Chapter 1
J. Finch Fletchley (known as Justin to few) is about to die.
It’s a funny feeling, really. The whole house was just talking about how they were all ready to die for each other (and Harry, he supposes- though he’s still not over that snake thing back in 2nd year) but he’s the one doing the slow, dramatic sacrifice.
Maybe it’s because he’s a Puff, or because he’s naturally naive and trusting, or maybe it’s because he’s still a child , but he didn’t think it would feel like this.
His mind is racing.
J. Finch is no fool, no matter how many members of both the other houses and his own friends take him for one. He’s known of the danger they’ve been for pretty much their whole education at Hogwarts, so of course he knew. Especially after what happened- but the thought, even now, is too painful to remember.
He wonders, vaguely, if the house will mourn him like they mourned Ce-
He shuts the thought down as soon as it is born.
It’s a dumb thing to wonder anyway.
Of course they won’t.
He’s not Harry. He’s not- not him.
He’s thought about dying a lot throughout all of this. He used to think that it was like going to sleep, like settling down in a bed after the longest day you’ve ever had and turning out the lights- but after he was Petrified, the thought brought him little comfort, so he hoped for something else. He wondered if maybe the Muggles had it right with the whole heaven and hell thing, and that God with a capital G (who always looked like Dumbledoor in his mind's eye, for some reason) would personally lift him up to a cloud to live on forever. He’s wondered if the whole reincarnation bit has any merit, and contemplated the idea of shutting one’s eyes and opening them a moment later to be something entirely new. He once told Ernie that if he could choose, he’d be a very well kept owl, and Ernie had laughed, and that felt better than any spinach flavored bean he could have had. He’s wondered if it would be quick. Painless.
Scary.
It doesn’t really feel anything like those things.
It’s just quiet, mostly. That’s the main thing. For the battle raging around him, the screaming, the chaos, it is eerily silent.
There’s this ringing in his ears, and everything is going so, so slow as the curse finds it’s unintended target. There’s this rush in him as it hits him square in the chest; all the best and scariest moments of his short, unimportant little life filling him up like a bathtub. All this love is flooding through him, all this pain, and sorrow, and relief, and gratitude, all at once.
Every second of his life is stretching on throughout infinity in his brain just as every millisecond passes in the present, and it’s all happening so fast, and oh wizard god, is this how he felt, and there’s just-
There’s just everything . No beginning or ending to it. Just… everything of his life, all at once.
He’s reaching for it- reaching the same way he’s been reaching his whole life- this feeling of eternity spread out inches from his fingertips. He has always been reaching, straining towards something. Death, it seems, will be no different.
He feels- he remembers- everything.
J. Finch Fletchley is about to die. His life is about to come to a complete end.
And he is remembering it all.