Harry gazed in wonder at the bright, shining reproduction of Kings Cross Station.
“Come along, Potter,” Snape’s sharp and familiar voice called from a nearby bench. “Or do you plan to spend eternity gaping at girders?”
“But… you’re dead! I saw you die!”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Very good, Potter. I could attempt to guide you through the trivial logic required to deduce our location, but I’ve already had one painful experience today. You’re dead. This is the afterlife. Dumbledore was going to pick you up but he got distracted by an old friend.”
“But if I’m dead, who’s going to stop Voldemort? I’m the chosen one!”
“You’re another horcrux, you arrogant brat. Now that you’re dead, and when someone deals with that,” Snape rubbed his neck," damnable snake, the Dark Lord will be mortal. No doubt someone will finish him off. I believe there are bets being placed. Now move! I promised your mother this wouldn’t take long."
A misty train glided to the platform. Still stunned, Harry followed his teacher aboard.