Harry blinks away the afterimages of the green flash, his body trembling with suppressed adrenalin. Even doing it deliberately, surrendering to the Killing Curse hadn’t been easy; and he hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. Overall, he decides, while more stressful, it had been a lot less painful than most of his past visits.

That thought in mind, he reaches out to brush the door in front of him. It swings open and he steps inside, finally relaxing as the overwhelming feeling of home washes over him.

The entrance opens onto a cosy sitting room, floored in smooth wood, the cream-painted walls accented by blue window curtains. A set of stairs lead to an upper storey while a doorway shows glimpses of a sun-filled kitchen. Clustered around the cold fireplace are a collection of brown armchairs and a sofa, worn but comfortable. Part of his mind notes that four of these are occupied – three heads of black hair and one of red – before he is distracted by a niggling sense of familiarity.

The room should be familiar – he did after all visit rather too frequently as a child – but the sight sparks a more recent memory. A moment later it clicks. The room is undamaged and slightly different, but it is clearly based on the front room of the cottage at Godric’s Hollow.

Just as his mind makes the connection, his attention is caught by a door he doesn’t remember seeing before; in either version of the house. There is nothing special about it. Just a plain wooden door like those in hundreds of other houses, yet he is drawn towards it. He steps closer. No, wait, he was wrong, the door is not plain after all. There is something in the middle… red… a plaque… with bright gold writing. Harry’s Room: his room.

Suddenly he knows that if he can just open that door he can have everything he has been looking for; what he has wanted since he was a small child with the Dursleys. He reaches out, but a hand catches his fingers, stopping them from touching the handle.

“Harry, honey. You can’t go in there, not yet.”

The trance-like haze begins to fade, though he continues to stare at the door longingly.

“But, it’s my room…”

“I know, that’s why you have to wait. Come sit down and we’ll explain.”

Reluctantly he allows himself to be drawn back towards the rest of the room. Turning away from the door he freezes, finally noticing the feeling of another hand clasped around his own. With a gasp of shock his eyes fly up to meet the matching ones beside him.

“Mum… how… touch… we can’t… but we can…”

She smiles at him. “All part of the explanation.”

Harry just nods, his face buried in her shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He doesn’t cry – he hasn’t truly cried in forever – he just clings to her, trying to absorb the feeling of being held by his mother for the first time in fifteen and a half years.

Harry is barely aware as his mother guides him over to the sofa by the fireplace, pushing him to sit. It is only then that he realises that the other side is occupied.

“Dad.”

He reaches tentatively towards him; not quite daring to touch, to hope. His father bridges the gap, grasping his hand and pulling him into a hug of his own.

“Harry. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Harry blinks hard, gripping the hand – warm, solid, real – still clasped in his own.

A long minute later he feels the sofa shift as someone sits down on his other side.

“What, no hug for me?”

Releasing his father, he turns to meet the laughing grey eyes of his godfather. Once again, he lunges forward to wrap his arms around his lost loved one. He should feel embarrassed by all the hugging – he is seventeen after all – but instead he just feels loved… and guilty.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to the Ministry; I should have realised it was a trap. I should have remembered your present and checked the mirror. I should have been faster. I was just trying to rescue you but then you had to rescue me instead and then you died and it was all my fault and it’s always my fault…”

“Harry. Harry. Pup.” Sirius shakes him lightly, halting the garbled flow of words. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t cast the curse. Besides, I’m the one who chose to leave the safety of the house, who didn’t pay enough attention during the duel. You only did what any of the rest of us would have done.”

“Is that enough for you, now do you believe? I have only been telling you the same thing for the past two years.”

Harry swallows thickly at the smooth voice, final looking at the man sitting on the chair opposite. He is familiar, moreso than any of the other adults really, and looks just as he has for the most of their years together – not thinking of the last time he saw him, not thinking of the blood, so much blood. Snape glares at him, a rare glimmer of warmth lurking in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare get emotional at me, Potter. You saw me not two hours ago and we both knew it would most likely end that way. In any case, we have more important things to discuss at this time.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, trying to obey. In some ways it is hardest to keep his composure faced with the spirit of his foster-father. It is too new, to raw; he can remember the feel of his dead body lying in his arms, the blood drying on his hands. But in other ways it is easier; it hasn’t sunk in yet. With everything else that has happened it is easy to pretend it was just a bad dream. Pulling himself together he frowns, remembering Snape’s last comment.

“What do we need to talk about? I did my job; I followed your instructions and now I’m here. Isn’t the rest up to them?”

Snape nods.

“I gave you what I could with my memories, but it seems there are a couple of extra key points.”

He turns to Lily who nudges Sirius out of the way and takes his place beside her son.

“The horcrux in your scar didn’t act like his others. Partly because it was made accidentally, partly because it is in another living person; but there is more than that. We had hoped that the basilisk bite in your second year would deal with it – I have a feeling Fawkes held off healing you for a few minutes just in case – but that obviously didn’t work. What we think happened is that the soul fragment got caught within the protection I wove around you. The barrier kept it separate from you and mostly stopped it from influencing you, but included the horcrux in its protection from outside forces. Only Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra was able to reach it; the same wand and spell that caused it to form in the first place.”

Snape scowls as Harry turns a questioning look on him.

“Yes, the old fool theorised that was the case, and no I did not agree with his method of testing his hypothesis. I spent too many years trying to convince you that life is worth something to have him talk you into walking to your presumed death.” He sighs. “In the end, however, events conspired against me, leaving me with little choice but to pass on his instructions; and thankfully Dumbledore proved to be once again infuriatingly right. While I am not pleased with what I allowed the Headmaster to ask you to do, I am… I am proud of how you carried yourself; Gryffindor bravery as it should be.” His dark eyes glisten for a moment before he looks away, visibly uncomfortable with expressing such emotions.

Sirius takes up the story next, more serious than Harry has ever seen him.

“Prongslet, there were a couple of important side effects when that AK hit. Firstly, it fulfilled the prophecy; one of you succeeded in killing the other. You’re not the Chosen One any more. Removing the horcrux also weakened Lily’s protection. Without the added strength from being prophecy-bound, it only has enough juice for one more miracle. You need to make a decision now. You can stay here; open your door and live with us, dying in the real world. Or you can leave; finish your visit and walk out the front door back to the battle. One door or the other.”

His father nods.

“Padfoot is right. It is your choice, but this is the last time it will be offered. Even if you leave now, the next time you see us you will have to stay; no more visits.”

Harry ducks his head, trying to avoid the four pairs of eyes fixed intently on him.

“I don’t… I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here with all of you; home.” He wants – needs – them to say it. Say that he can stay, that they want him, love him; that he is not being abandoned again. He can feel the same longing in his parents’ eyes, yet they remain silent.

As usual, it is Snape – damn his knowing look – who points out the practicalities, reminds him of his duty.

“But.”

Harry nods in defeat. The man knows him too well.

“But they need me. Voldemort should be mortal now – assuming one of the others managed to get the snake – but we still need to kill the monster himself. Even with his skill and power it shouldn’t be impossible, except that the other part of his plan worked too well. Everyone knows that Dumbledore is the only one he ever feared; everyone knows that I’m the only one who’s defeated him. With me dead as well, most of them will just give up.”

He glances sideways at the dark-robed man, remembering their second attempt at occlumency lessons.

“ ‘You can’t succeed if you tell yourself you’ve failed before even trying.’ And, I guess, there is my friends; Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna. They’re still there. But the longer the fighting goes on, the more danger they are in. And Teddy. He’s lost his parents, I don’t want him to lose his godfather too, even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Then there’s the other children, families. The longer the war lasts, the more lives are lost or ruined.”

He looks at his parents – mother, father, godfather, foster-father – and sighs.

“I’m going back, aren’t I?”

His father smiles; a strange combination of sadness and pride on his face.

“It’s your choice, but look at it this way. In one form or another, the war has controlled your whole life. This is your chance. You can win this war, then your life is yours. You can build a family; you have your friends. Make a future you want to live in.”

His mother rests a hand on his arm.

“Remember, we’re not gone, we’ll watch over you just as we always have. And when you have finished with your new life, your room will be open and we will be waiting to welcome you home.” Her voice turns teasing. “But not, I hope, before you have presented me with at least two grandchildren and half a dozen great-grandchildren.”
The room bursts into laughter, Harry blushing slightly as he tries not to think too hard about a certain other red-haired witch.

After a few minutes the laughter dies away and Harry stands; the weight of the real world intruding into the dreamlike interlude.

“I guess this is it, then. If I’m going to leave, I’d better do it now before I change my mind again.”

James sighs, glancing over at Lily, then nods.

“You’re right. I wish we could talk longer, but you need to return now. If you want to end all this today, timing is crucial.”

A moment’s awkward silence follows, then Sirius steps forward to grab him in a bear hug, his voice thick with emotion.

“Good luck, kiddo. Lils said it best, but it bears repeating; we love you, we’ll miss you, and we’ll watch over you. And we’ll be waiting for you when you come back. Now go and kick some Volde-butt for us!”

Chuckling at his godfather’s attempt at a motivational speech Harry looks around the room one last time, memorising their faces. Exchanging a final encouraging smile he spins and walks determinedly towards the front door, towards life.

“Harry.” He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks behind him, meeting his ex-Professor’s dark eyes. “Remember what I have told you over the years. Do not worry about us, do not trap yourself in the past and ‘what if’s. Remember to live.”