When Harry woke up after the final battle in the forest with Lord Voldemort, it was true that he found himself lying face down on the hard stone-cold white floor, but when he thought himself up some clothes and stood himself upright, it was not with a sensation of happiness nor ease that he took in Professor Dumbledore with.

It really was Professor Dumbledore there, seen through Harry's eyes with as vivid of detail as he'd remembered the professor when he had been alive. But yet, there was also this voice screaming at the back of his head that despite being a teacher, a mentor and somewhat of a father figure through the confusing and many-layered wizarding world, Professor Dumbledore was not all he knew, he had a whole 11 years of life before he met his acquaintance and Harry did have other figures he formed some sort of attachment to besides Dumbledore.

As guilty as he felt over not feeling like his life was complete by seeing Professor Dumbledore appear by his side after...what had been a very confusing situation, Harry was rapidly concluding as his mind filled in the details of what had happened in the forest last with Lord Voldemort when they tried to fight each other, Harry did not harbour the desire to see his former teacher and quite frank, introduction to what had been at many times a scary world for him, by his 'deathbed'. If you'd call it that. The idea of death, the possibility of events wrapping up so neatly in the concept of simply dying after his altercation with Lord Voldemort in what had been a deeply magical world of many layers ever since Harry was first conscious of it, was something that was rapidly losing realness to Harry by the minute.

He felt like he would be a fool to think himself truly dead by the turn of events, and that whatever powers there may be had perhaps wanted him to think he was dead. He also knew deep down that he would not have quite liked to see Professor Dumbledore, a man whom he did not love like a family member or have any deep relations to, appear by his side on what had mirrored his deathbed. And it was this strong thought, that Professor Dumbledore would not have been the person for him had be truly died, which kept Harry from believing that he did.

"Where are we, Harry?" asked the man.

Although Harry did not think he truly saw Professor Dumbledore, he did not quite think the man opposite him was an ominous spirit. In fact, Harry felt like he was in the calm stage before something truly bad happened and that Professor Dumbledore standing in front of him was not the worst he'd face in this world.

He allowed himself to follow the man's instructions, because it was not unpleasant instructions, to take in the world around him especially as it started of sanitary and nice. Quickly, Harry saw all the things he would've wanted to see to conclude it was generally a nice place he had landed in - King's Cross, clean and empty, a train about to arrive, familiar smoke chuffing through the air...

However...there was just one nagging voice inside his head which bought him to his senses.

Before there was Professor Dumbledore, there was Mr Smith, his primary school principal who had once glared at Dudley when he was chasing Harry and winked at him as he made his escape from Dudley and his gangs. Mr Smith, who spoke of fairness and integrity above all no matter what backgrounds the students may have come from at assembly, and despite the sometimes rotten horror of his primary school, had made Harry feel like there was someone who might perhaps understand him, or even be rooting for him, no matter how far away.

Mr Smith had been a drama teacher, replacing his work teaching drama with being a principal when the role called for him and he turned out to be simply too good at it in comparison to the other applicants, but Harry had heard story's about his legendary lessons from the few lucky kids who got to have him as a drama teacher before he changed positions. He had a deep love for drama that could be felt classrooms away, and always treated the schoolkids to a nice play at least once a year, which Harry had watched enjoyably. One of Mr Smith's parting remarks had been to 'look beyond the play' or 'look behind the closing curtain' to understand the deeper meaning.

Harry found himself looking beyond the outer edges of his vision at King's cross, trying to peer through the archways he could see in the distance, the fences...and what did he see?

Staring back at him, so small, but so visible, so elegant, was what appeared to be a 2D print-out of a fence, and behind it, curved at just the slightest angle he could make it out, a wooden stake holding it up. Like it was a prop in a play. His eyes zoomed to the other white ivory fences near him, looked for the little stake and true to his eyes - Harry saw it with every one.

"What do you see?" asked Professor Dumbledore, still sounding calm and bemused, but yet also growing more curious by the minute.

Suddenly more voices echoed in Harry's head.

The battle. The fight. Shouts echoing all around him. Screams. Running. Forest floor. Heart beating in his chest so fast it felt like it was going to burst out from his lips. Escape. Need to get out. Run away. Go somewhere. Not here.

Flashes of forest danced in Harry's head. A vivid memory that felt so real it was like it was replaying almost in front of him.

Footsteps behind him.

Harry sprang on the balls of his feet and ran past Dumbledore, who reached out, perhaps to help him, perhaps to hold him back, Harry had never been close enough to tell.

"What was that Harry? You'd have to forgive me for not understanding, I am a little past my time you see..."

A sound. Perhaps a chuckle. Harry didn't know. He didn't care. All he knew was that when he ran past the white ivory fence separating the platform from the rest of the station, he saw in full sight, the long wooden stake, and when he shoved it with his fingers - the entire backdrop of King's Cross fell away, like a prop from a play, revealing a forest. Tall trees, sunlight streaming down. Similar to many forests he'd been to in his life but yet taking on the landmarks and characteristics of none - nothing to pinpoint him to any place he'd visited before.

There were small rockpools glinting among the forest floor. Light appeared to be shining out of them like a reverse sunbeam. He could see the dust motes in the air. There were not much shrubs, flowers or life in this forest. Just leaf litter and impossibly tall trees of dark green and brown, little branches, and the rockpools in between. A faint silver mist swirling in between.

As Harry neared them, he saw what appeared like alternate realities in them. People talking, laughing, eating meals at a table. He saw events that appeared like events he'd lived through in his life, but played out as if on repeat, with slightly different alterations each time.

Blithely, Harry slipped into one, the one that had a mannequin by it's side, the type you hung clothes or jewellery on to show it of on display at a store - headless, sturdy body to hold clothes, and the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw slipped around the neck.

It had been the only rockpool that was marked out in some way to him, familiar, and so he slipped into it.

There were no more thoughts that went through his head besides 'whelp, this is it' as he felt like the brief few minutes of new memories he'd gained flashed before his eyes as he felt himself slipping down haphazardly, and was conscious no more...