Work Text:
Going, going, going.
The only time Harry Potter had ever been gone was the time he spent in limbo with Death. She had told him nothing would be the same, after this. That if he chose any path but Beyond— what Harry perceived as the Hogwarts train, all those years ago— there would never be a chance to be gone ever again. Ever. He would not be dead, but with death. Be her master.
Though, now, he knows that it is Harry who was stuck in this deal.
"Master" does not mean much to an unstoppable force that keeps the universe itself moving.
It is more like Death is a taxi car, and he is in it. But Death is also the driver, and the gas, the destination, and everything that exists around the car.
Harry is just the passenger who can ask for the air conditioning to be turned a bit higher.
And the driver will probably agree, because when you take a taxi it is agreed that the passenger is in charge, as is the terms of a customer. Supply and Demand.
There is a reason that in the saying, supply, the taxi, comes before demand, the customer.
Because you can demand all you want, but if there is no supply, there is absolutely nothing you can do. It is still the driver who steers the wheel and pushes the gas pedal of this car.
Harry is stuck in Death's locked, hot car and he is a dog trapped in the backseat, boiling, panting, scratching at the walls. If a dog could also scream and cry and tear itself apart by the seams of its reality instead of just barking.
He was Chosen. He was Scarred. He was just a boy.
He is stuck as that boy, now. Anything he can't see right before his eyes tends to slip his mind. He cannot remember anyone to miss. The only thing he can keep track of is Now, and if he tries to remember where his existence started or might end he inevitably goes mad for a couple decades. All he can hold on to is that time in limbo, where he was truly Gone.
Now, he is Going. Going going going.
Never Gone.