He was, for all intent and purpose, a lost soul. The dementors couldn't take anything from him. He had nothing left to offer them.

Harry wasn't really sure who he was anymore. Hell, he wasn't really sure he was something at all. All he remembered was a bright, burning, blinding light - something so terrifying he couldn't bear to think about it. And that light took him and all he had left, which, all accounted for, wasn't much.

He tried despite the pain to remember. Who, what, why? Something about snakes, prophecies, fate. Someone fated to die? But to whom? A lord, maybe, a demon, probably, but certainly not a man. Not anymore. He died to a husk. A shell. Without a sliver of humanity left, for a shell with barely a soul couldn't hold that title.

Before him was a fractured landscape. Pieces of rock were floating about. From the creaking of chains to the whispering of drapes, the very things holding the construct together seemed to break apart themselves. He burned the vision of destruction in his mind. What could he do anyway? Because, try all he might, the memories of his past life seemed lost to him. Slowly fading away, out of his grasp.

The abyss around him was so alluring, calling to him for his shattered soul to serve its only purpose: filling it. Not that he amounted to much, mind you. He only realized at this moment that amongst the creaking and the whispering, a quiet murmur could be heard. He tried to locate its origin. Behind the drapes, the chains, and the odd planks and rocks floating around him, he could barely discern a light. This one seemed oddly soothing, far from the furious green he was so afraid of.

That light now being his only purpose, he tried to find a way to reach it. There wasn't any path for him to take. He couldn't apparate - if it was even possible wherever he was now - without a wand. Which raised an important question: he didn't have legs, did he? Or anything else, really. What had he become, stuck as he was in the peaceful chaos surrounding him? So, not unlike what he knew of mindscapes and reality marbles, he tried his best to will it. After a few seconds, the world seemed to allow his interference, and he slowly began to float away. It really was a strange experience. One could even call it an out-of-this-world feeling, if one was so inclined. Harry's mind, however, wasn't to puns. He concentrated, forcing himself through an inexistent miasma.

He found the world around him bland. After the initial curiosity and wonder, it had become rather repetitive. A rock here, a plank there. Maybe some nails and a chain he had to go around. But, apart from the light calling to him, there wasn't anything to see. He was getting closer anyway. And, for a dead soul like him, what was the point of sightseeing? Where was the satisfaction, the tranquility? What he felt couldn't be called peace. It was purely nothing.