A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Bolded sections borrowed from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'
"You cannot help."
Harry spun around. A man with curly gray hair and a thick, but short, beard was walking toward him. The man was barefoot and wore a white tunic, holding a set of golden keys that were dangling loosely from his right hand.
"Welcome, Harry," the man said with a soft smile. "Let us walk."
Harry stole a final glance at the deformed whimpering infant before turning to follow the strange old man.
He followed the stranger some distance away before settling on another bench amid the white, misty surroundings.
"Sir…" Harry began. "Where am I? And who are you?"
The man glanced sideways at the young man seated next to him, "I am called Peter by those closest to me."
Harry's eyes widened fractionally as he stared at the man named Peter.
"So… I'm dead?" Harry questioned.
Peter hummed before peeking back at his companion, "At the moment, your soul has partially left the mortal plane of Earth, yes. However, you have not yet passed on to judgment, nor has the connection with your earthly body been completely severed."
Harry blinked and turned away from the older man, before looking back: "But . . . " Harry raised his hand instinctively towards the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. "But I should have died— I didn't defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!"
At this, Peter nodded. "And such a remarkably brave act that was, young Harry. My teacher and good friend said that there is 'no greater love than to lay down one's life for his friends.' Your parents and godfather knew this, and I imagine you would agree.
"But you, Harry. Well… I will say this. Never in my 60-plus years on Earth nor in my eternal life off of it have I seen quite a situation like yours. Madmen have attempted to cheat death for millennia, yes, but only Tom Riddle could be so bold as to tear off a piece of his soul and attach it to another being — purposely and not."
Harry continued to stare at the man next to him, having not moved an inch since the beginning of Peter's explanation.
"That fractured portion of Tom's soul was not you, Harry," Peter continued. "It was not how you were designed to be. It was a sick, twisted abomination attached to you like a parasite; an affront to the natural world."
Harry let out a breath he had not known he was holding. "So the part of his soul that was in me… has it gone?"
"Oh yes!" Peter said. "Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry."
The connection between Voldemort and himself had long troubled Harry. His consternation over the issue reached its height during his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he feared that he was turning into a version of Tom Riddle himself. Although he knew not the true nature of the connection until roughly an hour ago, Harry had always carried a mix of disgust and shame over sharing an apparent consciousness with the man who murdered his parents.
He relaxed in his seat, staring ahead at nothingness while recognizing that he was now wholly his own person for the first time in his life.
"Sir… you said that I had, 'not yet passed on to judgment.' Does that mean I am going to?"
"Well Harry, I do believe that is up to you," Peter said with a twinkle in his eye that reminded Harry of a certain other elderly man with a white beard.
"You were called to carry a heavy burden, Harry. Each year of your life has been more difficult than the previous, and you sacrificed yourself in order to save the ones you love back on Earth. Nobody would blame you for choosing to reunite with the loved ones who have passed on."
At the wide-eyed look on Harry's face, Peter continued, "Oh, yes. Your mother, father and godfather are here. Their bodies may have suffered death, but their souls are well and truly alive in Heaven… Regardless, they will always be with you, Harry. Every prayer, every thought you send their way —they have heard them. And they will continue to hear them until the time you enter through that narrow gate."
A faint smile graced the face of the green-eyes wizard, before disappearing again as he spoke. "And if I choose… not to go on?"
For the first time, Peter turned grim.
"Then your difficult trials have not yet ended. However, if you succeed, you will have a chance to truly live, Harry. A chance to be with friends and a chance to build a family of your own —something I believe you have wished for more than anything else."
Harry nodded, a trace of a tear in his eye. It was true. Since his first conscious thoughts inside the cupboard under the Dursley's stairs, Harry had wished for his own family. Yes, he had enjoyed his limited time with Sirius and yes the Weasleys treated him as one of their own. But he wanted Potters to love. A wife and children to which he would return every night, reminding him why he fought for the chance at a peaceful life.
A deep sense of longing filled Harry at that moment. As badly as he wanted to stay with James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and Fred —the desire to see Hermione, Ron and the Weasleys again was almost overwhelming.
Peter smiled at the young man to his right as he appeared to come to a conclusion.
"I want to go back. I need to go back," Harry said emphatically.
"I figured that would be the case," Peter responded with a grin. "I do believe your Miss Granger would have been rather upset with you over your premature death."
"She—She's not mine," Harry spluttered, a fierce blush rising to his cheeks.
She wasn't was she? Just four months ago, Harry had told his red-headed best friend that Hermione was a sister to him. The greatest sister for whom anyone could ask, but a sister nonetheless.
Harry's final thoughts from the Forbidden Forest replayed in his head. There had been flashes of the Weasleys —especially Ron and yes, Ginny. He remembered Sirius, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid. Quidditch, Hogsmeade, and the World Cup.
But most of all, he had remembered Hermione.
Saving her from the Troll and cementing his second-ever friendship. Sitting by her side every day when she was petrified. Flying on Buckbeak as they rushed to rescue his godfather. Training alongside her day and night during the Triwizard Tournament. Watching her help lead Dumbledore's Army, proud of the confident young woman she had become.
"Oh."
Peter teased a knowing grin before continuing. "May I give you some advice?"
Harry nodded in the affirmative.
"After the war —take time to grieve, take time to mourn. Cherish those around you, do not push them away. Travel the world with your loved ones, build that family you have so strongly desired…" Peter paused. "Above all, love the Lord with all your heart, and your neighbor as you love yourself. Always remember this."
Seventeen-year-old Harry Potter turned toward his companion and smiled. The two men rose from their seats and shook hands. "Thank you, sir. I suppose I should be going," he sighed. "Speaking of, how exactly do I do that?"
Harry jumped when Peter barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Close your eyes, Mr. Potter…"
"... Oh, and Harry?"
Harry opened one eye to look at the old man.
"As I did suggest you travel some after all of this, might I suggest Rome? I hear they are much friendlier to outsiders these days."
Harry snorted and closed his eyes once again.
In the Great Hall…
Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspend: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him was Hermione, and it was her arms that were wrapped around him.
"Oh, Harry…"
Matthew 16:18-19
"'And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.'"