Destiny's Guardian

"Get up, you idiot!" snarled a man's voice.

Harry lay there wondering why he wasn't dead. But, he wasn't lying on the dirt ground of the Forbidden Forest, either; he was lying on a rug or carpet of some soft weave.

Blinking his eyes open, he was looking across the surface of a pale blue plush wool carpet. It actually felt quite comfortable.

"Harry James!" snapped the voice. "Get on your feet!" The voice seemed to come from behind him.

Harry rolled over onto his front and rose to his knees. He looked around to where the voice came from and saw a somewhat young Caucasian man with dark blonde hair wearing a plain white robe with silk highlights, scowling back at him.

"Errr - wh-where am I?" he asked, completely confused. "Aren't I dead?"

"Yes - and, no," said the man. "Get up and follow me." And the man started to walk away from him.

Quickly, Harry rose the rest of the way to his feet. He looked around for his wand and - feeling his face first - his glasses. Frowning, he realised he could actually see quite clearly without them.

"Harry James! Come on!" the man called back, waiting in a doorway.

Not being able to find either his wand or glasses, Harry dusted his hands off and looked down to see he, too, was wearing a white robe. And his feet were bare.

"Yes, you look pretty," snarked the man. "Now, come on. We've got work to do; thanks to you."

Harry looked up and walked towards the man, following him out the door.

"Errr," said Harry. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes, and no," said the man, as Harry followed him down a long hallway, with doors evenly spaced down both sides. "I've chosen to look like an American movie and television actor by the name of John Die... or something. He's played roles such as an angel on American television. It's supposed to make people feel easier about me... calmer."

Finally, coming to an almost stop at one of the doors, 'John' opened it and walked in. Harry followed. With a flick of his hand, the man closed the door. "To make it easier for you, you can call me John, if you like." Then, he gestured to one of the three white office chairs facing a desk. "Sit there," he said as he walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down in the white office chair, while Harry sat in the middle chair of the three.

In the middle of a desk blotter in front of where John sat, was a large manila folder. John flicked it open with a scowl.

"Where am I?" asked Harry. "What's going on?"

Looking up, John sighed. "We go through this every time, Harry James. It's become quite annoying having to repeat myself to you over and over again."

"Pardon?" asked Harry. "I've never met you before in my life!"

"No, you've met me in your afterlife," said John. "Now, listen and don't interrupt," he said, before Harry could do exactly that.

Making a waving gesture around, John said, "This place is known as Judgement. The closest analogy you could call it is 'The Pearly Gates'. Except, I'm not the angel Peter."

He waited to see the expression of understanding pass on Harry's face before he continued, "Now. There are far too many souls passing through here for Peter to check each one off in the book. So, he's appointed others to do the background work for him. I'm one of those. I'm your Grim Reaper. And my job is on the line because of you. You keep dying when you're not supposed to."

Startled, Harry stuttered and asked, "M-my what?"

"Your Grim Reaper," replied John. "It's been my job to make sure you get processed through Judgement when the Fates - Clotho, the spinner; Lachesis, the allotter; and Atropos, the unturnable - deem your life at an end. They're also known as the Moirai, the Parcae, Sudice, Sudičky..." With an irritable wave-off, John said, "Never mind; it isn't important.

"What it means is that each person has a destiny. Some aren't that big. And for some it could just be to live a few minutes after birth. But, there's a few - of which you're one - who have a huge destiny to face; or meet. Understand, so far?"

Harry just nodded, still mainly confused.

"Right," said John. "The Fates had big plans for you. You were supposed to be born; lose your parents when you were fifteen months old... that's the sort of thing that happens to those with big destinies... become known as The-Boy-Who-Lived to the wizarding world; be raised by your godfather; be trained by him, Remus John Lupin and Albus Wulfric Dumbledore; have it discovered you're one of the most powerful wizards, magically, in the wizarding world; meet one of your soul mates of a pair of girls in your year at Hogwarts; be emancipated..."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Harry, interrupting. "What do you mean 'soul mates'?"

With a sigh, John muttered, "Every time, you ask that. I guess I should expect it, by now." Muttering under his breath something about hormonal teenagers, John flicked through a couple of pages in his file and, in a somewhat clearer voice, said, "A Daphne Anna Greengrass and some Granger girl..."

"Hermione?" squeaked Harry.

"Yes," said John. "A Hermione Jean Granger." He looked back at Harry and said, "I believe you know them both."

Harry just nodded; not knowing what else to say, considering how stunned he was. He remembered Daphne Greengrass as being a very attractive platinum haired blonde Slytherin with 'runway model' looks.

"Right," said John. "Now, stop interrupting or I'll gag you." Harry looked both a little sheepish and affronted at the rebuke.

John continued, "... be emancipated as a result of your name coming out of the Goblet of Fire; win the tournament; be present for the resurrection of one Tom Marvolo Riddle in the graveyard at Little Hangleton; significantly wound him in the process, sending him running away in shock that you'd actually hurt him; capture Pettigrew; announce the resurrection of part of the soul of Tom Marvolo; hunt him down and kill him... yes, we're advocating for that... earn and demand your family name being elevated to an inheritable seat on the Wizengamot status; then go find the horcruxes and destroy them, with the help of the goblins; marry your choice of the two girls; have lots of kids together; run roughshod over the Wizengamot to get the bigoted laws renounced, stripped, whatever; and live until you're old enough to at least meet your great grandchildren; at which time you would be granted admission into the Celestial Kingdom. Got all that?"

"Errr," said Harry, suffering information overload. "Umm... no?... It's confusing."