Chapter 2:
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.
"Mum?" he said tentatively, his voice sounding considerably higher than it once was. "Dad?"
"Happy birthday, kiddo!" James said, slapping his son playfully on the shoulder. "Didn't think we'd forget, did you?"
"We were just preparing your favorite breakfast!" Lily beamed, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately. "It's almost ready; we didn't expect you up quite so early—"
Lily was interrupted by a stifling hug, as Harry launched himself at his mother and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled divine, like fresh rose petals, and she was as warm and inviting as he'd always imagined her to be. Lily chuckled in surprise, but returned the hug all the same.
"Goodness," she chuckled as she embraced her son. "James, you'd think we starve him for attention."
"Hey, don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Lil," James teased. "I doubt he'll act so affectionate when his sister wakes up."
That remark made Harry pull away from his mother and stare at his father in
astonishment. I have a sister?! he thought in amazement. He had so many questions running through his mind, bursting to know everything about the new life he'd just been gifted with. But before he could rattle off several dozen of them, there came a gentle rapping on glass, causing all three Potters to turn toward the window.
"Ah, I think I know what this means," Lily said, striding across the kitchen to open the window. "That's a Hogwarts owl if I've ever seen one." And she let in a majestic brown owl, which hooted softly and deposited a letter at Harry's feet before fluttering back outside.
Harry bent down to pick up the envelope, which was sealed with a wax Hogwarts emblem and addressed to: "Harry James Potter, the Kitchen, Number Eighteen Church Lane, Godric's Hollow, England".
Harry looked up at his parents, who were watching him expectantly, urging him on with wide smiles. Harry tore open the letter, already knowing what was inside, but nonetheless feeling warmth spread across his chest as he unfolded it to read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
So that explained at least one of Harry's questions: today was his eleventh birthday. He certainly felt smaller than he had in the Department of Mysteries, and he had wondered when he would be able to return to Hogwarts in his new reality. Apparently, the answer was in one month and one day's time.
"Of course we knew you'd get in; your name's been down since birth," James beamed at Harry as he took the letter from him. "Though it is nice to have confirmation you're not a Squib."
"James Potter!" Lily said in mock scandal, slapping her husband playfully on the shoulder. "Of course Harry's a wizard; he's been making things move and flying that blasted toy broom of his since before he could walk!"
"Damned right he has," James said, beaming with pride. "Gonna try out for the Gryffindor squad, you reckon, son? Think you can live up to your old man's legacy?"
"Oh, don't pressure him," Lily scoffed. "And who said he'll be in Gryffindor? I'm sure he'll fit in fine with whichever House accepts him."
"I'm gonna try out," Harry said eagerly to James. "For Seeker. As early as this year, if they'll let me."
"Atta boy!" James guffawed. "See, Lily? A born flyer! I don't think they let first-years play, but maybe I can write to ol' Minnie and twist her arm a little—"
"I'm sure 'Minnie' will be very receptive to seven more years of Potter hijinks," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "Come, let's eat before the food gets cold."
Harry walked over to the kitchen table in a daze and took a seat, still feeling like he was in a dream too good to be true. Lily transferred over several steaming plates of food, loaded up with fried eggs, bacon, sausages and waffles.
Harry's mouth watered as he ogled the spread; the Dursleys never had such lavish breakfasts, and if they did, Harry only got the scraps that Dudley didn't want.