Arena

Harry stood alone, in the forbidden forest, ready to summon the spirits of the departed. Not his parents, not his godfather, and not his former teachers. He could never face them again.



Just those he had killed – and those who had died before him in the Arena.



It took him five years, after he was released from the Arena, the final winner to emerge from the contests. The prize? Being able to serve Voldemort. Harry Potter did, of course.



For five years, he followed Voldemort obediently, doing his bidding, following his orders, fighting for him, submitting to every command – no matter what it was. He used to shut his eyes sometimes – eventually he stopped. It was then when he finally had Voldemort\'s trust. He had his own wand. He had a certain measure of freedom.



And now, it was over. It took him five years, five years of dark magic, five years of doing the unthinkable – but he finally figured it out. He devised his own spell – something that could destroy a dark wizard and all of his Hortcruxes, at once.



He never enjoyed killing – but when he cast that spell, and saw Voldemort crumble to the ground and die – he felt... not enjoyment, exactly, but a definite satisfaction. For a few minutes, he stood over the pile of ashes that used to be the Dark Lord with an unapologetic smile on his face.



Those around him applauded and cheered. Then they bowed to him. Harry looked around – saw the people around falling on their knees before him. He could not understand why at first. They used to support Voldemort – faithfully and enthusiastically. So why were they bowing to Harry now? And then he understood. They misread his smile. They feared him. He was the new Dark Lord now. He shrugged tiredly and walked away from it all. From the small fires that continued burning, year after year, from the terrified subjects who were kneeling in supplication, from the smell of death, and from the ashes that still clung to everyone\'s faces and clothes.



It took him only a week to find the Resurrection Stone in the forest. And now that he held it in his hand, he hesitated. Should he?



He did not want to see their faces again. Not ever. He did not deserve to – not after what he had done. He never cried for any of them, for the same reason – he did not deserve to. You can cry when you kill someone by accident – or even on purpose – and then feel remorse. But not like this. Not while the Dark Lord watched and clapped. And Harry had no remorse – just regret.



He did not want to raise them up – but then he turned the stone anyways. Because he decided he had to. And the rustling of the leaves, and the gushes of wind, and the slow movements all around him indicated that the departed were returning, and surrounding him.



“Harry Potter,” he heard a voice behind him. He spun around and saw Dean. Dean was the first one he had ever killed. “What can the dead do for you today?”



“I killed him,” Harry said quietly.



“Just as we knew you would,” Ginny confirmed softly, stepping towards him. “Only you could. That\'s why it had to be you – to emerge from the Arena. We all knew that.”



Harry looked at her painfully, not being able to get enough of her face. He hadn\'t wanted to see her again, but now that he did – now that she was right in front of him – just the way she used to be – he wanted to embrace her and hold her, for all eternity and longer.



“Harry,” Ron asked behind him. “Why did you raise us?”



Harry did not know how to answer that.



“That\'s quite obvious, don\'t you think?” Neville spoke quietly from the crowd. “He wants us to choose for him.”



And then Harry realized that that was true. He did not know what to do next. Should he die, or live? He deserved neither. He did not deserve to live – not even in order to somehow try and salvage the remnants of the world he once used to know. Not after what he had done. But he did not deserve death either – that was too good for someone like him – to be able to go in, and be reunited with those who loved him once.



He did not even deserve to decide. Those he had killed should decide for him. They had the right.



“Where do you want me?” Harry demanded. “Tell me. Out here – or back there, with you?”



He heard a soft and melodic laughter next to him. He turned his head to see Luna, standing right next to him. She wore a simple linen dress, and she was barefoot – her toes shifting and passing through the withered grass.



“The real question, Harry, is where do you want us?” she asked gently. “You need to think about that for a bit.”



Harry just stared at her in wonder. “Luna,” he whispered hoarsely, not daring to touch her. “I don\'t understand...”



He heard a deep sigh behind him, and a hand was laid on his shoulder. He could barely feel the touch, but the presence of it resonated throughout his entire body. Harry turned around to come face to face with Draco.



“Of course you don\'t understand,” Draco said without accusation. “You never do, when it comes to things like this.”



“We don\'t mind being dead, you know,” Hermione\'s voice said reasonably from the crowd. “If that\'s what you want. To a well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure.”



Harry nodded slowly. “Dumbledore used to say that,” he whispered.



“He still does,” Hermione informed him. “Almost every day.”



Harry wanted to push the crowd apart and find her – the owner of that cool, rational voice and see her. But Draco\'s hands were on both his shoulders, and they were not letting him go.



“How do you want us, Harry?” Ginny asked him gently. “Dead or alive? Where should we be? Should we be a thing of the past, a lost memory – or should we be loving, and building, and living?”



“Living!” Harry shouted furiously. Did they even need to ask?



“Then you should bring us back,” Draco said gently. His pale hand, light, and almost intangible, like an autumn breeze, caressed Harry\'s hair. “You should make us live again.”



“I can\'t raise the dead, you know,” Harry said bitterly. “There are no spells for that.”



“Ah,” Draco mused dreamily. “Don\'t you worry about that. That\'s all taken care of. - we\'ve figured it out for you. You can bring us back, if you want to. All of us.”



Draco\'s impalpable hand continued to soothe and torment, and make impossible promises.



Harry stared at him with his eyes wide open, wanting to believe.



“I can?” He whispered faintly. “But how?”



“Live,” Draco told him. “And then, we will too. We are a part of you.”



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