocked. Harry had to step back so as to not get blood on his trainers.

Three more names and faces to add to the list. They wanted to bring him back. Well, they got what they wanted. People who stuck their necks out for Harry Potter would always die. Half of him wanted to climb back into that pool, close his eyes and let whatever would happen happen.

But he was here now. Alive again.

At King's Cross it had been easy to say no to life. Now, with air in his lungs and blood in his veins, he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't willingly go back to Death's embrace.

Harry wiped the memories of the three Death Eaters with quick flicks of his wand. He left the room, left the house, walked out into snow, feeling a chilling wind that reached his bones and stung his face.

"Where will it take me?"

"On."

He turned on the spot and disapparated.

Harry stared dumbly at the empty patch of grass. He was definitely in the right place, but… it was gone.

The Burrow, the tall, impossible looking construction that housed the Weasley family, was gone. No trace on the grass that it had ever been here. No sign across the vast expanse of meadow, no clue as to where it had gone. Just empty space.

His grip on his wand tightened. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

He disapparated again, to Charing Cross Road, just outside the Leaky Cauldron. It took a few seconds for him to process what he was seeing.

The Leaky Cauldron was gone. Charing Cross Road had changed. There were little purple paper aeroplanes flying all through the air, of the same sort Harry had seen in the Ministry of Magic during his visits. Owls flew above his head. People raced through the air on broomsticks. Fireplaces lined the street, occasionally lighting up green as people Floo'd in. He saw Wizards and Witches walking around in cloaks, robes, pointed hats, waving their wands in plain sight, using magic in plain sight, without a care in the world for whether or not they were seen. In fact, almost everyone Harry saw walking about had a wand. The few who didn't all wore what looked like brown sacks on their bodies. They hurried through the street, eyes downcast, making sure not to get in anyone's way. Muggles. Harry saw some enter a house, shutting the door quickly behind them. He saw one bump into a Wizard. The Muggle began to apologize profusely, but the Wizard wasted no time in flicking his wand, lip curled in distaste. The Muggle went flying across the street, hit the ground hard, before getting back up and out of anyone else's way, hurrying back down the street. Harry looked further, saw a masked figure walking at a leisurely pace, looking around in a bored manner. A Death Eater. Passersby cleared the way, even bowed their heads respectfully. Harry had to avert his eyes, resisting the urge to curse the figure.

Things around here seemed to have changed very, very much.

Where the Leaky Cauldron should have been, Harry now saw only the entrance to Diagon Alley, without the usual brick wall blocking it from sight. He entered the alley. Here, at least, things seemed the same. The same shops, the same sights. Here, it was normal to see magic on full display. Harry walked slowly down the street, wondering if he would find Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

He stopped suddenly, the sight before him making his heart go cold. There was now a large clearing in the street. The floor in the clearing was cracked, ruptured, like there had once been an explosion here. In the middle of the clearing was a tank filled with pale green liquid, and floating in the liquid was the lifeless body of Kingsley Shacklebolt. His eyes were open, unseeing. His expression in death was stoic and unafraid.

There was a plaque before the tank, as though it were a piece of art. Harry approached it, read the inscription.

The Fate of Defiance.

He frowned, rejoined the street and tapped a lady on the shoulder. She turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me," he said, "but what exactly happened here?"

She looked at him oddly. "You don't know?"

"I'm… foreign."

"This," she said, gesturing to the clearing, "is where the Order of the Phoenix made their last stand. Most of the alley was in ruins, but it didn't take long to get fixed. Not when magic could finally be used in the open, you know?"

"Yeah," said Harry slowly. "And why didn't they fix up this section too?"

She shrugged. "As a reminder, I think. In case any more nasty blood traitors start getting ideas."

"Right…"

She shook her head, as though trying to rid herself of the idea of 'nasty blood traitors', before continuing on her way.

Harry frowned at the ground and walked back down the alley. It seemed that everything that could have gone wrong had, in fact, gone wrong. The war was lost. Magical folk ruled the world, and Harry's friends were gone.

"This is a nightmare," he muttered.

He quickened his pace. There were a few more places he could check. He needed more answers. He needed to find someone, anyone.

He accidentally bumped the shoulder of a passerby, and he muttered a quick apology before continuing on his way.

"Harry?"

He froze. After a moment, he turned slowly on the spot. She was staring at him as though she'd seen a ghost. In a way, he supposed she had. Her dark hair was shiny, her face just as pretty as he remembered, with dark rings under tired eyes being the only mark of the passage of time.

"Cho," said Harry, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Hi."