Harry trudged through the Forbidden Forest, each step feeling like it might be actually his last. His feet felt like they were dragging, weighed down by everything—the endless war, the fresh deaths of so many people he knew, that frightening feeling of uncertainty. He still gripped the Resurrection Stone in his hand, though it had long since stopped offering any real comfort. It had given him a brief moment of peace, letting him hear his parents, Sirius, and Remus again. Their words had soothed him back there, but now, even their presence was slipping away.
He wasn’t here to escape what was coming, anyway. Death was inevitable, especially if it was supposed to be by his hand.
Ahead, through the dark, twisted branches of the trees, Harry spotted the faint glow of a fire. This was it. His heart hammered in his chest, the gravity of what he was about to do hitting him harder with every step.
It wasn’t death that scared him anymore—he’d made his peace with that. It was the not knowing that gnawed at him. Would Voldemort really kill him? Would the Horcrux inside him be destroyed like they hoped? And if he died, could his friends finish what he started? Too many questions, and not enough answers.
"Does it even matter?" he muttered to himself, his breath visible in the cool night air. Perhaps it was the proximity to death that made his thoughts spiral. Or perhaps it was the inherent absurdity of the situation. He was about to walk into Voldemort’s hands and offer himself up like some sacrificial lamb.
In front of him, the firelight grew brighter, and Harry’s pace hesitantly slowed. He could hear the low murmurs of voices, the crackling of the fire. His hand tightened around the stone once more, feeling the slight warmth it gave off. Strange…
But before Harry could take another step forward, a voice broke through the murmur of the Death Eaters.
"’m just saying, if the earth were really round, wouldn’t we feel it spinning?"
The absurdity of the statement made Harry freeze in place. Surely, he hadn’t heard that right.
"What are you on about?" Another voice, this one more impatient. Harry couldn’t place them, but both of them had to be Voldemort’s followers. It was only logical that such stupidity would come from Death Eaters.
"’m serious! How do we know? It makes sense that the earth is flat. If it weren’t, wouldn’t water just fall off the edge?"
"Are you out of your mind? That’s not how gravity works."
Harry blinked, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. He crept forward, close enough now to see the circle of Death Eaters gathered around a fire. Voldemort stood at the center, his back to Harry, staring into the flames. But two of his followers having the conversation were at the edge of the clearing, positioned like guards yet completely absorbed in their idiotic debate.
Harry’s mouth went dry as he realized they were dead serious.
"Well, if gravity is real, explain why we don’t float away, but things like feathers do!" the first voice—one of the younger Death Eaters, maybe—shot back.
"That’s… that’s basic physics," the other Death Eater replied, sounding exasperated. "It has nothing to do with the earth being flat."
"No, listen!" the younger one insisted. "The Ministry just wants you to believe in gravity so they can control us. If people knew the earth was flat, they’d start questioning everything else!"
Harry couldn’t help it. He snorted. Loudly.
The clearing went dead quiet as every head swiveled toward him. Voldemort turned slowly, his pale, snake-like face showing nothing, but his eyes—red and burning in the darkness—were filled with a cold, simmering rage.
Harry stepped out from the shadows, his Invisibility Cloak already tucked away in his pocket. He should have been terrified, but the absurd conversation he’d overheard had somehow stripped the fear from him. The sheer ridiculousness of it all made everything feel less... inevitable.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Harry said, shaking his head as he approached the two men. "The earth… is flat? Really?"
The young Death Eater’s face flushed red, but he stood his ground. "Yeah, well, how do you know it isn’t?"
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then paused, momentarily stunned by the fact that this was the conversation he was having before willingly walking to his death.
"Because," Harry began slowly, trying to keep a straight face, “if the earth were flat, we’d fall off the edge. Like, constantly. There are pictures from space that show the earth is round. Muggles figured that shit ages ago?"
"They’re altered," the Death Eater insisted, crossing his arms. "And anyway, if space is real, then why haven’t we seen any aliens, huh? It’s all a conspiracy."
"Conspiracy?” Harry repeated, incredulous. "You’re literally following a man who came back from the dead, and you think Muggles are the ones pulling the strings? Do you even hear yourself right now?"
By now, the other Death Eaters had gathered around, watching the exchange with varying degrees of bewilderment. Voldemort remained silent, but his gaze was fixed on Harry, unblinking, calculating.
Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, drawing Harry’s attention. "Potter," he sneered, "Surely you didn’t come to discuss Muggle science."
Harry’s heart clenched. Right. He wasn’t here for this. But for some reason, the words wouldn’t stop tumbling out of his mouth. Maybe it was the impending sense of doom, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"Look," Harry said, running a hand through his hair, "I’m just saying, the earth isn’t flat. It’s round. It’s not some big conspiracy—it’s just how things are. Take prophecies, for example. They often make sense in a world that’s spherical. Ancient prophecies talking about cosmic events or people who seem to live beyond their time are based on the idea that the world keeps going and evolving. If the earth were flat, those prophecies would have to mention things like falling off the edge or some other wild scenario. The idea of surviving beyond death fits with a world that keeps turning, not one with an end point."
He sounded just like Hermione, and for a moment, he understood the exasperation she sometimes felt toward him and Ron.
However, Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he listened, a flicker of interest crossing his face. His dark gaze seemed to pierce Harry’s very soul, his expression shifting from curiosity to something darker and more calculating. Harry didn’t like his look one bit.
"Prophecies about enduring beyond death," Voldemort murmured, almost to himself. "Indeed... they’re tied to the idea of a world that continues, not just a physical place but a continuation of existence."
Voldemort’s gaze locked onto Harry, and a slow, calculating realization seemed to dawn on him.
"You talk about surviving beyond the normal limits," Voldemort said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I’ve always seen you at the heart of my cosmos, but now I realize that…"
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He had no idea where Voldemort was going with this, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good.
The Dark Lord took a deliberate step closer, his eyes fixed on Harry with dark satisfaction. The look on his face was terrifying.
"...none of these stars have ever shone as brightly as your soul."
Harry’s heart immediately sank, and he took a shaky step back. Before he could react further, Voldemort raised his wand. A flash of blue light burst forth, and his world went black.