AN! Second round DP prompts, first submission!

Word Count: 1256

TW: Talks of death, wanting to die/live, canon MC death

Setting: 7th year.

Prompt: [character] Harry Potter [action] laughing [setting] Forbidden Forest [word] soul [colour] brown

"You left me," Brown eyes stared into wet green. "You left me here all alone."

"Oh baby you know we didn't want to," Lily's ghost form grasped at her son's arm, but her hand just went right through him. "It was war."

"A war you could have left," Harry said coldly, not looking away from his fathers eyes. "If you had just fled the country-"

"And not fight for my friends?" James exclaimed. "For my family? What kind of person would I be?"

"The kind that wants to stay alive for his son." Harry spat, pulling away from his wispy parents. The deceased forms of Remus and Sirius floated nearby.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Sirius asked, reaching out to his godson. "We never knew you felt this way?"

"You've been dead for two years, Sirius! Remus was never around! How could you have known?"

Harry tossed the cursed red stone to the ground, watching it bounce off of brown leaves and dirt, but his parents were still there. He leaned up against a nearby tree, tears welling in his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry, not yet. Not when there was so much to live for, or die for in his case.

He wouldn't run away.

"Harry, you know me and Tonks-"

"That's exactly it! You had a duty! I listened to you! I agreed that shit could happen if I lived with you during the full moon! So you go off and marry a woman instead? Raise a kid?"

"Baby, that's different," Lily tried to tell him. "You're our son, not Remus'. We would have been grateful if he had taken you in and watched you, but you were still our son. Remus has a son of his own now and-"

"And now he's dead," Harry said quietly, but his voice cut through them like a knife. "Now you're all dead, and there is another generation of orphans living in this country."

"You're fighting this war too, Harry, '' Sirius mumbled. "You haven't fled either."

"I have no reason to. I have no family, no assets, no wi-" He paused, shaking his head. "I have nothing but the people fighting for Hogwarts."

"He'll kill you," Lily pleaded.

"That's the point, Lils." James said with a sigh. "Harry knows this."

Harry said nothing as he stood up, taking a step through the browning forest. Soon the browns would turn into pretty greens, the animals would come out of hiding, and there would be peace amongst the world.

"You know we love you, Harry." James continued, making Harry pause. "Regardless of how you feel about us, we love you. You're our son."

"Didn't love me enough to stay alive," Harry stomped on the red rock, shattering it. The images of his parents slowly faded away, leaving him alone once more. He stared at the place where his father was, shaking his head. They could talk more once he died.

Harry couldn't wait for this to be over. The war, the fighting, the bigotry, everything. He was so tired. His soul was tired. His magic was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. He'd get his wish soon.

Harry trekked through the forest.

It was like every creature had come to watch him walk to his death. Thestrals tittered from behind sunken trees, looking at him with milky white eyes. A kniffler sniffed at the grass around, turning to stare at him as he walked past. Butterflies and moths spun in the open air, but even they seemed to stop as he walked under them.

A small rabbit poked its head out of its burrow, staring up at Harry with beady red eyes. For some reason, Harry stopped, staring at the cute creature for a moment, watching as its nose twitched. Suddenly, four more heads poked out of the hole. Baby rabbits, curious about their mothers' activities.

Harry felt his heart throb. He didn't want to die. He was seventeen.

He continued on anyway.

He heard the congregation of Death Eaters before he saw them, their boisterous voices carrying through the quiet forest. He gripped his holly wand, slipping it inside his jacket pocket. He'd be buried with it, hopefully. His foot crumbled a brown leaf, and all heads turned to where he was standing.

Harry raised both his hands in surrender, watching as the Death Eaters laughed and cackled and called out. No one rushed over to him as he walked closer and closer to Voldemort.

This was it, he was going to die.

"Ah, Harry Potter,"

"Kill me." He almost pleaded. If Voldemort didn't do it soon, Harry was going to run away. He could feel it in the way his legs shook.

"The boy who lived…begging for death." Voldemort laughed. "What a fitting image. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry crumpled to the ground, hearing all of the Death Eaters cheer and applaud their master.

Finally, peace.

When Harry woke up, he wasn't in the Forbidden Forest anymore. Instead, he was at a train station. Harry just closed his eyes again, covering his face with his hands.

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry practically jumped out of his skin. Standing up from his spot on the floor, Harry looked around, trying to find the person with him. Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

"Harry, my boy."

"Dumbledore," Harry replied, almost like a whisper. The man smiled at him kindly, tapping the bench next to him with a crooked finger. Harry sat down, struggling to find his words. "Where are we?"

"Neither here nor there, Harry," Dumbledore spoke, looking around the train station. "Some would call this purgatory, others the Passing. What do you think, Harry?"

"It's a train station," He deadpanned, confused.

"Indeed, but as you can see," a train whistle sounded in the distance. Harry recognised it instantly. "It's not just any train station."

"Why are we here?" Harry couldn't help but ask, looking around his surroundings. If so many people had died, why weren't they here?

"Do you want to die, Harry?"

"What?" Harry asked, shocked. Why would he say that all of a sudden? Harry was dead!

"Walk with me, Harry." Harry was quick to follow, walking with his past mentor as they looked around the train station. There wasn't much colour there. It was all shades of white and cream, but it wasn't bad. If that's all Harry had to see for the rest of his time, he wouldn't be mad. Dumbledore paused.

"We could board the train, ride it to wherever we're going," Dumbledore mused. "You could see your parent's again, although I suppose that would be a bit awkward, no? I'm sure the other side is as beautiful as the living world, but I've been dead a while now, I may be remembering wrong. Forgive an old man for his rambling."

"What are you getting at?" Harry whispered.

"You can die, Harry Potter, or you can live." The train whistle blew.

"I can go back?"

"Do you want to go back?" Dumbledore asked instead. Did he? Harry didn't want to die, but could he truly live?

"I don't know…" Harry answered honestly.

"It will be hard, Harry. Dying is easier than people would like to believe. Living, thriving, and enjoying the world is much harder."

"Would you go back?"

"Perhaps, but this isn't my story anymore." The train whistle blew once more, docking into its station. The doors hissed open, and Harry couldn't help but stare into the train. White, like everything else here.

Harry shook his head. He wanted to see colour.