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“Harry Potter is dead.”
The cold, harsh voice echoed like a screech in the ears of everyone at that school—teachers, students, headmasters, and ghosts alike.
As the Death Eaters laughed, thrilled while staring at the body of the seventeen-year-old boy, every member of the Order of the Phoenix and D.A. withdrew into their own pain. They weren’t grieving the fall of the Chosen One.
Oh no.
They were grieving the loss of young Harry Potter.
The skinny boy who walked the corridors, stubborn and strong-willed.The Harry who defeated Quirrell in his first year. The same Harry who fought a basilisk and saved a first-year student in the Chamber of Secrets. The one who went back in time, just to save a supposed traitor from death. That Harry.
The Harry who watched the love of his life die right in front of him. The Harry who was tortured and mutilated by Voldemort.
Forced to compete. Forced to stay and watch the people he loved leave.
A few tears slipped down Seamus Finnigan’s face—he had been so harsh with his friend years ago. Would he have acted differently if he had known time was so short?
It was ironic that an entire school now stood in silence, paying respect to the student who had sacrificed himself for them, when years before they had doubted him, said horrible things that could never be undone.
Still, Harry had died for all of them.
Professor Minerva McGonagall had thick tears running down her cheeks. She had already lost James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus—and now she was watching the last of the Marauders’ legacy die. Her boy was leaving forever, just like the others.
Ginny… well—
Ginny was crying like she never had in her entire life. Her best friend was right there in front of her, dirty and injured, but worse than that—lifeless. In all her years, losing Harry had never been part of her plans. He was strong, wasn’t he? So why was he leaving her now?
A scream escaped her lips as she tried to reach him, but her father quickly pulled her into his chest, where she collapsed.
A few meters away stood Draco Malfoy, staring at the body of his former enemy. But had they really been enemies?
They had saved each other’s lives. Maybe they could have been friends, if fate hadn’t planned otherwise. If circumstances hadn’t demanded two children be terribly strong and fight on opposite sides. But in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that Draco knew he would never be able to irritate him again—never argue over Quidditch, never try to kill each other with slicing spells. A lump formed in the blond boy’s throat, and all he wished was to apologize. But it was too late.
Time had passed, and the words had stayed unspoken.
Everyone was suffering at the sight before them.
But no one suffered more than Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.
Hermione struggled against the weight of her own body, fighting the urge to collapse, to cry for the death of her best friend—the brother life had given her. She remembered the day he saved her from the troll in first year, the way he comforted her last year, the night he danced with her just months ago.Smiling through her tears, she wished him peace. The peace he had never known in life, and that wherever he was going, he would go without carrying the weight of the world. He had fought far beyond what he should have—for people who didn’t even deserve it.
Ron, on the other hand, couldn’t cry. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t remember the happy moments. He only stared at his best friend’s body, wishing with everything he had that Harry would stand up and fight, like he always did.
Do it. Just one last time, Harry. Please don’t go now. That was what his mind begged. He wanted to scream, but instead let his girlfriend and sister hold him.
There was no more hope for the boy.
It was a lost battle.
Everyone knew it.
Molly and Arthur Weasley cried for the son they had lost.
The twins cried for the brother they would never get back.
Bill and Charlie cried for their friend. And Percy only mourned the chances he had never taken to get closer to the youngest.He had had those chances—he knew that now. He just hadn’t used them as he should have. Now, it was too late. Far too late for anything.
Everyone mourned Harry’s death while Voldemort celebrated his victory—but no one imagined that the true suffering was happening inside the boy’s mind.
✧
“Where am I?” he whispered, lost in the white mist that covered King’s Cross Station.
“Surrounded by those you love, my love.”
A gentle voice echoed in his ears. He turned and saw his mother’s long red hair—she looked just as young as she had when she died.
Unable to stop himself, Harry ran to her and, for the first time, truly embraced her. She hugged him back even tighter—the hug Lily had dreamed of giving her son.
“I missed you so much…” he whispered through tears.
“I missed you too, Harry. Every single day. You were so young—and look at you now. You’re so beautiful.” She smiled softly.
“Hey, kid. We’re here too.” James called out, his eyes filled with tears as he fought the emotion of standing face to face with his son—the beloved, longed-for son he never got to raise.
Behind him stood Sirius and Remus, smiling the way they always had when they looked at Harry. Their boy. Their source of hope when there was none left. Snape and Dumbledore stayed a little farther away, simply watching as Harry ran into his father’s and godfathers’ arms, hugging them with all the strength he had as a sob tore from his chest.
For the first time, Harry allowed himself to imagine what life would have been like if he had been raised by them.
He would have had so many hugs like that one.
“Sirius was right, kid—you’re strong, just like me,” James laughed, pulling him closer.
“I waited my whole life for this…” Harry said softly, taking in his father’s beauty and realizing just how alike they truly were.
He glanced to the side and nodded at Snape, who returned the gesture with a crooked but sincere smile.
Once again, Harry looked around, searching for someone specific—someone who didn’t seem to be there.
“Here, my love.”
Harry shuddered at the sound of that voice after so many years and turned around, watching the tall boy approach him slowly. Cedric looked exactly the same—the same kind face, the same gentle smile.
For a few seconds, Harry wondered how he had survived so many years without him. How he had lived without his life.
Then he ran as fast as he could and threw himself into Cedric’s arms, holding him as tightly as possible, finally easing the ache of missing him.
“I missed you so much,” he cried. “Please forgive me. I didn’t have time to stop it. I’m so sorry, my love." The guilt he had carried for years finally spilled out.
“It wasn’t your fault, Harry. I never blamed you—not once,” Cedric whispered, gently holding him. “You’re the strongest person I know. I just wish I could’ve stayed with you. I wanted to take care of you.”
“I watched you… and your eyes—Merlin, you were so pale. I saw you die right in front of me. I couldn’t stop it. Please forgive me.”
Cedric pressed him to his chest. “Shhh. It’s okay, I promise. You need to calm down now. I can’t bear seeing you like this—I barely survived the last three years as it was.”
Slowly, Harry stepped back, trying to steady his breathing. Turning around, he saw his family watching him. Lily’s cheeks were streaked with tears, while James silently mourned all the pain his son had carried.
“Is this really happening?” Harry asked quietly. “Am I dead?”
“Yes, my boy. This is happening,” Dumbledore said gently. “But you’re not dead. For the second time, you survived. That is… if you choose to.”
“What?” Harry whispered. “I have a choice?”
“Yes,” Remus said softly. “You can go back to those who are waiting for you—or you can stay with us. You didn’t have many choices in life, Harry, but this one is entirely yours.”
Harry clung to Cedric again, his mind spinning.
What was he supposed to do?
“We wanted you to stay. All of us,” Sirius admitted, earning a sharp look from Snape and an elbow from James. “But you haven’t lived. Not truly. You fought your entire life. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to stay.”
“And it’s not fair to leave either,” Harry muttered through fresh tears. “Will it always be like this? Unfair choices I have to make?”
“Son, if you stay, we’ll be together,” James said gently. “But if you go back, we’ll still be here. We’ll always wait for you.”
Harry looked at his father, then his mother, then his godfathers. He carefully looked at the former headmaster and professor. Finally, his gaze settled on his boyfriend.
Or former boyfriend.
Everything he had wanted for years was right there. One word, and he could have it forever.
Stay… or leave?
More tears fell as Cedric pulled him into another tight embrace.
It was a goodbye.
Harry was leaving them again—this time for an undetermined amount of time. It wasn’t fair, but he knew staying wouldn’t be either. Not yet.
Lily and James held him close, kissing the top of his head. Sirius and Remus followed. Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Snape squeezed his hand.
And finally—Cedric.
They kissed without hesitation. A long, aching kiss that carried every stolen year between them. When they pulled away, their goodbye was silent—wordless, but heavy with meaning and pain.
Harry began to walk away. Each step felt like a knife in his chest, but no matter how much it hurt, he knew he couldn’t stay.
Turning back one last time, he felt loved. Voldemort had taken everything from him—except that. Love. And that was why he had to return. As soon as he turned his back, he knew he was going back.
“See you in another life, my love.” Cedric’s voice was the last thing he heard.
Another tear slipped down his face.
In another life.
✧
Harry returned to his friends, won the war, and defeated Voldemort. He became an Auror alongside his best friend and lived a good life. At twenty-five, he had a son—James Sirius Potter—the result of a one-night stand with Ginny. Despite the circumstances, their strong friendship endured, and they raised him with wisdom and love.
Harry saw so much of Cedric in his son that he was certain Cedric was still with him.
Holding James beneath a star-filled sky, Harry let a few tears fall.
“In another life, I’ll be your boy,” he promised.
It wasn’t the life he wanted—but it was the one he could have. And he would make it as beautiful as possible, even knowing it would never be as colorful as it had been with Cedric.
It would never again be burning red.