Epilogue: Beyond
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A Death blow is a Life blow to Some
Who till they died, did not alive become—
Who had they lived, had died but when
They died, Vitality begun.
.
-Emily Dickinson
Tom opened his eyes to starlight.
He blinked in the gentle glow, his still unfocused vision blurring the sky above him and making the field of stars look like an oil painting. His body felt heavy. His mind felt fuzzy and warm. Tom rubbed the sand from the corners of his eyes and sat up.
"You're awake."
Lucidity struck him in the form of a black hair, a timid smile, and brilliant eyes.
There was his precious soul, his angel, looking very much the part of something immaculate and divine as he sat there, somehow, impossibly, with his legs dangling over the edge of a cloud. His emerald eyes sang of happiness when Tom stared at him, slack-jawed and confused.
"Sorry I didn't try to wake you sooner. I've been up, but... I just couldn't do it. You looked so peaceful."
Tom gawked in disbelief. He was just attempting to gather himself when he realized something which might have surprised him even further, had the sight of Harry Potter on a cloud not instantly caused him to meet his threshold for being shocked.
"I'm naked," he said numbly, looking down at his completely exposed body. He noticed then that he, too, was on a cloud; though that bizarre detail suddenly seemed inconsequential.
"Yep. You look..." Harry paused for a second. Tom glanced up to see that Harry's brows were furrowed, like he was looking for the right word to say.
"...Good," he eventually settled for. Tom got the impression that this was not what he had first thought to say, despite the fact that he then smiled innocently. Harry's grin faltered when Tom's eyes narrowed.
"What? It's not like I did that. I guess that's just how these things work. You don't get to take anything with you."
Tom frowned. "You're not naked," he pointed out.
That was true. Harry was wearing long, swirling robes of shimmering silver. Fabric like liquid light that clung to his shoulders and waist, almost like they were a part of him. The cloak fell below his legs, ending in an ephemeral smoke that dissipated at his feet.
But his ghostly clothing was the least startling thing about him. He still looked like Harry; it was undeniably his perfection who was smiling down at him, here...and yet it was not that same man at all.
Harry's disheveled hair seemed even wilder than before; something which, as far as Tom was concerned, should not have been possible. His green, green eyes were brighter than anything conceivably found in nature. They were alight with a sort of cold energy that Tom knew he knew very well, but couldn't quite put his finger on at the moment. And all around him, there seemed to be a sort of...coolness. Like winter air.
Despite the icy feel, Harry's voice was warm and friendly. Just as it always had been.
"You're right. I'm not," he answered simply, shrugging.
Tom shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "What happened to us...?"
"What do you remember?"
Harry fixed him with a blank face and two vivid, neon irises. Tom found himself momentarily stunned by the intensity of them. "...I..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember.
