Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

I own nothing but the original characters I create.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

His vision was filled with an overwhelming amount of white.

After some time, the shapes around him became more distinct.

Walls, floors, benches, signs...

"This place... I have been here before. A very long time ago."

This was King's Cross station, or at least, it looked like it to him. Except everything here was pristine white. It gave him a feeling of uncanny resemblance.

"You were here before. But it wasn't your time then."

He was startled by the sudden appearance of a voice. He had not been expecting to find anyone else here.

"You know... it's rude to speak to someone without showing yourself," he said in a reprimanding tone.

"I have been in front of you the entire time."

His eyes moved as he spotted some dark shadow in front of him. At first, it was just a shapeless... thing. But it slowly started to form a human figure.

A short girl with black hair, black eyes, and black clothes.

The contrast against the rest of the room was stark.

"I can see you! Why couldn't I see you before?"

"You were not ready yet."

"Who are you?" he asked with a hint of fear.

"You know who I am," the girl said. She then stared at the train rails. "Your train is here."

As she said, moments later, a pristine white train arrived at the station and stopped, opening the doors of the carriage in front of him. He was unable to see the interior of the train for some reason, but without thinking, his feet started to move, drawn toward the door.

But then, she stood in his way, blocking the entrance.

"Why? Isn't this what you are here for? To make sure I enter that train?" Harry couldn't guess the purpose behind her actions.

"Normally, yes... I came into existence to be the guide... the driver... the nexus between worlds. But today, I must be the wall that bars you from entering that place. For that, I am very sorry."

"You... Death... don't want me to die? What am I supposed to do then?" he asked, exasperated.

"This is the second time I deny someone my gift... and the first time it is not out of my own will. But my brother, Destiny, said this must be done, and he is never wrong."

"Destiny?! What... what is this about? What must be done?" Harry demanded answers, not caring that he was speaking to one of the most powerful beings in existence.

"I wouldn't mind explaining it to you, but... you are not going to remember a single thing from this place or the conversation we are having."

She moved forward, and black wings sprouted from her back.

Fear suddenly gripped him, and he took a step back.

"Wait, I don't want to go!"

But she wasn't listening anymore.

She moved closer, and the light was completely eclipsed by darkness.

The last thing he heard was the beating of mighty wings.

<><><><><><><><><><>

August 10, 1974. St. Mungo's Intensive Care Unit

"I am very sorry, Lady Potter, Lord Potter... there is nothing more we can do for your son."

"This can't be happening! He is just a child. He was about to start his fourth year of school." Lady Potter hugged her husband and started sobbing.

"Nothing you can do? Come on, I know of many cases of people surviving dragon pox. There has to be some potion or something out there...money is not an issue," Lord Potter said miserably.

"I am very sorry, Lord Potter. This is not a matter of money. The disease has already spread to his brain. Even if we could somehow eliminate it immediately, chances are... he will never wake up again," the healer explained.

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter approached the bed where their son, James, was sleeping peacefully.

"He is so... quiet," the mother said.

"Yes... he's always been a restless rascal... with his damn pranks and his obsession with Quidditch," the father said.

The couple was already fairly old. Fleamont was sixty-three, and his wife fifty-five. It was already a miracle they were able to have one son. They both knew James was their one and only chance... and now they were about to lose him.

A knock on the door.

"Excuse me, but there are three kids here saying they want to visit the patient," someone said from the other side of the door.

"I told you there would be no visits," the healer huffed.

"No, wait. Let them in," Euphemia said.

"But Lady Potter—"

"Please, this may be the last chance they have to see him..." the matriarch said, her voice filled with pain.

"Very well... let them in," the healer said.

The door opened, and three boys rushed inside.

"James!" Sirius was the first to enter, hurrying to James's bed.

"Lord and Lady Potter," Remus said, addressing the parents as politely as he could before moving next to Sirius.

"H-hello..." Peter stammered, keeping his head down. He always got nervous addressing Lord Potter, who could be very intimidating.

"Is he going to be okay?" Sirius asked.

"The other healers wouldn't tell us anything... what is his condition?" Remus asked, looking at the parents.

"Not good..." Fleamont shook his head.

"The healer said..." Euphemia struggled to get the words out.

"He said there was no hope... James will never wake up again..."

"Nooo! That can't be true!" Sirius looked at James's sleeping face.

"James, come on! Wake up!"

"This can't be..." Remus said, shocked.

"Oh no... James..." Peter had tears in his eyes.

Sirius turned to the healer.

"Is there nothing that can be done? Nothing at all?"

"As I said to his parents, the dragon pox has invaded his brain. At this point, there is nothing more we can do. The damage is too severe... James Potter will never wake up again."

"Ahhh!" Peter let out an incredibly loud scream when he saw it.

James's eyes were now open.