The Choice
“Would you take it if the gods gave you the chance? To do it again but achieve the same results.” Harry had asked.
Harry remembered Sirius’ words. He had been drunk, but Sirius looked sober with his reply. Harry hadn’t understood it at the time. After all, what was the point if nothing changed? However, now, standing over the fallen, Harry understood. How much could change in four years. It was overwhelming. However, he had to say goodbye one last time. Even if he would be joining them shortly.
“I Would.” Sirius had answered.
Harry saw Remus and Tonks. Their son was younger than he himself had been and already knew the pain of losing his parents, of being orphaned. Still, he wished he could have done more. More than anything. Even if it meant his godson never truly came to be. He should have made them listen.
“Why?” Harry had asked.
Harry saw Lavender Brown, Dennis & Collin Creevy, Daphne Greengrass, Susan Bones, Padma Patil, Cho Chang, Alicia Spinnet, and so many more of his friends, classmates, and rivals, and it seemed silly to separate them in his mind now. Children. This shouldn’t have come to this. Why did it come to this? He hadn’t been enough. He should have fought harder. Realized sooner.
“To live again,” Sirius replied.
Then, he saw the Weasley’s. He didn’t go over. Not when it was him. He was the cause. They could have escaped if not for him. Fred, Charlie, Arthur. They did not deserve to die. Ginny looked to be missing her leg, barely breathing; it made his head spin. Why didn’t he keep them safe? He was supposed to keep them safe. He was the savior.
“Well, if I ever get the chance. I’m changing things.” Harry said.
He stopped walking, staring down at the teachers who raised him. After all, the Dursleys certainly didn’t have a hand in it. Yet, he still felt bitter, as if they could have done more. Why did he feel bitter? He shouldn’t. He is one of almost five hundred. He didn’t matter more.
“Yeah?” Sirius laughed. Harry missed his laugh. “You ever do that, just remember to keep an open mind.”
Then, there he was. Standing in front of them. His closest friends. His soulmates, even if it was only ever platonic. His family. Neither had made it out of the Chamber alive. He had sent them there. It was his fault. He was a weapon; why did he hurt those he loved, too?
“I will,” Harry promised.
He was a monster.
He was unworthy.
He was alone.
He was entering the forest, head held high. He was walking to the clearing, surrounded by family. He was unmoving, unflinching, unwritten.
He was dead.
Harry decided being dead was a strange thing. It was a bright white room.
Why was it King’s Cross? Harry would have preferred Hogwarts. That’s okay, though. He didn’t need to get everything. He would never be so…ungrateful. Harry didn’t feel real. Perhaps it’s because he no longer was. Hearing crying, Harry walked over and bent down to peer under a bench. It was an ugly, warped, twisted baby. It was blistering, burnt badly. He remembered how bad burns felt. He reached toward the child.
“You cannot help him.” Harry whirled around, coming face to face with Albus Dumbledore. At first, Harry smiled. However, the flashes of the dead quickly dropped the smile off his face. Dumbledore had created this. That much he knew. He shared the blame. Harry picked the child up, shushing him softly, cradling it to his chest, ignoring Dumbledore’s disappointed stare. He looked around for a way out, ignoring how Dumbledore talked about love and why he must put the child down.
Harry left a fuming and disappointed Dumbledore behind at the station, climbing onto the nearest train. He sat down, holding the child and whispering softly as if singing a lullaby.
“You know, Pup, you’re not half-bad at that.” A familiar voice said in front of him. Harry shifted the baby to throw his arms around him, His godfather. The only adult alive to ever only have Harry to care for. The one that put him first above all else. His adult.
“Sirius!” He cried. He sobbed. He clung to the familiar leather jacket and the smell of smoke. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“Shhh, Pup, it wasn’t your fault,” Sirius whispered, running his hand through Harry’s hair. It felt nice. Slowly, he calmed, easily handing the baby over when Sirius gestured for him. Sirius would never hurt a baby.
“What’re you doing here? Are you taking me? Will I get to see them all?” Harry asked rapidly, sitting on the edge of his seat. He was excited.
“If you want,” Sirius offered, bobbing his head slightly.
However, he sensed more to it, so Harry asked. He asked, even as the weight began to feel crushing because, of course, there was something. He wouldn’t be Harry if there weren’t. Not even in death could he find peace.
“What is it?”
“Options,” Sirius replied, looking tired and worn. It was obvious to Harry that Sirius didn’t want to tell him, but he would. He always liked that about his godfather, giving him the information no matter what. “You could go on, see everyone, rest. Or, you could return to when you died, the horcrux staying here and Voldemort mortal again.”
Harry looked pained. He did not want to return to so much death and destruction, but it would be the right thing to do. To go be the Golden-Boy Savior. However, without those who died…he couldn’t. “I can’t.” He croaks, and Sirius nods. Harry wants to be selfish, just this once, even if he doesn’t deserve it.
“Well, there is another.” Sirius sighs. Explaining the choice. The obvious choice. It is the most hated choice by everyone involved except for maybe the gods. However, if Harry chooses not to take this opportunity, he will never feel again. He would hate himself. Never resting. Chosen? Harry disagreed. He was cursed. So, When Sirius held out his hand, Harry took it. His world exploded into pain, lights, colors, sounds. Then, he landed, and silence.