Chapter Text
The only thing Harry remembered was something striking his chest.
It burned.
And then—nothing.
No pain. No fear. Only the faint sensation of soft touches brushing against him.
When he opened his eyes, understanding came to him with quiet certainty.
He was dead.
He looked down at himself. His body was clean, unmarked, draped in a strange, angelic robe that covered only his lower half. The fabric shimmered faintly, weightless against his skin.
He lifted his gaze—and froze.
A boy stood before him.
Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of white wings stretching from the boy’s back, feathers pristine and luminous. Above his head hovered a delicate, glowing ring.
“Where am I…?” Harry’s voice trembled. Fear and confusion twisted together inside him, forming a nauseating knot in his stomach.
“You are at home,” the creature replied with a gentle smile.
He had long blond hair that fell past his shoulders and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. His skin was pale—almost translucent, like moonlight on snow.
“I—how did I die?” Harry’s chest tightened painfully. He already knew. He had known the moment he woke. But he needed to hear it spoken aloud.
“You have two choices,” the boy said, his tone sharpening slightly, as though weary of repeating these words.
“You may go on and continue where you left off… or—”
He stepped closer and cupped Harry’s cheeks in cool hands.
“You may save everyone by sacrificing yourself.”
Harry stilled.
Completely.
Save everyone.
His dad. His mum. Snape. His friends. Sirius…
“Everyone?” he whispered between heavy breaths. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but that.
“Yes. Everyone who died for you.”
The words shattered something inside him.
Because of him, they had died.
For him.
For nothing.
“I want them to be happy,” Harry said at last, a fragile smile touching his lips.
𔓘
He lay unmoving, eyes closed, silk draped loosely around his lower abdomen.
And then he felt them.
Heavy.
Two enormous wings resting against his back.
What the hell?
He tried to stand, but his muscles refused to obey. His body felt distant, unresponsive. The only movement he managed was the faint twitch of his new wings—barely a few centimeters.
Footsteps approached.
He didn’t bother reacting.
𔓘
Harry opened his eyes slowly—only to squeeze them shut again as sharp light pierced his vision. His head throbbed. Voices drifted around him, indistinct and muffled, words blending into meaningless sound.
After several seconds, he forced his eyes open once more and attempted to sit up.
He was in a bed.
Two men stood nearby—one elderly, one younger—and beside them, a woman.
His breath caught.
Albus Dumbledore.
He swallowed, shifting his gaze to the younger professor. His mouth parted, but no words came.
And the older man—
Armando Dippet.
But that was impossible. Dippet had been dead the last time Harry checked. So how was he standing there, conversing calmly with Dumbledore?
The woman, unfamiliar to him, wore a nurse’s uniform. The school matron, perhaps.
She noticed his stare and cleared her throat, visibly startled.
“Young m-man, how are you?” Her voice was soft—gentle as a bedtime story, warm as a mother’s embrace.
“Where am I?” Harry asked hoarsely.
Had he fallen from heaven? Was he alive—or still dead?
“You are at Hogwarts. Do you know this place?”
They were studying him carefully, as if searching for something in his expression.
“Yes. I know…” Of course he knew.
Hogwarts was home.
It had been warmth in the coldest parts of his childhood. It had been safety. Belonging. Everything.
And it always would be.
Silence thickened the room.
An ache rose in his chest—sudden and overwhelming. He wanted to get up and embrace the old Headmaster, his quiet father figure.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
“What happened to me?”
The adults exchanged uneasy glances.
Harry shifted his feet beneath the heavy blanket, restless as a child. Judging by their expressions, they seemed just as confused as he was.
“Can I sleep…?”
They startled slightly, murmured reassurances, and filed out of the room.
At last—peace.
His eyes drifted to a copy of the Daily Prophet resting nearby. The mere sight of that newspaper sent a flicker of dread through him.
He picked it up.
Instead of headlines branding him a liar or a monster, bold letters screamed something entirely different.
GRINDELWALD ATTACK — SIX DEAD, SEVENTEEN INJURED
Just twelve hours ago, Grindelwald and his followers attacked a quiet village. The assault was horrific. Witnesses describe—
Harry’s gaze snapped back to the name.
Grindelwald?
He had been certain the man was long dead. Or imprisoned beyond power.
Then his eyes shifted to the date printed at the top of the page.
Silence settled around him once more.
Well.
How completely and utterly fucked was that?