Who am I?

He remembered opening his eyes to a world of swirling, white mist. It was as blank as his mind. A name was there, on the back of his tongue, and he did his best to coax it out.

Harry. My name is Harry...Potter.

The mist was like a living being, twisting and turning like a writhing snake. As his memories slowly returned, the fog began to thin.

I'm...dead.

Yes, that's right. He didn't remember dying – that was probably for the best – but he did recollect that moment when he realized his fate and the eerie calm that had seeped into his bones. He had given himself up to limbo.

The mist cleared, and he found himself standing in Gryffindor common room, the way he remembered it all those years ago when he was a student at Hogwarts. How long had it been since he'd been there? Too long.

No, this is wrong. This isn't what limbo looks like.

"Don't be afraid, Harry."

He started at the sudden voice, whirling around to face the woman who had suddenly appeared. She was decked out in a stunning red dress, with matching hair cascading down her back. Her face was familiar, but Harry couldn't place it. They had met before, though. Somewhere. But those eyes, as green as the stem of a flower.

"Mum?" Even though he said it, Harry wasn't quite sure he believed it. She looked vaguely like his mother, but much younger than he remembered. A woman in her mid-teens. Someone...his age, he realized, as he looked down at his own body. He was young again! When had that happened?

"Are you surprised? I thought you would be." She laughed, and it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. "I gave you life, Harry. I was the first person to ever love you, and I swore I always would. I wanted to be the one to meet you here, in the end."

"Wh-where are we?"

"You already know."

"But...this can't be limbo."

"Not what you remember? Limbo changes, Harry, just like we do. This is who you have become."

Harry looked around the room and noticed that there were inconsistencies, things that weren't really in the Gryffindor common room. She was right; these were his memories. It was whatever he made it.

Harry reached out, tentatively, to run his hand along the wood on a Firebolt in the corner. This was the one Sirius had given him! He would recognize it anywhere. Beside it, resting on a table, was the first snitch he ever caught, the very one Albus Dumbledore had hidden the Resurrection Stone in.

Dangling over a chair on the other side of the room was the sock he had used to set Dobby free, and on the seat was the photo album of his parents Hagrid had given him. In the corner was a free-standing bird cage, the kind he used to keep Hedwig in.

The room was filled with all the treasures of his life. Harry understood the meaning, though; he had to leave them all behind.

"What's it like? You know, whatever's after this?" he asked.

His mother smiled, and her green eyes twinkled. "More beautiful than you could ever imagine. Everyone's waiting for you. For some of us, it's been a long wait. Whenever you're ready."

She held out her hand, palm up, as an open invitation.

"Alright. Let's go home."

Harry squeezed his mother's hand tight, and the floor underneath them fell away. The walls faded into darkness, and he left his mementos behind. They took the first step of Harry Potter's next great adventure together—hand in hand.

Author's Note: Written for the "This Means War" Competition. Prompts: Harry, Firebolt, red dress, common room.