Dis Lexics vault of Secrets
Ideas, plot bunnys that won't let go, possible future stories. feel free to pick up the stories if you like them.
Hello, and welcome back to the Vault for another spelunking expedition into the dark and dank depths of my mind. This time, the chapter is not in fact an answer to a challenge, but rather inspired by DZ2s Death is only the Beginning. I say inspired, because it was the title, not the rules that did it. This time, Harry Potter and Angel Beats! Please note that I swiped a bit of this chapter from the Deathly Hallows book and do not claim to own it.
Potter Beats
"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived," whispered Voldemort as he examined his nemesis, "Come to die."
The Death Eaters around the clearing jeered and laughed at the statement, only to be ignored by the dark haired boy and his snake-like foe. The Dark Lord raised his wand and pointed it at the Savior, the tip glowing green. Harry closed his eyes, a feeling of peace filling his soul as he felt his wand pressing against his breast, but he made no move to draw it. The last thing he saw was a flash of green light behind his closed eyelids and his last thought was.
"What an empty life I lived."
Harry woke up surrounded by white mist. He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone, nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself. A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too. Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes. He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be. He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore.
Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful. For the first time, he wished he were clothed. Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them. He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist. Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes.
A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for – He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath. He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.
"You cannot help."
He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.
"Harry," He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged, "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."
Teacher and student walked through the misty area, talking about everything that had happened throughout Harrys life and the roll the old man had played, as well as Dumbledores past the the roll it had played in the decisions he had made regarding Harry and Tom Riddle. Eventually, the conversation died as they sat on a bench in what appeared to be a very white and clean Kings Cross station.
"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.
Silence again.
"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."
"True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand."
"But you want me to go back?"
"I think," said Dumbledore, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."
Harry glanced again at the raw looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.
"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, they we saw good-bye for the present."
Harry sat quietly for a moment, thinking about his choice. Did he really want to return to the world that had turned on him multiple times and called him an attention seeking brat at best and a monster at worse, only to turn around and expect him to save them when it became obvious he was telling the truth with nary a word of apology? The answer was obvious. Harry had done his part, Voldemort was mortal again and there were plenty of people capable of killing the twisted bastard.
"No," said Harry, "I've done my part. Now its up to everyone else. All I want to do is rest."
Dumbledore nodded sadly.
"As much as I wish I could convince you otherwise, I have no right to try," he said, "I am truly sorry that the one choice you have ever made for yourself is to pass on."
Harry smiled at the old man, finding that, despite his manipulations of his life, he honestly couldn't bring himself to hate him. Maybe it was because his life was ending or some other reason, but Harry could almost feel all of his grudges vanishing, being blown away like leaves in the wind, even as the mist that surrounded them closed in and carried him away.
The next time Harry opened his eyes it was to find himself staring up at the star filled nights sky. The young Wizard blinked a few times, before sitting up and looking around. He appeared to be in a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by buildings while the fourth opened onto what appeared to be a large sports field.
"Where..am I?" he asked, "I could have sworn I moved on."
The young wizard got to his feet and looked around, before glancing down at himself, only to find that his outfit had changed completely. Gone were the tatty clothes he had been wearing when he had gone into the forest to die and instead he was wearing what appeared to be a uniform of some kind, consisting of a black jacket over a white shirt and black trousers.
"OK, this is weird," said Harry.
At that moment, his ears caught the sound of footsteps approaching. Instincts honed by a year on the run fired, causing Harry to spin and face the source, his body held low to the ground in preparation to dodge and his hand blindly seeking his wand. However, all of this stopped as the boy froze at the sight of the person before him.
Tall and well built, with chiseled feature, curly dark hair and bright grey eyes that widened in surprise at the sight of Harry.
"Harry? Is that you?" asked the boy.
"C-cedric?" stuttered Harry, "But how, you died!"
"Yep, but so did you," said Cedric Diggory, "Welcome to the afterlife."
"The afterlife is a high school?" asked Harry incredulously half an hour later as he followed his friends through the halls.
"Apparently so," said the former Hufflepuff, "So, have you thought about my offer?"
"What about joining this Battlefront?" asked Harry, "I just got out of one war, I have no interest in getting into another one."
"Thats your choice," said Cedric, "But at least listen to what Yurippe has to say."
"Alright fine," grumbled Harry, speeding up and stopping in front of the Principals office, "There in here, right?"
"Ah, wait Harry!" yelled Cedric as Harry grabbed the handle.
"Huh?"
CLANG!
Harry suddenly found himself flying through the air with powdered bones as he was hit hard by an enormous metal hammer that came from the ceiling and sent flying through the window.
END! I'm actually going to end it there. If anyone knows anything about Angel Beats then they'll know that that isn't really a cliffhanger or even particularly fatal, although it is painful. The bold is taken directly from the book. As always, if you want it, feel free to take it and leave me a review.