I have decided I haven't updated in awhile, so I should... :) Y'all miss me?

Been busy working on my original work, which I'm hoping to be done with a soon-to-be-last revision by this fall. Hopefully start looking for a publisher. Sorry I've been avoiding you... but I need monies. Can't get it from fanfic, sadly.

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Characters belong to the Harry Potter universe, care of J.K. Rowling. Plot and writing belongs to me, from my own person brain.

Note: I have not read the majority of the Harry Potter books. I am currently trapped in book three, where I have been since it came out some thirteen years ago. I apologize ahead of time about any OOC-ness of the characters, but I'm pretty sure I have kept it to a minimum. Characterizations come mostly from fanfic I have read over the past few months. Please feel free to mention any character issues, big or small. I'll not be angry. :)

This is, out of necessity, AU. It beings somewhere through the seventh book and deviates from there. Everything leading up to the final battle is basically canon.

Rated T for angst, bodily functions, and extremely bad jokes.

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The Other Afterlife
A Harry Potter FanFiction by Cordria

There is no rest for the wicked… or the prophesied.

-.-.-

Prologue: Dying

-.-.-

"Finally."

Harry stared down at his hands – what was left of them, anyways. The last blast had completely destroyed the wand in his hand and had taken a number of fingers along for the ride. Fortunately the explosion had been accompanied by a burst of fire, which had somewhat cauterized the wounds. It almost didn't hurt. Not compared to the rest of him, anyways.

"You've found your place."

The night was dark and pressing. Trees loomed overhead, the small clearing only allowing the faintest moonlight to sneak through. Dark branches scratched the silent sky and dry grasses rustled ominously in the wind.

Harry shook his head, but couldn't find anything in him to say. One of his knees dug into a rock. He didn't move his leg, there was no point anymore.

His eyes trailed to the side, gazing at the dark forms of his remaining friends, of the only people could even pretend call his own. There were black pools around many of them. All of them were silent, still, and growing cold.

There were only a handful of people left alive in the woods, in the place where it was all supposed to end. Everyone came for this, the endgame. The Horcruxes were destroyed. Harry had survived a second brush with death. Voldemort had no more tricks up his sleeve.

How wrong they were. Nobody had dreamed it was going to end like this.

Not like this.

"On your knees, begging for your life."

Harry looked up at the person with the rasping voice. Hairless, snake-like features gazed back at him. Eyes seemed to glow in the dark, crazy with power and victory. Robes flowed off the man like smoke, a nightmare wand pointed towards Harry's head.

Others – none of them friendly – stood around, watching. Some were grinning in a crazy, horribly way.

It was strange, Harry noted, how dead they looked just then. Their eyes blank, garish smiles painted on their faces. He wasn't sure where that thought came from, but it settled into his head and made him blink.

"Any last words before you die, child?"

Harry thought about telling the Dark Lord how stupid that insult had been, that he could've come up with a better one in his sleep ten years ago. Hell, Dudley could've come up with a better insult in his sleep ten years ago.

He thought about smirking and saying something prophetic, something that would stick with Voldemort for the rest of his life. Which would probably be a long one, now that it was obvious who was going to win this war.

He thought about casting one last spell, one last-ditch attempt for a completely futile victory. Maybe an expelliarmus charm. Voldemort really seemed to hate that one, for reasons Harry still hadn't figured out. It would be a fitting goodbye.

But in the end, he just turned his gaze up to the stars, partially hidden by the stretching trees. They were twinkling – so far away, out of this war, away from all the pain and the death and the destruction. How wonderful it must be to be a star.

There was a sound. Perhaps the Dark Lord was preparing to gloat some more. He must have thought better of it. Harry had come out of terrible situations before, snatched life from the face of almost certain death. There was no way Voldemort was going to give Harry the least bit of a chance to walk away from this.

A swishing noise. The words Harry had known were coming.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green. Why in the world was it green, anyways?

Then his thoughts were swept away in blackness. His body collapsed to the ground to the sound of laughter that was leaking away into nothingness.

Soon there was just the blackness and the sound of insects squeaking and croaking in the night. And the hurt of his wounds and the pain in his heart from all that had happened.

One eye opened – just a little – and saw a silver of a moon shining overhead. The people leaning over him were gone, vanished into the night. His head rolled to the side, hoping for one last glance at his girlfriend, the one he'd wanted to marry.

All the bodies were gone too. It was just him, alone, in a dark clearing.

Dead.

Then, his brain deciding it had been through quite enough for one day and being dead was the last straw, turned off. Harry slept. Or whatever it was that dead people did.

-.-.-

.

-.-.-

To be continued...