Prologue

There is a boy on the floor, kneeling with his hands flat on the ground and his head bowed. He is crying--sobbing, to be precise. And really, some might call him a man by now, for despite his youth, he has seen more tragedy, pain, and suffering than many twice his age. He has sacrificed what little childhood he had so that others may have what he has not. Certainly, that is a maturity not often seen even in adults--but then, many his own age have also been forced to grow up in the face of these tragedies.

Two figures stand over the sobbing boy. One exudes darkness--warm, gentle, and kind to some, cold, terrifying, and unforgiving to others. The other seems made of golden light, again with that duality of perception--soothing, welcoming, and inviting to some, while to others, harsh, metallic, and weighty.

"It's just too much--all of it. The price has been too high." These words, whispered softly by the grieving boy, feel like part of a conversation that has gone on for some time. "Sometimes I'm not sure what we're fighting for. The fighting only hurts more people." His agony turns to anger, and striking green eyes snap up to look at the figures. "Why haven't you done anything? Don't you have powers? You could have helped!" Though his voice has risen to a hoarse shout, neither figure flinches. Their sad compassion is unchanged.

The golden one leans forward and rests a hand on the trembling boy's shoulder. With a voice like bells, or the rim of a crystal goblet, they murmur, "We have helped, little one, more than we should, and we will continue to help. Your pain is our pain. You-," they hesitate, "you needn't continue on this path. No on is asking you to. There is- there are different paths you can take."

The dark one steps closer, and says, in a voice like thunder trying to whisper, "You can rest, if you like, and see your departed loved ones. They are safe, and await you patiently. The world would continue without you if you joined them, and you would have peace.

"Or, you can return and continue fighting. Defeat your adversary. Grieve, suffer, and reassemble the puzzle, with some pieces missing."

Here, the golden one breaks in again. "But there is a third option. You can be truly happy in a way you never have, and stop much of the suffering you have seen from ever occurring."

The boy's eyes brighten for the first time since he found himself in this spaceless space, lit by a pale glow of hope. "The last one- it won't- destroy the world, or anything, will it? My friends- everyone alive will still be okay, right?"

"Yes, as well as well as many who have died. It would be almost like a clean slate. Some things will remain the same, for to change them would damage the fabric of existence, but otherwise, you would be starting over. This is an opportunity we have never offered to a human soul."

"You do need to make a decision," the dark one rumbles. "We still have time, but there is no reason to wait as you agonize over your choices. The answer is inside of you already, you need only speak it. Do not fear, little master." Their voice has softened. "This is not a test. There is no wrong answer. Whichever you choose is correct."

The boy's--no, the man's--gaze sharpens from timid hope to determination, and he stands, back straight. In that moment, he appears every bit the warrior he was shaped to be. "I have made my choice. I choose the last option."

Both figures smile. "An excellent decision, Harry Potter, befitting the Master of Death."

With a flash, all three disappear. The space, empty now of occupants and observers, slowly fades from existence, like a room seen through closing eyes.