prologue
It was rather silly, insultingly silly, to Harry Potter that after defeating the dark evil power that had been Lord Voldemort, Harry died in a car accident. Ironic, in fact, how he died in a very particular muggle way after being considered one of the greatest wizards to grace the wizarding world, if not the best. It was almost comical, in a darkly absurd way. He imagined how the headlines would read: “Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, Dies in Muggle Mishap.”
Amidst the beeping machines and antiseptic smell of the hospital, Harry couldn’t help but recall the countless times he’d faced death with bravery and resilience, only to meet his end in the most unexpected of ways. It was as if fate itself had decided to play a cruel joke on him, a final twist in a life already filled with so many unexpected turns.
The boy who ‘lived’ wished to laugh at himself— he had been rushed to a muggle hospital at once, the sound of the heart monitor was evident in his mind before it completely stopped. How he, someone who had been battling the unimaginable kinds of horror since he was a mere child, how he who had fought off dementors and dragons, had been defeated by something so mundane did not make sense to him. It was a funny thing, really. A car accident, the same thing he had believed for eleven years was the very reason his parents had died in the first place.
Though the entire fault was his, for he was the one behind the wheel when the world seemed to stop turning suddenly on a random Tuesday in April, he felt he could also partially blame his best friend Hermione Granger-Weasley. Not that he would ever tell her that, if he were to ever be awake from this situation— the poor girl will be wrecked with guilt and he could simply never do that to her.
Hermione had wanted him, and Ron too, to understand the muggle ways better— to formulate a better relation with the simple minded humans, disregarding the fact that Harry had actually grown up in a muggle household. She had argued endlessly with him and he only agreed once she mentioned the fact that the muggle world was also once his mother, Lily’s. So Harry had done the easiest feat he could have imagined— he bought a car and decided to take up driving lessons to get a licence.
It hadn’t been bad, if he had to be blatantly honest, and though he still preferred flying around in a broom (“wretched brooms, they are not that reliable you know,” Hermione had said once to him. Guess who’s laughing now?) there was a certain kind of peace one felt, galavanting through the narrow roads of England, the world never ending. There was a rush that followed flying around on a broom and there was a rather promiscuous tranquillity being in complete control of a vehicle, amidst a thousand cars, all in a rush to get somewhere, with people inside who wanted to be someone.
Harry was no longer in a rush to be someone now, twenty-seven years old he was and he felt he had a great deal to show for it. Momentarily disregarding everything he did in his teenage years, he still graduated with flying colours, having the highest mark in Defence against Dark Arts (in all the other subjects he took, the top scorer had been Hermione, of course). He became an auror as he had planned, they found all former death-eaters and had them taken to trial and eventually to Azkaban. He stepped down from being an Auror and joined Hermione in the Ministry for a more stable job. He had good relationships with people, a few romantic pursuits too (the longest one had been Ginny Weasley which lasted about two years before there was a mutual decision that they just weren’t right for one another). He had really accomplished everything he ever wanted to.
As he lay there, contemplating the absurdity of it all, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what his parents would think of his demise. Would they find humour in the irony, or would they mourn the loss of their son, taken too soon after all the sacrifices they made to ensure his survival?
Harry didn’t particularly find it in himself to be bitter about his ill-timed death. Life was so aimless now, he was no longer seventeen, fighting to survive every other day. It was a decade later and sure, there were still a million things still left for him to do. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to do them.
As Harry's consciousness wavered between the realms of the living and the unknown, a surge of frustration rippled through him. Of all the ways to go, a mundane car accident felt like a slap in the face after everything he had endured. It was insulting, really.
But as he reached out towards the beckoning light, his fingers trembling with anticipation, he couldn't suppress the bitter twist of irony that curled in his gut. Here he was, expecting a grand reunion with his mother and father, only to be met with uncertainty and ambiguity.
With a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow, Harry muttered under his breath, "Typical. Can't even die properly without some cosmic prank."
But even as he braced himself for the embrace of his mother's voice, the light seemed to shift and warp around him, pulling him away from the familiar comfort he had yearned for.
"Oi, where do you think you're taking me?" Harry called out into the swirling abyss, his voice tinged with a mix of defiance and resignation. But there was no answer, only the echoing silence of the void.
With a frustrated sigh, Harry resigned himself to the unknown, his heart heavy with unanswered questions and unspoken regrets. Wherever this light was leading him, he knew one thing for certain: his journey was far from over, and there were still mysteries to unravel, even in death.