12/24/05

A/N

This story is dedicated to the author of 'Rise from the Ashes', Karaii because her story gave me the idea somehow even though it's hardly identical to it.

Summary

Harry James Potter is dead. After killing Voldemort and, being drained of life force, died as well. However, being a hero has more pros than Harry thought. Harry is now a ghost able to physically interact with select few. He is sent to a chamber where he must choose his next adventure, and aid those he love that play the major role. Which universe will Harry choose?

Rating

R for language, child abuse and rape.

This is the godlike person speaking

: This is Parsltetongue:

/This is thinking/

Book 1

Chapter 2

The Black Choices

He was floating in a dark pool of ice. There was no pain, only numbness and a feeling of enlightenment. He had gone down, but brought the surpassed demon down with him, but now what? What was he to do? Why didn't he see his parents, and Sirius? Shouldn't he be at least in the court of God fighting his case to reach heaven?

Apparently not as he saw no one, saw nothing but the black surrounding him. Why was he here? He was getting frustrated now. / Hurry up already! I want to see my family/. It wasn't a request, it was a command now. Nothing responded for a moment, until a blinding white light stung his eyes, the numbness ebbing away and the dull ache returning to his back.

Throwing his messy, black hair stained with blood back out of his face, Harry clenched his emerald eyes shut, daring not open them until the light had passed. A tugging feeling pulled at him every which way and his heart filled with panic. What was happening!

Through his eyelids, Harry saw the light dimming. Peeking through his eyelids, he saw a shadowy figure stride toward him. It was a man, though Harry had no idea how he knew this as the figure was much too blurry for him to visually tell.

The aches sharpened, and it felt like something had twisted his spine. Harry's eyes flew wide open and his mouth spread to allow a silent howl of pain. Relax, my child But how could Harry relax? This agony was too much, too much! Try to hear my words, Natica Harry struggled to listen to the voice, it seemed familiar yet so unrecognizable at the same time.

My Son The being whispered, he was closing in on Harry, who suddenly felt like a child with a cut knee. However, it felt like broken body now. I wish you to know, before I must send you away. The mighty being paused a moment as if hesitant. You are, and forever will be my heir. However. Don't ever let yourself think you are not worthy of life. Never again feel that desire of death. You are my Christmas child. The being was now close enough to allow Harry to see his face. Black hair passed his elbows, gentle emerald eyes and pale skin.

: You and I will meet again. : He hissed. The pain faded and Harry felt himself rising. Weakly turning his head to look down, he nearly screamed again. His body lay amongst the little dark left, bloody and scarred. Choose your next life, or forever hold your peace! Snarled a new voice from above. Throwing his head back, Harry felt fear beyond anything before.

A giant acromantula was glaring down at him with hundreds of black eyes, making Harry feel as though he was on a stage. "Who are you!" Harry cried, voice reverberating around the light and dark. Without warning, the light snuffed out and dark ensued. There was no noise to break the silence. For several minutes Harry stared around desperately wanting out of this horrific place.

Pings echoed around him at precise intervals and left spheres of swirling light in their trail. The spheres elongated to grand mirrors of twirling black. The mirrors shook and Harry backed away, to bump into one that began rocked back and forth. He instinctively reached out to grab the frame and he pulled it steady. Looking into the mirror he inhaled sharply. His mother.

He had nothing to prepare him for this. He reached his fingers toward the face but it looked away, smiling at another. James Potter was sitting on the floor of an intricate house, in his arms a giggling 5 year old Harry. Another walked into the frame, a handsomely shaved Sirius Black pulled the baby out of his best friends arms and into his own.

After kissing the baby's forehead where no scar was seen, he leaned down and kissed Harry's mother on the lips. Harry backed away from this mirror as well. Unable to control himself, Harry turned to look at the other mirrors. They too held life-size moving pictures. He understood now. Harry strode along the path set in front of each mirror, they were circling him.

Then, as Harry reached the final one, it felt as though his heart was breaking. A young boy, now known as himself was being beaten with a large club held in the fat fist of Vernon Dursley.

Instantly Harry reached out passionately and touched the face of the sobbing little boy in the mirror. A flash of green before his eyes, and Harry felt the same tugging feeling as before but less painful. The floating sensation arose again and he squeezed his eyes shut awaiting the blast of light that did not come. Instead, he was thrown into a house with a wooden floor and to his left a staircase The Dursley's staircase.

In panic Harry tried to scramble to his feet but found his hand went through the floor when he tried to push himself up. Not only that but he was weightless. Light as a feather, but confused as a dog being chased by a cocky cat. A sobbing pulled Harry from his musing. Looking up the stairs, Harry glided up after a few failed tries and found himself in front of a cupboard door. It was wide open and blood spattering it. Harry, even after all his years at war, felt sick. Speeding to where another sob rang, Harry pushed himself through the closed wooden door.

This was not a room. It was a torture chamber.

A/N

How do you like it? No one has reviewed yet but I do have a few hits. Merry Christmas!