The Choice
Harry sat frozen on the edge of the bed, his breath shallow, his hands gripping the fabric of his robes as if holding on to something that was already slipping away. The walls of the dormitory seemed thinner now, the structure of Hogwarts itself wavering, fading into the mist.
The Reaper stood before him, silent and patient.
"It is time," he said again, his voice low, steady. "You cannot remain between worlds, Harry. Choose."
But how was he supposed to?
Everything he had ever known—the friendships, the battles, the victories, and losses—had shaped him. Was it all truly a dream? Was he really lying in a hospital bed, trapped in a coma while his parents watched him slip away?
A shuddering breath left his lips.
"What happens if I go with you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The Reaper studied him. "You wake up. You return to the life you left behind. You will see your mother. Your father. You will live again."
It should have been an easy choice. It should have been what he wanted.
Then why did it feel like dying?
Harry pushed himself to his feet, his limbs shaking. The Great Hall was gone now, the common room erased from existence. Only the two of them remained in the nothingness where Hogwarts had once stood.
"And if I stay?" he asked.
The Reaper inclined his head slightly. "Then you will remain here. In the dream. Until there is nothing left."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This world is crumbling, Harry. It was never meant to last. Already, you have seen the cracks—the empty halls, the missing faces. It will not hold forever. Soon, there will be nothing left but darkness."
A deep, hollow fear settled in his stomach.
"And what happens to me when that happens?"
The Reaper did not answer. He didn’t need to.
Harry swallowed hard, staring at his feet, willing his thoughts to stop racing. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of a blade, one wrong step from falling into the unknown.
Wake up.
Or disappear forever.
His fingers curled into fists.
"What if I don’t want to leave?" he admitted. The words tasted bitter. "What if I’d rather stay in the dream?"
"Why?" the Reaper asked, his voice quiet.
Harry lifted his chin, feeling a burning anger in his chest. "Because I had a life here."
The Reaper said nothing.
"I had friends. I had people who cared about me. I belonged somewhere." His voice cracked. "If this is just a dream, then why does it hurt so much to leave it?"
The Reaper was silent for a long moment.
Then he lifted his hand.
The world shifted.
Harry stood in a hospital room.
The air smelled of antiseptic and something stale, something wrong. Machines beeped steadily, wires snaked across the floor, and in the center of it all, a boy lay still beneath the sheets.
His own face stared back at him.
His own body, thin and fragile, trapped between life and death.
Lily Potter sat beside him, her hand clasped around his own, her face streaked with silent tears. James stood by the window, his fists clenched, his jaw tight, like a man fighting a battle he already knew he would lose.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
They were real.
His mother. His father. The people he had spent his whole life wishing for, aching for, dreaming about.
And they were here.
Waiting for him.
A choked noise left his lips as he stepped forward, reaching out. His fingers brushed his mother’s shoulder, but she didn’t react.
She couldn’t see him.
"They have never stopped fighting for you," the Reaper said beside him.
Lily squeezed his hand tighter. "Harry, sweetheart, please. Please come back to us."
A sob threatened to escape his throat.
He wanted to.
He wanted to wake up, to let her see him open his eyes, to tell her he was still here, still alive.
But then—
"What about them?" he whispered, turning to the Reaper. "What about Ron? Hermione? Hagrid? If I leave… do they just—do they just stop existing?"
The Reaper regarded him carefully. "They exist as long as you remember them. They have served their purpose. They guided you, gave you strength, protected you. But they were never real, Harry. Not like this."
Harry clenched his jaw.
It wasn’t fair.
"If they weren’t real, why do I love them?"
"Because they were a part of you."
Harry shut his eyes tightly. He could still hear Hermione’s voice lecturing him about his homework. He could still see Ron’s grin after a Quidditch match. He could still feel the warmth of Hagrid’s arms wrapped around him in a crushing hug.
If he left now, he would never see them again.
"You have to choose." The Reaper’s voice was gentle.
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest.
And then, he knew.
He turned away from the hospital bed, his stomach twisting, and faced the Reaper.
"I’m ready."
The Reaper nodded.
Darkness swallowed them both.
Harry gasped.
The sound of beeping filled his ears, sharp and sudden. His eyes flew open, the brightness of the hospital room almost unbearable. His body felt heavy, weak, as if it had not moved in a long time.
And then—
"Harry?"
His mother’s voice was breathless, disbelieving.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she cupped his face with trembling hands.
"James—James, he’s awake!"
His father’s footsteps thundered across the room, and then his face was there, eyes wide with shock, his voice cracking. "Harry? Son?"
Harry swallowed, his throat dry and aching.
But he was here.
He was home.
Lily let out a sob, pulling him into her arms, pressing her forehead against his. "Oh, my baby, my sweet boy—"
Harry’s own eyes burned, his breath shaky. He let himself be held, let himself feel.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
Hogwarts was gone. Ron, Hermione, Hagrid… all of it was lost to the dream.
And no matter how much he had loved them, no matter how much they had meant to him—
He would never see them again.