Beyond the Veil
Darkness. Silence. Then—breath.
Harry's eyes snapped open, his body tensing instinctively. The last thing he remembered was standing in the Forbidden Forest, Voldemort's voice echoing in his ears, the sickly green glow of the Killing Curse rushing toward him. But there was no pain. No train station. No Dumbledore. Just... this.
He pushed himself up, his fingers brushing against the ground—dirt, rough and dry. His glasses were missing, yet his vision was perfect. A warm breeze carried unfamiliar scents: burning wood, distant voices, and something else—something old. He wasn't in Hogwarts. He wasn't even in the wizarding world.
All around him stretched a vast city of low, worn-down buildings. Cracked stone pathways wound between them, and people in tattered robes shuffled through the streets. Their faces were weary, their eyes dull, like ghosts wandering in limbo. Where the hell am I?
A child ran past him, giggling. No, not a child—a spirit.
It hit Harry like a jolt of lightning. He wasn't in the living world anymore. He was... dead.
He swallowed hard, pushing aside the rising panic. If this was some afterlife, then where was everyone else? His parents? Sirius? Remus? And why did he feel—whole? His body felt strong, untouched by death. It made no sense.
A commotion stirred nearby. A heavy crash, followed by screams. Harry turned toward the noise just as an ear-splitting roar split the air.
Then he saw it.
A towering figure loomed over the street, its grotesque white mask twisting into a horrifying grin. Its body was shrouded in black, its form massive and unnatural. Whatever it was, it radiated hunger—a deep, gnawing hunger that made Harry's stomach churn.
The people around him ran, screaming. But Harry—Harry couldn't move. Not out of fear, but because something inside him recognized this creature. Not its name, but its nature. This wasn't just a monster. It was something worse.
A Hollow.
The creature roared again and lunged forward, its claws swiping toward a helpless woman frozen in terror. Harry didn't think—he moved.
His hand shot out, grasping at nothing—until something answered.
With a sudden pulse of energy, a weapon materialized in his grip. It wasn't a wand. It wasn't even a sword. It was a scythe, its long black blade glinting in the dim light, a silver chain wrapped around the handle and trailing like a serpent.
The Hollow turned toward him, sensing the shift. Harry tightened his grip, heart pounding. He had no idea how he knew what to do, but he did. He spun the scythe, the chain extending with a metallic whirl as he swung—
The blade cut through the Hollow's mask in one clean motion.
For a moment, everything was still. Then, with a final wail, the monster disintegrated into nothing. The air crackled with lingering energy, then fell silent.
Harry stood there, panting. The scythe in his hands pulsed, then vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Around him, the people stared—some in awe, others in fear.
Before he could make sense of it all, he felt it.
A presence. No—multiple presences.
From above, a group of figures in black robes descended, their swords gleaming. Their faces were unreadable, but their eyes locked onto him with unmistakable intent.
"Identify yourself," one of them commanded.
Harry exhaled, his hands still tingling from the energy surging through him.
He had no idea what he had just done. But one thing was clear—he wasn't supposed to be here.
And now, the Soul Reapers knew it too.