When Harry regained consciousness, the sight of a pristinely white train station greeted him. There was a sense of calm that washed over him, and he let himself rest on the floor for a few seconds, indulging in what was a rare state of being for him.
The wail of a child stabbed through the otherwise silent station. Harry opened his eyes again and frowned, eyes darting around the area, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. He couldn't see any children, nor anything else sentient but himself. What the inspection made him realise though, was that he was entirely stark naked. As soon as he started to feel uncomfortable, he was clothed in a simple black robe and trousers.
"Huh, neat." Harry mumbled to himself.
The crying continued to permeate the station. The newly deceased, or so he assumed, teenager, started wandering about in search of the child. After a few minutes, or rather he assumed it was minutes, time seemed to move strangely wherever he was, and he was beginning to get a feeling of familiarity, as if he knew this place from somewhere. The more he explored the more certain he was that he had ended up at King's Cross Station, an empty and completely white version of it at least. If this was what the afterlife had to offer, then he had to admit that it was rather dull, if peaceful.
Eventually the noise became louder, indicating that he was on the right track. Green eyes inspected the area, finally settling on a bench and something that seemed to be tucked underneath. Instinctively Harry covered the distance and squatted down to comfort the crying being. However when his eyes fell on the creature his stomach churned nauseously. It was a child, an ugly, deformed baby whose skin was blistering and peeling. It looked painful, incredibly so. The pitiful whines and whimpers tugged at his heartstrings and without thinking twice, his hands reached out to pick it up. But before he made physical contact, a voice he knew intimately spoke out from behind him. Harry whirled around, eyes widening at the familiar visage. Dumbledore.
"You cannot help it." The elderly wizard said sadly.
"Why not?" Harry questioned, anger and bitter resentment churning in his gut at the sight of his old headmaster. He swallowed down the harsh retort laying on the tip of his tongue.
"It is beyond the help of both of us, I'm afraid." Dumbledore sighed as if the revelation pained him. His bright purple robes with twinkling stars seemed entirely too bright and cheerful for the discussion they were having.
"The part of Voldemort's soul that was in you is dying. When you sacrificed yourself its fate was sealed. "Dumbledore added sagely.
Sure, this was what had been the point of Harry's entire assisted suicide business, to kill Voldemort, but there was something so entirely pitiful about the broken child whimpering for someone to help it. His thoughts brought him back to his own years as a child. Nobody was there for him either. No matter how much he cried nobody ever came, no one cared. The kinship Harry had felt for young Tom Riddle reignited as he looked at the broken piece of soul wrapped in a blanket. He wanted to rip into Dumbledore for failing them both, him and Tom, two unfortunate orphans forced into the cruelty of Muggles and war.
"Still… He doesn't deserve to die alone." Harry said and resolutely picked up the ugly baby, cradling him gently to his chest. The wailing quieted down to soft whimpers, the close contact seemingly soothing his pain. He wondered if it was the familiarity of it. The Horcrux had resided inside of him for nearly sixteen years after all.
Harry internally questioned where the other dead people were… surely it couldn't be just him, Dumbledore and the piece of Tom that had been inside his scar. He had hoped to be able to see his parents as more than just shades. Sirius too. Although the man hadn't been the best godfather, he had been the closest thing to a father Harry had in his life. Maybe the madness and depression caused by his stint in Azkaban would be cleared in death. He hoped so. It would be nice to get to know him properly this time.
The teenager gently rocked the infant in his arms as his eyes and mind wandered. The station was just as vast, white and empty as before. Sunlight shone through the domed, glass ceiling, glittering as it bathed the station in a soft, ethereal glow. Dumbledore continued talking but it was mere background noise as Harry's thoughts jumped from one thing to the next.
"You have a choice to make my boy. "
The statement caught his attention and again green eyes honed in on the headmaster. Merlin how he hated being called that. He wasn't anyone's 'boy'. It was demeaning and meant to manipulate. His eyes narrowed.
"What kind of choice? " Harry asked suspiciously.
"A very difficult one I'm afraid. " Dumbledore said gravely, looking sad at the fact. His eyes briefly lowered to the infant and Harry swore he could see a flash of disgust pass over the headmaster's face before it was gone again.
"You can either go back to complete your destiny, fulfilling the prophecy and vanquishing Voldemort one final time, or you can go on. " Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon glasses. It was clear which choice the elderly Wizard thought Harry should make.
Harry's stomach churned. Going back to war, to having to fight and kill again… it wasn't fair. Why should this enormous burden be placed on his shoulders? Hadn't he done enough? He had bled for the Wizarding World, killed for them, he had even made the ultimate sacrifice of dying for them. No, he thought, he didn't owe them shit. This was his chance to have peace, to be with his family. No more. They could deal with their own mess. As long as Neville, Hermione or Ron killed Nagini, then Voldemort would be mortal once again.
He was no stronger or better at magic than the other adults so why would he stand a better chance of offing him? Dumbledore clearly put much faith in that twice damned prophecy. Harry on the other hand, after taking four years of Divination with Trelawney, didn't put much stock in that branch of magic. For once he was going to be selfish. He had decided. He would be moving on, to be with his family.
"If I decide to go on, how would I do it?" Clearly King's Cross was some kind of representation of a gateway to the afterlife. The only problem was that Harry didn't know how the actual process of moving on worked. He assumed it would be a train, but the station seemed empty of them.
"Now, now, Harry my boy. What about your friends? Are you certain this is what you wish to do? The prophecy can only be fulfilled by you after all." The wizened old Wizard gave Harry the 'disappointed grandfather look' that he'd been given so many times throughout his Hogwarts career. It didn't achieve its intended purpose and instead only served to make him more furious with his old headmaster.
"Just answer the question!" He snapped back, causing the child in his arms to wail in fright at the harsh tone.
"Shhh, shhh. Nothing to worry about Tom. We'll be going soon, won't we, headmaster?" Harry rocked the soul shard, trying to calm it down again while he gave Dumbledore a hard, determined glare.
The old man sighed in defeat, looking disappointed and discomfited with Harry's decision, and the ease of which he cradled the Horcrux. Harry didn't care what the man thought of him though, he only wanted an answer to his question so he could find peace.
"It is rather simple I find. All one has to do is catch the next train. This is King's Cross Station after all, is it not?" There was a small smile on the Wizards face but it didn't reach his eyes.
Harry frowned at that statement. Sure this was a train station, but so far he hadn't seen any trains. However, just like with his clothes, a gleaming red train, just like the Hogwarts Express formed out of mist on the tracks in front of them. He blinked slowly in befuddlement, taking in the beautifully nostalgic sight. It was sort of poetic that the train who brought him to the start of his true life, would also bring him to the end.
"Goodbye Professor, hopefully we won't meet again any time soon." The bitterness Harry felt towards Dumbledore was still going strong and he doubted he'd be able to handle being in his presence much longer, it was a miracle that he hadn't had an outburst already. Without another word, nor waiting for a reply, Harry, carrying Tom's soul shard in his arms, entered the train and found a compartment to sit in.
The trains' whistle sounded the beginning of his journey, and slowly but surely it rattled its way along the tracks, leaving the station and going into the unknown.
