(A/N: I am speechless. No, I'm not, cause I'm typing, never mind. I'm flabbergasted. There we go, some fancy word choice. I got 61 reviews on this. 61! SIXTY-ONE! You guys ROCK! :D I never expected to remotely get even CLOSE to this many reviews and readers. And for statistics—statistics that made me have a spaz, by the way—you guys have given me: 3,311 hits, 3 C2's, 97 favs and 15 alerts. All for what was supposed to be a simple random one-shot for my own enjoyment. My sincere thank you's to all of you who have read, reviewed, favorited, alerted and C2'd this story and suffered through the random ramblings and crazy ideas of a mentally-deranged Harry Potter fan. You guys rule.

I'm not sure if I am totally happy with this chapter. I don't think it is as funny as the other two, but I promised you guys I'd write it, and I did get seventeen votes of yes on my poll, (thank you guys very, very much for voting!) so I figured I owed you guys it, and it does have its moments. If you have any ideas that you would like me to add, do tell. I am always open for suggestions and ideas. Enjoy!)

My New, Fabulous, Totally Awesome and Epic Challenge, If You Choose To Accept Is: . . . eh, I'm too lazy to come up with a new challenge. I'm even too lazy to bold this. Knock yourselves out. Literally.

Harry awoke to find himself sitting, oddly, on a pure white floor. Blinking at the bright lights that shone all around him, he slowly got to his feet and looked around.

He seemed to be in some sort of…station. Almost like King's Cross. But cleaner.

Yeah. Definitely cleaner.

And smelly, he concluded, wrinkling his nose. The place smelled something like a mix of gillyweed and laundry detergent. And it did not smell pleasant.

He examined his surroundings with a critical eye for a long moment, ears perked, but not a sound was made in the empty white station.

Harry smirked. "Well, this is surreal," he said to himself, chuckling quietly. Slowly, his chuckle became a laugh, and then he full out cracked up, skipping around the station, laughing and singing We're Off To See the Wizard. When he was tired of skipping, he stopped, still grinning broadly, and looked down the seamlessly endless station. "HELLLOOO!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"HELLLOOOO!" his echo replied. Harry's green eyes sparkled with mad enjoyment.

"I'M DEAD!" he yelled.

"I'M DEAD!" his echo yelled back.

Harry giggled madly, doing a small pirouette, keeping himself spinning much longer than he ever thought he'd be able to do in life.

"I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'M DEAD!" he sang in a sing-song, almost hysterical voice. He skipped around the station for a couple minutes, humming and swinging his arms merely.

After a little while, he became tired of his jovial celebration of death and calmed down a bit, reassessing his surroundings. He cocked his head slightly, thinking.

"I'm dead…" he thought aloud to himself. "I've been a good boy. Well… sorta." He giggled again. "And this doesn't look like Hell. So is this… Heaven?"

Emerald eyes sparkling with interest, Harry began to sprint down the seamlessly endless station, cutting through the thick mist like a knife through butter. As he had been expecting, when he finally stopped, there was no change in scenery. It was like he had never left the place where he had appeared.

He grinned. "Cool."

Giggling, he took off again, repeating the experiment and each time coming up at seemingly the same place he had just been. He laughed, beaming… but then his smile faltered as he realized something.

He frowned, scanning the station again, narrowing his eyes and taking in every detail, making sure there was nothing he had missed.

When he was done, his frown deepened.

"Aw. man!" he yelled at the empty station in sudden despair, his mood switching faster than a bolt of lightning. "No fair! If this is Heaven, where's the angels? The clouds, the harps, the choir boys? WHAT SORT OF HEAVEN IS THIS?"

Crossing his arms he glared at the station, willing it to change to become the Heaven of his picture. It didn't.

Harry glowered at it. "Aw, c'mon…" he said to no one in particular. "I was really looking forward to getting a pair of wings… and a halo. I bet they make awesome Frisbees."

He sighed, disappointed, but after a few minutes he got over his disappointment, even forgetting all about it as he realized something else entirely.

He wasn't wearing any clothes.

Harry stared at himself for a moment, touching his face for the first time and realizing he no longer wore glasses or had a scar on his forehead. He touched the place where it had been lightly just to make sure, but it wasn't there. Then he looked back down at himself.

"Well, this is embarrassing…" he laughed, putting his hands on his hips and staring down the empty station. He grinned, remembering how he had just run down it just a couple of minutes before.

He wondered if it was still considered streaking if no one saw him. Or if he was dead.

He giggled at the thought, eyes still alight and alive, despite his life being snuffed out. He was just considering whether he should take another sprint for good measure when he heard a pitiful moan behind him.

Harry turned slowly, eyes falling on a small bench residing there. He examined it for a moment, and after another minute the moan sounded again, obviously from the direction of the bench.

Curious, Harry approached the seat and crouched down next to it, beholding the creature that was tucked underneath.

It was ugly. Harry thought it looked something like a cross between a rubber chicken, Dolores Umbridge, Voldemort's nose and a demented Care Bear…the absolute most scary and horrifying monster that he could possibly come up with. Just the thought of it sent surges of horror through his veins.

Harry stared at it.

The Care Bear moaned.

Harry stared at it.

The Care Bear moaned.

Harry stared at it.

The Care Bear moaned.

A long silence ensued.

And then Harry stood.

"Well, that was gross," he remarked nonchalantly.

Ignoring and forgetting about the creature of his nightmares entirely, Harry made his way back to the center of the station. Although he felt neither self-conscious nor cold, he felt it was about time he got some clothes on. He was about to imagine some nice, warm robes to clothe himself and simply hope they would appear, but he stopped mid-thought.

If he could clothe himself with just a thought…why would he just get himself boring old robes?

He was dead… he might as well have a fashion style to match.

Grinning at the new idea, Harry wracked his brains to come up with the perfect outfit to summon…assuming that it worked at all. His first thought was something colorful, and at that thought, an image swam into his mind before he could stop himself. Before he knew it, Harry found himself clothed in a yellow, polka-dotted clown suit, complete with the overlarge red shoes, rainbow afro and squeaky red nose.

Harry examined himself for a moment and then broke into hysterical laughter, tripping over the gigantic shoes and falling flat on his face. To his surprise, it didn't hurt and he seemed completely undamaged, an occurrence that made him laugh even harder.

He was starting to like this whole being dead thing.

When he got over his clown outfit and was ready to move on to something else in his twisted dress-up game, Harry got to his feet…with some difficulty. He thought more deeply this time, trying to come up with a good outfit to wear. He grinned as an idea hit him, and instantly he found himself dressed in a smart black suit and shades.

Smirking, Harry intertwined his fingers like a gun, putting it up close to his face like a secret agent. "The names Potter," he said in a deep voice. "Harry Potter." He held the pose for a moment, grinning, before breaking it and thinking of something else to wear.

He continued like this for a good fifteen minutes, trying random outfit after random outfit. Finally, he did his last one. Concentrating hard, Harry found himself clad in a suit with a heavy yellow utility belt, a huge black cape that fell over his shoulders and dragged on the floor, a cowl with two identical horns sticking out of it, and a symbol of a bat on his chest.

Immediately, Harry put on a serious face, pulling the corner of the cape up so that it covered the lower half of his face. "I'M BATMAN," he said in a deep gravelly voice. Then he smirked and giggled.

Tired of playing dress up, Harry focused on some simple, plain black robes and they appeared on him, making him feel warm and comfy. He was just considering what he should do next when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

He turned to see Albus Dumbledore walking towards him, arms spread wide. "Harry," he said regally. "Wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Come, let us walk."

Harry's eyes widened. "Whoa, where did you come from? You were like, BAM, HERE I AM!"

He added jazz hands for emphasis.

Dumbledore's arms dropped to his sides. He looked confused. "Harry?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Harry answered smoothly, although he was disappointed in Dumbledore's lack of returned jazz hands. He'd thought they had a connection. "So, you're visiting my heaven, huh? Cool! Dead guys from my past are always welcome! Here, come sit, I don't want to be rude." He sat down quickly on a nearby bench, patting the seat next to him happily, a wide smile on his face.

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long time, still obviously slightly confused by the Boy Who Lived's behavior. Slowly, he walked over to the bench and sat down.

Harry stared at him for a long moment, green eyes alight with curiosity. "So. I'm dead, right?" he asked, never letting his striking and unnerving gaze leave the old wizards blue orbs. A small smirk was still on his lips.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Not quite," he said slowly.

Harry frowned. "Not quite?"

"No."

Harry's eyes shone with realization and he beamed at Dumbledore. "Well, that explains a lot," he relaxed, sounding relieved. "That's why there's no little angels flittin' round singin' Christmas carols. I was getting worried."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed somewhat, and he stared at Harry in concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off.

"Think I'll meet up with Clarence at all?" he questioned excitedly. "Once I'm truly dead, I mean."

Dumbledore blinked. "Who is Clarence?" he asked softly, studying the energetic teen before him.

Harry rolled his eyes, still grinning. "Never mind," he said, waving Albus' question off. "It's not important." He bobbed up and down for a moment on his seat, beaming. Then he frowned somewhat, glaring at the bench he was sitting on. "Why do we have to sit on this stupid bench?" he asked, kicking it. "I mean, really. I'm dead, or at least sorta dead. I can control this place, right?"

Dumbledore looked slightly at loss as to what to say, a problem that he had never encountered in life. "Er…"

But Harry had already moved on, closing his eyes like he was meditating, though he looked the exact opposite of calm. More like a toddler who got his hands on a can of Monster. The moment he closed his eyes, the bench they were sitting on disappeared, replaced by state-of-the-art swivel recliner chairs equipped with massage-heating features.

Harry opened his eyes and beamed at the furniture. "Now that's more like it," he laughed, reclining his chair all the way back and putting his hands behind his head in relaxation.

Dumbledore simply stared at him, flabbergasted. "Are you feeling all right Harry?" he asked cautiously.

Harry blinked. "Me?" he exclaimed, pointing to himself. He snorted. "Pshh, I'm fine! Actually, I'm better than fine. I'm dead. Er, partially dead. Half dead? What am I anyway?"

"You're halfway between life and death, Harry," Dumbledore explained slowly.

Harry took this in slowly, looking deep in thought. "Sooo I'm half dead," he concluded. "And half alive."

Albus shrugged. "It depends on how you look at it," he said mysteriously. "Is the glass half full or half empty?"

Harry gave his former headmaster a weird look. "Who cares? It tastes the same."

The old wizard sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "Look, Harry," he said rather tiredly. "You have two choices."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Choices? Like whether I wanna eat the dark chocolate candy bar or the milk chocolate bar?"

Dumbledore sighed. "No, not that."

Harry frowned. "But that's a choice."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed slowly, trying to get the concept through the young wizard's mind. "But this is a different type of choice."

"There's different types of choices?" Harry exclaimed, looking absolutely horrified.

"Yes, Harry, there is."

Harry's mouth fell open. "SINCE WHEN?" he cried.

Dumbledore sighed. "Since now," he decided, exasperated. "You can either go back and defeat Voldemort, possibly for good. Or you can move on."

Harry furrowed his brow. "On?" he repeated in confusion.

"On," Dumbledore said, smiling. At last, he thought. He had finally gotten something through to him.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"What kind of stupid riddle is that?" Harry exploded, outraged. "What the heck is 'on'?"

Dumbledore sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. "Simply on," he said vaguely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You mean Heaven," he clarified. "Or Hell. Whichever."

"A crude way of putting it, but yes," Albus sighed, giving in. "An afterlife. A being after death. Onwards after death. However you see it."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Long and hard. "Y'know, I'm getting really sick and tired of all this riddle talk, Dumbles," he complained. "Really, it's bad enough you talked my ear off all last year about Tom Riddle, but now, when you're dead, and I'm half-dead, all you do is talk in riddles! I mean, c'mon, man! Just tell me, straight out, mono e mono. What. Do. You. Want. Me. To. Do."

"Make your choice," Dumbledore said simply.

Harry looked at him skeptically. "You mean die and skip around on clouds followed by happy little naked angels with teeny tiny wings and harps singing Christmas Carols, or go back to Earth and make fun of Voldy some more?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "If that's the way you see it Harry…"

Harry thought about it for a minute, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in deep concentration. After a moment, he shrugged. "Eh, as much as setting around on a cloud in a toga for all eternity sounds fun, I think I"ll pass," he decided nonchalantly, as if the choice was simple. "'Sides, I still got a couple things up my sleeve for ol' moldy Voldy back down on Terra Firma."

"So you've made your decision, then," Dumbledore said slowly.

Harry looked confused. "What decision?"

"To go back and try to defeat Voldemort once and for all," the great wizard said majestically.

"Oh," Harry said, missing the point entirely. "Guess so. No offense, but I'm not really into the whole toga thing." He gestured to Dumbledore's attire carelessly.

"They're not togas," Dumbledore said, slightly defensively.

"What are they then? Dresses?"

"No."

"Kilts?"

"No. They're robes."

Harry paused for a moment, studying Dumbledore's clothing carefully.

"...looks like a toga to me."

Dumbledore sighed again. Realizing he wasn't going to be able to get anything more through to Harry, he stood. "Until we meet again, Harry," he said formally.

Harry grinned. "Kay, bye," he breezed, leaning back in his reclining chair. "Have fun up in the clouds wearing your toga! And say hi to Clarence for me, will ya?"

The former headmaster's eye twitched, finally losing it. "They're not togas," he all-but snapped. "And who in Merlin's name is Clarence?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He waved Dumbledore off, looking extremely relaxed and unperturbed, unlike the annoyed old wizard. "He's a lil dude with no wings. You'll recognize him. Au revoir, Dumbles!"

Dumbledore opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it, sighing instead. "Goodbye, Harry," he said softly as he began to fade away, beams of bright white light surrounding him. "Good luck on regaining your sanity…"

And then he was gone and Harry was falling into a deep abyss of darkness, leaving his comfy, plush, state-of-the-art swivel recliner chair with massage-heating features far behind…

"NOOOO!" Harry yelled in despair, Luke Skywalkering it and groping for his dream chair one last time, before everything went black.