“Harry James! Move it!”
The sharp voice echoed from a nearby doorway.
Giving up on finding either his wand or his glasses, Harry brushed himself off and glanced down.
To his surprise, he was dressed in a simple white robe identical to the stranger’s.
His feet were bare.
“Yes, yes, you look absolutely stunning,” the man remarked dryly.
“Now stop admiring yourself and get over here. We’ve got quite a mess to sort out, thanks to you.”
Harry frowned and hurried after him.
“Um…” he began as they stepped into a long corridor lined with identical doors stretching as far as he could see.
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
The man didn’t slow his pace.
“Yes and no.”
Harry blinked.
That answer was about as helpful as everything else the man had said so far.
“I’ve chosen this appearance deliberately,” the stranger continued.
“It’s based on some American actor named John Diehl—or something close to that. He played an angel on television once. Apparently, humans find it comforting.”
Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be concerned.
Eventually, they stopped before one of the countless doors.
The man pushed it open and entered without hesitation.
Harry followed.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the door swung shut behind them.
“If it makes things easier,” the man said, “you can call me John.”
The room resembled an ordinary office, though everything inside was white.
White walls.
White furniture.
White shelves.
Even the carpet carried a faint ivory hue.
Three chairs stood before a large desk.
John pointed toward the center one.
“Sit.”
Harry complied while John walked around the desk and lowered himself into the chair opposite him.
A thick manila folder rested in the middle of the desk blotter.
John opened it with a practiced motion and immediately frowned.
Harry took that as an opportunity.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“And what exactly is going on?”
John looked up and released a long, weary sigh.
“We have this conversation every single time, Harry James.”
Harry stared.
“What?”
“It becomes rather exhausting having to explain the same thing over and over.”
“Pardon me,” Harry replied.
“But I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“No,” John corrected.
“You’ve met me in your afterlife.”
Harry opened his mouth.
John pointed a finger at him.
“Don’t.”
The young wizard immediately closed it again.
“Good,” John said.
“Now listen.”
Leaning back in his chair, he gestured around the room.
“This place is called Judgement. The closest comparison your mind can make is the Pearly Gates.”
Harry’s eyes widened slightly.
“However,” John continued, “I’m not Saint Peter.”
He waited for the implication to sink in before continuing.
“There are far too many souls arriving every moment for Peter to personally process all of them. So certain responsibilities are delegated.”
His finger tapped the folder.
“I’m one of those responsibilities.”
Harry swallowed.
“And what exactly are you?”
John’s expression darkened.
“I’m your Grim Reaper.”
Silence.
Harry simply stared.
“My… what?”
“Your Grim Reaper,” John repeated.
“The individual responsible for processing your soul when your life is supposed to end.”
The word supposed carried enough emphasis to make Harry uneasy.
John continued.
“My job begins when the Fates determine that someone’s thread has reached its conclusion.”
“The Fates?”
“Clotho. Lachesis. Atropos.”
John waved dismissively.
“They’ve gone by dozens of names over the millennia. The Moirai. The Parcae. Sudice. Sudičky. Doesn’t matter.”
He leaned forward.
“What matters is this: every person has a destiny.”
Harry listened quietly.
“For some, that destiny is insignificant. A few years. A few decades. Sometimes only a few minutes after birth.”
John’s gaze hardened.
“But every now and then someone arrives whose destiny is far greater than normal.”
His finger pointed directly at Harry.
“You’re one of those people.”
Harry nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he understood.
“Good.”
John flipped through several pages in the folder.
“The Fates had enormous plans for you.”
Harry wasn’t certain he liked where this was going.
“You were supposed to lose your parents as an infant. Tragic, yes, but not uncommon among those destined for significant things.”
Harry remained silent.
“You were supposed to become the Boy-Who-Lived. You were supposed to be raised by your godfather. Trained by Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Albus Dumbledore.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“You were supposed to discover your true magical potential and become one of the most powerful wizards of your generation.”
John turned another page.
“You were supposed to meet one of your soulmates during your years at Hogwarts.”
“Wait.”
Harry immediately sat forward.
“What do you mean soulmate?”
John pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Every. Single. Time.”
“What?”
“You always interrupt there.”
Harry looked completely baffled.
Muttering something about hormonal teenagers, John flipped through several more pages.
Finally, he found what he was looking for.
“A Daphne Anna Greengrass,” he read aloud.
“And a Granger girl.”
Harry nearly fell out of his chair.
“Hermione?”
“Yes.”
John glanced up.
“Hermione Jean Granger.”
Harry’s mouth opened and closed several times.
Daphne Greengrass he knew by reputation.
A beautiful Slytherin girl with platinum-blonde hair and striking features.
Hermione, however…
Hermione was Hermione.
The revelation left him speechless.
“I assume you know both of them.”
Harry nodded weakly.
“Excellent.”
John closed the folder halfway.
“Now stop interrupting before I magically gag you.”
Harry looked mildly offended.
John ignored him.
“As I was saying…”
He reopened the folder.
“You were supposed to be emancipated after your name emerged from the Goblet of Fire. Win the Tournament. Witness the resurrection of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
A grim smile appeared on John’s face.
“You were also supposed to injure him badly enough that he’d flee in shock after realizing you could actually hurt him.”
Harry blinked.
That definitely hadn’t happened.
“You were supposed to capture Peter Pettigrew. Expose the resurrection of part of Riddle’s soul. Hunt him down.”
John paused.
“And kill him.”
Harry stared.
John shrugged.
“Yes, we’re fully in favor of that.”
Before Harry could respond, John continued.
“You were supposed to reclaim your family’s political standing, gain an inheritable seat on the Wizengamot, and use those resources to hunt down the Horcruxes with goblin assistance.”
The list continued.
“You were supposed to marry whichever soulmate you chose. Raise a large family. Reform wizarding Britain. Dismantle discriminatory laws. Live long enough to meet your great-grandchildren.”
John closed the folder.
“And eventually earn admission into the Celestial Kingdom.”
Silence filled the office.
Harry stared blankly.
After several moments, he finally managed:
“Um…”
John waited.
“That was… a lot.”
“An understandable reaction.”
“I think I understood maybe half of it.”
“Better than usual.”
Harry frowned.
“What does that mean?”
John waved the question away.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll know everything you need to know when you go back.”
Harry froze.
“Go back?”
John sighed heavily.
“Yes.”
“What do you mean, go back?”
“In a minute.”
The exasperation in his voice was becoming increasingly obvious.
“Can you please allow me to finish explaining before interrupting again?”
Harry immediately nodded.
John shuffled several pages inside the folder and settled back in his chair.
“Good.”
His expression became noticeably more serious.
“Because now we’re getting to what actually happened.”
The room seemed to grow quieter.
“And trust me, Harry…”
John fixed him with a steady stare.
“There’s a great deal that you don’t know.”