(A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. All ideas and dialogue in this chapter belongs to JKR. I do, however, own this plotline. I did skip some dialogue in places, but it's genuinely true to the book, except for my little twist. This is my first solo, multi-chap Harry Potter fic, so please read and review! Enjoy.)

Walking. He walked through the forest like a ghost, numb from the fear of what he was about to do.

He was giving himself up.

He was going to die.

Die. Die. The word rang through his head like an echo. He was going to die. He was going to leave this world, and join his parents in death.

His parents. He glanced at them, floating reassuringly alongside him with Sirius and Lupin, visible only by the power of the Resurrection Stone. Lily caught his eye and smiled warmly.

Harry turned away, glad that they were with him. He was shaking as he followed the two Death Eaters towards Voldemort, his breath coming in short gasps. His heart was beating a mile per minute, throwing itself against his ribs, as if trying to get out of its doomed cage. Uncontrollable fear pulsed through his entire body, flowing through his veins and holding him hostage.

Die. He was going to die.

How much longer did he have left? Minutes? Seconds? He didn't know, but he knew he had only a small amount of time left on this earth. Would it be quick? Or would Voldemort draw it out, making it dramatic, making it torture for him as he willingly gave himself up? Harry dearly hoped it would be fast, painless even. He didn't want to break down in front of Voldemort in his last moments, cowering in fear. He wanted to be brave, and go out like a hero. Like the hero everyone saw him as, even though inside he was quaking with fear.

Die. He was going to die.

And then they reached the clearing. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Harry recognized it as where Aragog and his large family had once lived. Now it was deserted, flocked with silent Death Eaters, watching and waiting.

And Voldemort. Standing in the middle of the clearing, head bowed, his long white fingers clutching the Elder Wand. The most powerful wand in the world. Dumbledore's wand.

Harry's heart, impossibly, quickened at the sight. The snake-like figure before him, white skinned with flowing black robes, holding the wand that would take his life. The man who had killed his parents, who had been trying to kill him ever since he was one year old, and now would finally do it. Finally kill him.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips. He had scarcely realized he hadn't been breathing. The two Death Eaters were saying something, but Harry's ears didn't seem to register their words, filled only with the sound of his rapidly beating heart.

And then Voldemort spoke, his blood red eyes flashing. "I thought he would come," he breathed, each word sending another flood of fear through Harry's body. "I expected him to come."

Harry started to shake, his hands trembling. He closed his eyes, preparing himself, trying to get as much of a grip on his trembling body as he could.

"It was, it seems…mistaken," Voldemort whispered.

"You weren't."

Harry said the two words as loud as he possibly could, using all his will power to make his voice neither shake nor crack. Taking in as big of a breath as his lungs would allow, he let the Invisibility Cloak, along with the Resurrection Stone, slip from his grasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents vanish. Mentally, he tried to control his shaking.

And then he stepped out into the clearing.

The Death Eaters broke out in gasps, but Harry scarcely noticed. He vaguely heard Hagrid yelling at him from somewhere to his left, but he did not turn his head to see him. Instead, he locked eyes with the man in front of him, his enemy, the man that was responsible for his parents' death, along with Fred's, Lupin's, Tonk's, Siruis's, and so many others, all the way down to little innocent Colin Creevey.

And now, the man responsible for his.

As he looked into those blood red eyes, all awareness of his surroundings vanished. All that mattered was him, and Voldemort.

It was time to die.

Time seemed to freeze as Voldemort studied him, sizing up the seventeen year old in front of him, as if not sure if he was really there. "Harry Potter," he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like a mesmerized hiss. "The Boy Who Lived."

There was a moment of silence, and then Voldemort slowly raised the Elder Wand. Taking one final breath, Harry closed his eyes.

And then he heard the faint whisper of words, saw a flash of green light through his eyelids, and everything went black.

~O~

He was alone. Completely alone. He was sure of that. And he was also sure that he was in some sort of human form, for he could feel. He was aware of a smooth surface beneath him, neither cool nor warm, simply there.

The realization of these three things seemed to come slowly to him. But once they had registered, he began to wonder. If he could feel, surely that meant he could see?

His brain, or at least, whatever was allowing him to think, sent a message to whatever form of body he had, to open his eyes. Obediently, they opened, and Harry found he could see.

See very well in fact, even though he could detect no glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Sitting up, he realized he did in fact have a body—though he was not clothed.

Looking around, his eyes confirmed that he was, in fact, alone, so his nakedness did not seem very bothering to him. Though his surroundings did.

If it could be called surroundings. A swirling light mist flowed around him, forming vague shapes that Harry could not completely identify. He was somewhere, he was sure of that, but he could not quite see where, as the mist would not shape solidly into one form that he could see.

Turning away from the mysterious mist, Harry inspected his "body." It seemed to be his, though oddly unscathed. Even more otherworldly to him, when he touched his forehead, his fingers brushed no scar.

Where was he?

More alert now that he had successfully studied his position, Harry got to his feet. Suddenly self-conscious, he wished he were clothed.

No sooner than the thought had entered his head, soft, clean robes engulfed his body, light and airy. Amazed by the sheer magic of this, Harry looked at the mist around him again, studying the swirling shapes more closely.

This time, when he looked, the shapes seemed to become real things. Harry made out a glittering glass dome, stretching above him when he stared hard into the swirling white. Was it a palace? He strained his eyes even harder, and a wide-open space was revealed to him, even more massive than the Great Hall. Harry recognized it, the name of the place on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. He just couldn't place it…

And then Harry jumped as a low, pitiful moan sounded from somewhere to his right, hidden by the mist.

Curious, he followed the sound of the whimpering, walking slowly through the light vapor. And there he spotted it, curled up in a ball, unwanted, abandoned, under a seat. He recoiled at the sight. It had the body of a small child, its skin unhealthly looking and flawed, ugly and repulsive. Harry felt a small rush of fear run through him as he stared at it. Helpless though it was, he did not want to approach it. Part of him wished to help the poor soul, but he couldn't bring himself to extend his arm and touch it.

"You cannot help," a voice said softly behind him.

Harry jumped and spun around, eyes widening at the sight of Albus Dumbledore, walking towards him in beautiful flowing robes of midnight blue.

"Harry," he said, spreading his arms wide in greeting, his once cursed hand now new and healthy. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."

The old man turned, silver beard swinging as he strode away from the disheveled thing beneath the seat. At lost for words, Harry followed. The two of them sat on two chairs that Harry hadn't noticed before, Dumbledore beaming at him proudly the whole way.

Harry stared at the man he had come to know, taking in his appearance. He looked just like him, down to ever detail. But yet…

"But you're dead," Harry whispered, somehow managing to form the words.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said nonchalantly.

"Then…I'm dead too?" Harry asked, voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, smiling thoughtfully. "That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, my dear boy, I think not."

Harry stared at him, stunned.

"Not?" he echoed, dumbfounded.

"Not," Dumbledore said firmly.

"But…" Harry said, his mind refusing to believe it. "But I should have died! I didn't defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!"

"And that will, I think, have made all the difference," Dumbledore said softly.

"Explain," Harry demanded.

Dumbledore smiled, kindly leading Harry to answer his own questions. When Voldemort hit him with the Killing Curse, he destroyed the shard of his soul that lived inside of him. Despite this, Harry was still alive because of how Voldemort had taken his blood in the graveyard that night in his fourth year, to resurrect himself. Knowing nothing about Harry's mothers' sacrifice, and the magical protection in Harry's blood, Voldemort made Harry invincible while he himself was still alive.

Mesmerized, Harry listened as Dumbledore explained how his wand recognized Voldemort when he was escaping the Dursley's, using some of his own magic against him - destroying Lucius's poor wand, which couldn't withstand the power.

And then Dumbledore, tearfully, told his story. With the Hallows, Grindelwald, and the death of Ariana. Slowly, he explained the Deathly Hallows to Harry, and how Voldemort saw them.

Baffled, Harry took this huge flow of new information in, once again glancing at his surroundings.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked Dumbledore, watching the swirling shapes around him with interest.

"Well, I was going to ask you that," Dumbledore answered, looking at the mist seemingly for the first time. "Where would you say that we are?"

Harry glanced at the mist one more time, and his eyes widened as he finally recognized the interior.

"It looks," he said slowly, "like King's Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see."

"King's Cross station!" Dumbledore laughed heartily at this. "Good gracious, really?"

"Well, were do you think we are?" Harry asked, a little hurt.

"My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party."

Harry didn't quite get what he meant by this, but said nothing. They sat in silence for a little while. And then Harry looked up at Dumbledore, a resigned look in his emerald eyes.

"I have to go back, haven't I?" hwhispered.

"That is up to you," Dumbledore said sincerely, his blue eyes shining.

"I've got a choice?" Harry exclaimed, surprised.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said, smiling again. "We are at 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?" Harry asked curiously.

"On," Dumbledore said simply, obviously not about to elaborate.

Harry fell into silence, considering this tidbit of information. He had a choice. He could go back and face Voldemort, possibly finishing him for good, or die trying. Or he could go…on.

"Professor?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore responded kindly.

"If I were to go…on, would Voldemort still have a chance at being defeated?"

Dumbledore sat back, considering this. "Well, that would depend," he reasoned. "I can offer no guarantee. If you were to go back, you would face Voldemort, and possible defeat him. But if you did not…well, I think someone would rise up to the challenge."

Harry digested this information slowly. "So…yes?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said sincerely. "Yes, I think there would still be a good chance that Voldemort would be defeated."

Harry sat back at this, contemplating his choices. Unsure of what he should do, he looked up from his hands and found to his surprise that there were two trains on what had been only empty tracks last he had looked. They were both sparkling white, pristine and clean. One was facing the right, pointing towards the bright, inviting mist before it. The other pointed to the left, back towards a duller, real-looking vapor.

As Harry watched with interest at this sudden change in his surroundings, the mist that each train was facing started to shift, images starting to appear within it. Eyes wide, Harry gasped as a picture formulated in the white, pretty mist to the right.

Two shapes began to appear, their features starting out hazy, their figures only vaguely human. But then they started taking shape. A male and a female. The man had untidy hair, and glasses…and the woman had long, flowing hair.

Harry stared hungrily as his parents' picture finished forming, color completing the image with Lily's striking red hair and lovely green eyes coupled with James's untidy black mop and askew glasses that framed his hazel eyes.

"Mom," he whispered, unable to keep the words from escaping his lips. "Dad."

Dumbledore glanced at the direction Harry was staring, mildly interested. "You see them?" he asked.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Then I guess that would be the train that would take you on, my dear boy…" Dumbledore said softly. "If you so choose, of course."

Harry tore his eyes away from the image of his parents at this. "What about the other train then?" he asked.

"The other one?" Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow. "Why I would say that that one would take you back."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Slowly, Harry glanced back at the train on his left. An image was also forming in the duller mist. A figure, then two, and then three, four, five…many humans beginning to take shape. Harry's eyes began to water as Neville Longbottom came into view, flanked by Ron and Hermione…and then Ginny. Ginny. His heart fluttered at the sight of her. And behind her Luna, Cho, Seamus, the whole of Dumbledore's Army, smiling warmly at him. Luna even waved.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore, suddenly torn. "What should I…what should I do?" he asked the older man, conflicted. "Which train should I take?"

Dumbledore shrugged, eyes sparkling. "That is entirely up to you, Harry," he said kindly. "Though I would choose wisely. Fate has not given you many choices in life. Your destiny has always partially been written out. This is your time to choose, to make a decision of your own. Use it well."

Harry reacted slightly to Dumbledore's words, his last sentence bringing back a memory of an unsigned letter with a valuable Christmas present…

Dumbledore smiled down at him from behind his half-moon spectacles knowingly, before getting up with a sigh. "I will leave you to your own devices," he said quietly. "Until we meet again Harry."

He patted Harry affectionately on the arm, before turning and walking away, disappearing in a brief, quiet flash of light.

Harry watched him go, before turning back to the two images that represented his decision.

His parents to the right, waving cheerily and smiling warmly.

His best friends to the left, grinning and beckoning him back to them.

Biting his lip, Harry stared at his mother, silently begging her for advice. But she merely waved and smiled merrily, like she had from the Mirror of Erised all those years ago.

The Mirror of Erised. Flashing back, Harry thought about how he had stared at his parents for hours in its reflective depths, wanting nothing more to jump inside to them, to touch them, to talk to them, to actually be with them.

His heart's desire. His heart's desire was to be with his parents.

As he stared at his family's image, tantalizingly close, it suddenly hit him. His heart's desire was to be with his parents…and now, he had the chance to finally be with them, for good.

Why deny himself of that?

Because of my friends, he answered his own question, glancing back at Dumbledore's Army. His best friends, who had stuck with him until the very end…literally. Could he really leave them? Could he leave them with Voldemort?

Dumbledore's words rang through his head again. "If you were to go back, you would face Voldemort, and possible defeat him. But if you did not…well, I think someone would rise up to the challenge."

Still slightly unsure, he looked once more at his mother, locking gazes with her brilliant green eyes. His eyes. And in that moment, that instant, his decision was made.

Quietly, serenely, and a little reluctantly, Harry turned back to the image of his friends. His best, best friends.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to them, the apology coming softly to his lips. "I'm sorry. But it's time for me to go…on. You'll have to go on without me. Fight him. Beat him. Like I know you all can."

He watched them, tears shinning in his eyes, and to his surprise, they all nodded. Neville straightened his posture, a confident look in his eyes that Harry had never seen before. A sword had suddenly materialized in his hand, and Harry dully recognized it as the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. Solemnly, he saluted Harry. Smiling, Harry saluted back. Neville grinned before turning and disappearing from sight.

Then Hermione stepped forward. She smiled warmly at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "Goodbye," she mouthed at him. "Goodbye," Harry whispered back to her. She nodded in return, before turning and following Neville into the mist.

Then came Ron. He gave Harry that crooked grin he always wore, hands in his pockets. "Goodbye, mate," he mouthed. "Goodbye, Ron. My best mate," Harry said back, tears unwillingly surfacing in his eyes. And then with a grin, Ron too disappeared.

Luna came next. She did a little dance for Harry, mad but sweet, making Harry chuckle despite himself. Then she waved to him, flashing a smile, before she followed the others into the oblivion.

Slowly, surely, Harry said goodbye to every single one of his friends. Even Professor McGonagall, Hagrid and Argus Filch came to say their silent goodbye. All too soon, they all had vanished, leaving only one.

Ginny.

Harry had been dreading saying goodbye to her. He had made his decision, and was going to stick true to it, but he still did not want to leave her. She stood there for a long time, staring at him, and he simply sat in his chair, relishing every bit of her, loving her, since it might be the last time he'd see her.

And then, all too soon, she raised a hand, putting it lovingly to her lips, and blew a heart-felt kiss to him.

Tears welling in his eyes, Harry pantomimed catching it, pulling in his hand and keeping the fist he'd caught it in closed to his heart.

"Goodbye," she whispered, her voice the only one that spoke out of the images, carrying across the white station like the whistle of the wind.

"Goodbye, Ginny," Harry whispered back, tears falling soundlessly down his cheeks.

And then Ginny turned and disappeared in the mist.

For a long time Harry just sat there, staring at the patch of swirling white in which she had been lost from sight. Then slowly, with renewed strength, he got up from his chair, turning away from the train on his left as it chugged out of the station, empty, and facing the one of the right. Its doors were open, inviting, beckoning him to board.

And without any more hesitation, Harry boarded it.

He stepped through the ghostly door, taking a seat in one of the many empty compartments. Slowly, the train began to move…gradually taking him towards his new home. His new, perfect world.

Towards his parents.

He was finally home.