The sky was covered by thick clouds, and a piercing icy wind swept across the area, producing sharp whistles as it passed through the ruins.
Amid the remains of what had once been a majestic magical castle, a young man breathed heavily as he stared at the enemy of his entire life, impaled upon his own sword.
The light had faded from his slitted eyes, yet somehow Harry felt as though he was still staring at him.
Far from feeling the joy he had always imagined he would feel after finally killing his lifelong enemy, all that remained was a sense of emptiness and loneliness.
The metallic taste on his cracked lips seemed to bring him back to reality.
His body was covered in wounds and his clothes were stained with blood. Every breath sent sharp pains through his entire body.
Exhaling softly, a cloud of condensation escaped his lips as his hand slowly released the sword.
Turning around, he limped a few weak steps toward a half-destroyed stone pillar before leaning against it and sliding down to the ground.
His gaze remained fixed on the pale, noseless corpse, as though it might suddenly rise and laugh at him.
A shiver ran through his body as the wind wrapped around him. His body trembled uncontrollably beneath a cold he had never experienced before.
He was dying.
He could almost feel it. His eyes drifted toward the cloudy sky, and his lips curled into an ironic smile. It seemed his entire life had been accompanied by skies like this.
The few happy moments of his life had been like fireworks—bright, beautiful, and fleeting.
'Not a bad ending,' Harry thought as he gave the sky one last glance.
Just as his eyes began to feel heavy, a black mist swirled before him. A clearly feminine figure, completely covered in a black robe, stared at him.
Her face was impossible to see. Her hood seemed to be an abyss, preventing him from seeing anything at all.
Looking into that absolute darkness that seemed to draw everything in, Harry almost felt as though his soul was being pulled toward it.
"Harry Potter," said a soft, ethereal voice, as though it came from the depths of the universe itself.
Harry observed the figure that had just appeared with relative calm. Suddenly, his lips curled slightly as though he understood the situation.
It seemed Death had come for him.
It was not merely a guess.
Something deep within him told him so.
"I hate those who flee from me. But I also hate those who seek me before their appointed time," Death said as she looked at Harry's grotesque wounds.
Yet she knew they were not fatal for a wizard of his caliber, which only fueled her irritation.
"Women," Harry muttered as his lips curled slightly.
His vision began to darken as he waited for the sweet relief of death.
Even while feeling the terrifying presence emanating from Death because of his comment, he felt no fear.
He did not fear death.
He longed for it.
Death looked at Harry with a trace of helplessness before taking action.
"Would you return what your kind calls the Deathly Hallows?" Death asked as she looked at Harry.
"They are yours," Harry murmured as he closed his eyes. The cold seemed to have vanished, leaving behind only a comfortable feeling of drowsiness.
Death looked at Harry with a sense of irritation she had not felt in a very long time.
"You have done two things for me. You delivered the complete soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle to my care, and you reunited the three Hallows."
"You deserve a reward for your accomplishments," the woman said in a calm voice.
Harry's eyes snapped open as he stared intensely at the hooded figure. Magic seemed to stir around him as the cold assaulted him once again.
"Unfortunately, I cannot send you back in time, nor can I bring your loved ones back to life," Death said, shaking her head as she easily saw through Harry's thoughts.
The light in Harry's eyes dimmed as he suppressed a look of disdain.
Weren't you Death?
"I will send your soul to another world. It will be a new beginning, free from the burdens that followed you throughout this life," Death said as her tone softened slightly.
"I hope that the next time we meet, you won't wear such a pitiful expression," Death said as she crouched in front of Harry.
Harry's expression became complicated as he looked at Death. His mind, exhausted by war and loss, wavered.
Part of him wanted what Death was offering, but the memory of all his dead friends and lovers made him hesitate.
Simply imagining a new life made him feel as though he were betraying them.
Besides...
He had failed to protect any of them. Would anything truly change in a new life?
He was not even sure his heart could accept more people.
Without waiting for an answer, Death extended her hand toward Harry.
Normally, she would never bother rewarding a human, but she had lingered around Harry since he was young. She was not sure if it was the right word, but she had grown fond of him. She admired his sacrifices, his love, and his unyielding will.
Death had never been able to break him.
Neither through the deaths of those he loved nor through the prospect of his own.
Her fingers gently touched Harry's forehead until she watched the light fade from his eyes.
Feeling Harry's heart beat one final time, Death let out a sigh, knowing that the hero who had saved the magical world was gone forever.