HP:Fighting From the Shadows

"Normally you would be," Death went on. "But to express my gratitude for returning part of Tom's soul to me, I can offer an alternative. A chance at a different life, one that you never had the opportunity to live before."

"What kind of life?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"You would still be Harry Potter," Death went on. "But in another reality, where you were never targeted by Voldemort. Your family would be alive, as would your godfather, and you would be able to grow up in the healthy, happy home you were denied in your previous life."

Harry may not have had a corporeal body at that moment, but he still felt his proverbial heart leap at this prospect. "That's...an option?" he asked. "I could see my parents alive again? And never have to live with the Dursleys ever again?"

"Keep in mind that everything else you experienced in your old life would change," Death warned him. "Your friends would not know you. Every relationship you've formed would be different from before, with no guarantee of returning them to the way it was before. For some, such a prospect would be maddening, and death would be preferable in the end."

Harry considered this. After all, he could see his parents and Sirius again, simply by crossing over to the plane of death. He would be at peace there, free to be with his loved ones once more, and when his friends eventually crossed over, he would be there to greet them with open arms. That didn't sound so bad, given everything he'd already been through.

But curiosity had gotten the best of him. What would his life have really been like, if James and Lily Potter had survived? Who would he have become? How would his time at Hogwarts change? It was a fantasy he often indulged in but never imagined to be attainable. Now here it was, offered to him on a silver platter.

"What will happen to my friends...in my old life?" Harry asked.

"They will mourn you," Death said simply. "That is inevitable. You will become a martyr, and others will take inspiration from your tragic life and death to finish what you started in destroying Tom Riddle."

Harry felt a twinge of regret and sadness at this stark reality, but also frustration. He didn't want to be a martyr. He never asked for the attention – he just wanted to live a normal life, unburdened by the weight of the war on his shoulders. Would that forever be his legacy? The Boy Who Lived, and then Died? He had hoped to escape that label and forge his own destiny, his own future.

And perhaps he still could. All he had to do was step away from one world, one that clearly had little use for him other than a symbol of token suffering, and into another, where he would be free of the limelight at last. A world where no one knew his name, and he could start afresh, with loving parents behind him and a wide-open future ahead of him. It was simply too enticing to pass up on.

"I'll do it," Harry announced. "I'll take your offer. I want to see my parents alive."

"You are sure?" asked Death, smiling coyly. "Once you've made your decision, there is no turning back."

"I'm sure."

Death nodded, as though already knowing precisely which option Harry would take. "Then let us go," said Death, beckoning to the end of the platform. A train was pulling into the station, a train of purest white light, its doors sliding open, beckoning him inside.

Harry stepped forward tentatively, knowing that stepping aboard would be the symbolic point of no return. He looked back briefly to see Death watching him, a knowing smile still plastered across its face. Waiting to see what Harry would choose.

Harry said a silent goodbye to his old life – his friends, whom he knew he would see again but perhaps never have the same connection with. Then, he stepped forward onto the train carriage, the doors closing behind him. He felt the train lurch into motion, whisking him away from King's Cross Station, and into a world of blinding white light….

Harry awoke with a start, thrashing about under the covers and gasping for air. He sat bolt upright in bed, panting, eyes adjusting to the low light level. At first he thought he was back in the Gryffindor dorms, and everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours was just a bad dream. Or perhaps he was back on Privet Drive, having recovered from whatever happened in the Department of Mysteries and returned to the Dursleys for the summer.

But when he grasped for his glasses on the bedside table and jammed them on, he did not recognize the room he was in at all. He lay in a twin bed adorned with blue sheets, with yellow knitted Snitches decorating the comforter. The walls were plastered with Quidditch posters, whose players were darting around between the frames in the dim sunlight filtering in through the window. Clothes and books were strewn all over the floor – whoever lived here didn't care much for cleanliness.Do I live here? Harry wondered. He thought the encounter with Death had been a strange dream, but this new reality felt similarly foreign and dream-like to him. Harry heard creaking footsteps somewhere below him, and realized he was not alone in this house. He tentatively got to his feet, hoping against hope that he would find what he suspected may be waiting for him downstairs.

Harry exited the bedroom into a small hallway that exited onto a flight of stairs. He crept down to the first level, finding himself in a foreign living room. There were the usual amenities – a couch, a lamp, a coffee table – but no television, where any respectable Muggle household would have one. This had to be a wizarding household. Heart hammering, Harry turned to the kitchen, sensing movement nearby, and walked forward—

"Surprise!"

Harry flinched; two figures leapt out of their hiding places to greet him. At first Harry did not recognize them, but he quickly realized that he knew them both well – only in a younger form. The man was tall and slender like himself, with messy black hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a sloppy grin on his face. The woman was thin and radiantly beautiful, with flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes framed by a similar mirthful smile.