Lord Voldemort eyes widen with glee. How long had he dreamed of this day. How many times in the forest of Albania had he fantasized what it would be like to strike down the famous Harry Potter! In his delight, he sent a huge fireball at the body of the fallen hero. It was instantly incinerated.
“So ends the legacy of Harry James Potter,” said the Dark Lord followed by a harsh laugh the echoed throughout the halls of Malfoy Manor. But it was not the end for as the Egyptians say “Death is only the beginning.”
Harry didn’t know what he had expected of death, but this was definitely not it.
He seemed drift in and out of time and space. Instead of seeing a bright light like many muggle shows and books talked about, which kind of annoyed him, he saw beyond his life time. He saw the world he left behind and the flashes of the future that both stunned and horrified him.
Harry assumed he was watching the future unfold in fast-forward, because he saw all the events occur in within minutes of his death, though he assumed they happened over the course of days. Eventually, he realized that thirty seconds for him was equivalent to one day on earth. As best as he could tell, just mere days after his death, the world began to fall apart. It crumbled and twisted into something most people, muggles or wizards alike, wouldn’t see in their wildest and most disturbing dreams. It was like he was trapped in someone else’s demented and messed up nightmare, only he had a sickening feeling that this was all too real.
What Harry saw, was Earth’s destruction.
Voldemort promised the dragons’ free reign over the skies. Hippogriffs, griffins, and phoenixes tried to fight them off, but the dragons had the aid of the Death Eaters while the other three magical creatures had to fight alone. After Voldemort managed to imprison all the phoenixes, with the exception Fawkes, the dragons outnumbered their opponents by more than three to one and as the days wore on and the dragons began breeding in their newly won territories, that gap only grew.
As a result of the dragons going virtually unopposed, clouds of smoke covered most the planet and fires constantly raged across what remained of the six inhabited continents. Mans greatest cities burned to the ground or were otherwise completed wiped off the face of the planet.
After about a year of fighting, the war had apparently exhausted most of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, because Voldemort had raised an army of Inferi in their place. Few living humans stood at Voldemort’s side in these final days and the only remaining Inner Circle Death Eaters were Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Peter Pettigrew. The Statue of Secrecy was gone and Voldemort was known as the Lord of the Undead, by the Muggles.
It was literally Hell on Earth for everyone.
The few survivors, both Muggle and wizard alike, had decided to fight as one. They put together a united front against Voldemort, but it was too late.
In the end, the dragons turned on Voldemort. With a population in the billions and facing a divided human population of less then a million, the dragons were virtually unopposed. The fires continued to spread and grow until Earth resembled a mini sun. The pain of watching the planet die was beyond anything he had ever experienced.
‘Just let it end now,’ he thought. ‘End the pain, end everything.’
Harry then felt a pull behind his naval, as if he was being portkeyed. Everything went out of focus and the burning planet began to fade until it had completely disappeared.
And in the absence of light, there was only darkness.
Then, a new universe came into focus. He was heading for a planet. Earth? No it can’t be. He had just watched it die. This planet was still alive.
He closed his eyes unable to stand looking for another minute. He was surely going to puke. His feet hit the ground and as with the grace he had every time he used Wizarding transportation, such as portkeys or Floo connections, he landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. He lay still, unmoving. In the distance he could here a soft sound drawing closer.
Clunk, clunk, clunk!
It was growing louder.
Clunk, Clunk, Clunk!
He had heard that sound before but where?
CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK!
That’s the sound of a cane…?
“Ah, Harry Potter! I was wondering when you’d turn up here,” said an elderly man. “Although I assumed it wouldn’t take half a century, but these things work in mysterious ways.”
“Er…not to be rude but who the bloody hell are you and where am I?”
“Two very fair question. I am the Master of Time and we are in the Hall of Time. Of course I believe muggles would call this place Limbo.”
“So are you a wizard or a Muggle?”
“Yes and no.”
“Huh?” Harry asked, taken aback.
“I am neither a Muggle nor a wizard. Just as I’m neither living nor dead although I do restart the aging process all over again every few centuries and I must say going through puberty gets really old after the first time,” laughed the Master of Time.
“So you’re what…immortal,” questioned Harry
“To be immortal, one would first have had to be mortal.”
“Okay…’” said Harry. ‘Great, another Dumbledore,’ meanwhile, he thought. ‘Just what I need.’
‘Mister Potter,’ Harry heard in his head. ‘I know you have better manners then that.’
Harry staggered back from the man, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Who are you?” Harry all but yelled.
“My name is Elder,” the man explained “and I have been around since the beginning of time.”
“So… are you like… God or something?” asked Harry, hesitantly.
“Not quite,” chuckled Elder. “In fact, I know just about as much as you did in that area. All I know is that I was created to watch over Earth and to protect the fabric of time. And at times… intervene.”
“So now that we have got the introduction over with, would you mind telling me why I am here?” asked Harry.
“The reason you are here is simple enough, you’re dead,” smiled Elder.
“So… all people who die see the end of the world and then come here?” questioned Harry.
“No the reason you are here is because you died too early. You weren’t supposed to die until your year of thousand twenty-nine A.D.”
Harry thought quietly for a minute as he did the math. “Forty-eight!” he shrieked, once he was done. “I die when I’m forty-eight! Dumbledore lived to be well over a hundred and fifty!”
“You’d rather die at age seventeen? Because if that is what you want, I won’t give you the choice I was about to offer you.”
“What choice?” asked Harry.