Chapter Text
It was all over. The war, the wounds, the hiding and the evil. It was over, but it left scars and emptiness in its wake. War was all Harry had ever known, and the last thing he wanted was to take that job as an Auror, to keep fighting.
No, he needed something else. But what? What could there possibly be for him in this world, where all the witches and wizards knew his name and face?
Sure, there was Ron and Hermione. The Weasley Family. Grimmauld Place. But no Sirius, Remus, Hogwarts, Dumbledore, or Snape. Even Voldemort was gone, and Harry didn’t remember a life without him. Everyone had lost something in the war. Everyone was mourning, and trying to keep other standing as they got back to their lives. It was hard to forget, though, when you could feel the damage every second of every day.
The effort to rebuild Hogwarts had been a nice distraction, once Harry and others had moved passed the flashbacks. He, Hermione and Ron spent hours each day erasing the scorch marks from the wall or repairing a destroyed tower. It required intense magical strength and concentration, so it was all he could do to keep up with the tasks. A couple times, he found himself working until the sun had long since set. The exhaustion reached his very soul. And he didn’t know what to do.
He skipped another rock across the lake. It only bounced twice before splashing into the water. It was too early in the morning for other people to be up, dawn only barely breaking. The leftover chill of the night made his skin numb. He felt so tired, but he could not sleep. He reached into the edge of the lake to find another rock. The water was freezing. He remembered the press of the ice-cold water from the Triwizard Tournament. It had been shocking, overwhelming. As he had moved, he got used to it. But he couldn’t imagine diving in again, not when the air above was hard enough to breathe.
With another splash, the next rock sunk into the lake.
~~~
He took that job as an Auror. Ron and Hermione had gotten married. Malfoy wasn’t as much of a git anymore. Hogwarts’ headmaster was Professor McGonagall. Any remaining Death Eaters were either in Azkaban or hiding far, far away.
Life was moving on. Harry knew it was happening, but it didn’t feel real. It felt like he should have died at the end of the war. His purpose was to defeat Voldemort, and once that was accomplished, the story should have ended there. Yet the sun kept rising, adding a new page he wasn’t ready for.
Ron and Hermione knew something was wrong by the next Christmas reunion. They knew he was hiding something dark, and that it was draining the life from him. Sure, he knew he looked like pale and exhausted, and he knew that they cared enough to worry, but that didn’t stop the irritation at their mothering.
They never outright said anything, thank Merlin. There was no way he could let himself think on it. He had gone on a walk when he couldn’t sleep, and saw their disapproving expressions when he returned past midnight. He had expected the beginnings of a lecture, but was surprised when Hermione and Ron both hugged him, and said “good night.”
It wasn’t until the next Christmas that the things in his head spilled into their laps.
“Harry, you know, Luna is single. I know you haven’t talked to her in a while, but I could give her your address so you could owl each other.”
Hermione’s suggestion had caught him by surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Luna. Remember? The blonde Ravenclaw who liked—“
“I know who Luna is,” he snapped back. “I just… Merlin, why would you suggest that?”
Hermione shifted anxiously in her seat. It was just her and Harry in the living room, the other Weasleys having gone last-minute Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry should have seen this semi-intervention coming. “I just think that it would do you good, you know, to get out a bit more.”
“What are you talking about? I go with you two to events. I go to the pub with coworkers.”
“Harry, you haven’t done that in 5 months.”
“How did you know that?” Of all the details about him to know.
“I get lunch with Padma sometimes, and she works in your department. Anyways, that’s beside the point. I think you’re becoming a bit of a recluse.”
“I’m comfortable with my life.” And on the most part, he was. He would go to work, return late at night, and read books he could find in the Black library in Grimmauld Place. There was a surprising amount of spells he had learned from the extra-curricular studying. Kreacher made him dinner, and cleaned the place as best he wanted to. He still muttered about blood traitors, but he and Harry had something of a truce nowadays. “And anyways, it’s much better than being mobbed by wizards every time I want to do my shopping. Everyone talking about how great a deed I did, how noble and brave I was to die for them. Like I was supposed to do anything else. I’m just so fed up with it all.”
“Harry.”
“What?”
“What exactly are you fed up with?” Her expression was compassionate, but he vaguely noted the hint of her characteristic fiery curiosity.
The words that tumbled from his mouth couldn’t be stopped then. “I was born and raised to defeat Voldemort. I didn’t do anything besides fulfill my purpose to the world. I don’t want their gratitude. What in the hell am I supposed to do with it? And what the hell am I doing now to deserve it? Being an Auror is nothing special, and nothing compared to ‘Savior of the Wizarding World.’ There’s nothing that I can do. I’ve outlived my purpose, so I’m useless now.”
He breathed in, not realizing how badly he needed the oxygen. His eyes were no longer focused on Hermione, instead on some space in between. There was a tightness in his chest and an aching in his bones. Somehow it was more exhausting to say all that, than it was to chase down a rogue Death Eater.
There was a moment of silence, filled only with Harry’s breathing and the ticking of the grandfather clock. It was interrupted when Hermione moved from her chair to sit next to Harry, and wrap her arms around him, her face in his shoulder.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, her voice thick. “I’m so sorry you think that.”
Harry suddenly felt hot tears run down his cheeks. “But it’s true,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat. The feel of her arms was comforting, something he hadn’t felt in a long while.
“Harry, you are more than just an enemy to Voldemort. You’re kind, you’re determined, you’re brave, and most importantly, you’re our friend. There’s so much you can do with it all.” She pulled her head back and met his eyes. “Your parents didn’t want you to be a Savior, they wanted you to be happy, and to live a good life. You can have that, now that the war is over.”
Harry swallowed, pursed his lips, and tried to keep the tears from falling. It was too late to stop it, of course, since they were running rivers now. His parents. He hadn’t thought of them for a while. They had been victims of the war, and been kept boxed up with the other memories. It was almost painful, to remember their love and happiness, always there and never changing.
“Hermione is right, you know.” Harry looked up to see Ron standing at the doorway. He could’ve been there for the entire time, given how overwhelmed Harry felt. “You have friends, not because you defeated You-Know-Who, but because of who you are. You deserve everything that everyone else does. Like, I don’t know, a chance at being happy.”
Harry tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a choke. He finally hugged Hermione back. They were right, of course.
After that day, Harry got better.
~~~
The Doctor had made his peace with the Ponds. They had been taken from him, but they had a happy life. It was all he could have hoped for. And it was time. It was better that this was how they left, rather than by death or something worse.
So he should not be grieving this much. He should not be hurting this much. For Rassilon’s sake, the pain shouldn’t be so strong that he felt ready to die at any moment.
This was his last regeneration. Amy and Rory had been his companions this entire regeneration, and they were gone. This version of him couldn’t not exist without an Amy and a Rory. It was like he was missing himself. Other versions had experienced loss and moved on, but how? He couldn’t remember. He could remember entire galaxies and their people, he could remember dying and coming back, he could remember each and every adventure with his companions, but this he could not. What if he couldn’t bear it this time?
Okay, so fine. He hadn't made his peace yet.
~~~
Harry and Luna married. Luna was the calm in his life, constant and unconditionally loving. They complemented each other, and lived in a peaceful happiness Harry had never known. Sure, Luna was strange, but then again, they lived in a world of spells and hippogriffs and horcruxes, so maybe Luna fit it better than others. And he loved her.
And then they had five children. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but he loved them all. It felt like his heart could burst from love and happiness when he thought about it for too long.
He cried when they sent off their first two children, twins, to Hogwarts. Evangeline and Thalia both waved as the train left, their blonde heads disappearing in smoke. Then it was Marc, his too-long black hair disappearing after walking aboard with his sisters. That was perhaps harder. And when Aquila left, he was familiar with the aching and missing, but he still had Damian. Of course, then Damian left, he had to hold tight to Luna’s hand, and return home to quiet.
But he continued life. He loved Luna, his children, his happy home in the countryside with a forest in the backyard, his job and his friends. Ron and Hermione had their own children they sent off, and they talked about how different it was to stay on Platform 9 3/4 as the Hogwarts Express departed.
All his life, evil had been haunting and chasing him, and finally, he could sit still and enjoy the impossible amounts of good in his life.
He retired from being an Auror at age 70 to teach Defense at Hogwarts. He was teaching there long enough to see a few of his grandchildren come in, then graduate. He was wrinkled, but he refused to have an unkempt (Dumbledore-ish) beard. He and Luna would take vacations to mountains in China, or dragon reservations in Bulgaria, or New York City. During the summer, there was at least one family reunion, filling their house with more noise and laughter and blonde or black heads of hair than ever before.
His death came rather suddenly at age 92. Car crash, believe it or not. All he knew leading up to that moment was that the busy London street was full of life and he was much too old. There was a car horn, then pain, then blackness.
~~~
Of course, the Doctor’s solution to sadness was to save the world.
“No, you can’t make the Carmack do anything, except blow up the tower!” he yelled into the walkie-talkie.
Kristine, on the other end, was trying to make a large, slug-like alien get into the protective cage before it became stressed and literally exploded. The only problem is, it causes millions of sparks to fly everywhere, and potential to set the air on fire. The fire would kill everyone within a kilometer. The last the Doctor had seen, it was already sparking on the surface of its skin.
Meanwhile, the Doctor was trying desperately to talk down the nearly nonsensical time-traveler who brought the Carmack to blow up this tower, because someone in the future had a great-great-great-grandmother who worked two floors below. This was a very poor parody of the Terminator, when you consider that there was Carmack slime all over him and he had a sonic screwdriver instead of a machine gun.
“You’re not well, Michael. Your Vortex Manipulator is broken, and you spent too much time lost in the Vortex. We can get you help, we can--”
“It doesn’t matter! This is a fact. Darin ruined my life, and the lives of millions. I watched my mother die. He doesn’t even deserve to die, he deserves nothing!” Michael slapped the conference room table, raising his voice to a yell.
The Doctor tried to think about what he knew of the 23rd century. The only instance where millions were left devastated was when America’s west coast had a long-overdue earthquake, and that was a natural disaster. Nothing that this Darin could have caused. “Michael, what are you talking about?”
“Darin is the one who created that research facility in New York. Nuclear energy, something experimental. My mother was working there, and she was vaporized the instant his monstrosity went wrong. It blew up the entire northeast U.S. Tell me that doesn’t warrant my judgment! Tell me I’m wrong!”
Suddenly, he understood. It was the anger towards the Daleks, the fury and hate and boiling blood beating in his two hearts. He knew what this man felt, and he still didn’t know what to say to him. He may understand, but what words of comfort or mercy could he offer? He hadn’t yet found words for himself. There was nothing to it, but to distract yourself.
The Doctor walked over to Michael, and wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Michael.”
Michael was shaking, whether from fury or grief or both. More importantly, though, he did not fight it.
“Your mother didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve it. No one deserved that. Even Darin didn’t deserve it.”
“He didn’t care. All he wanted was—“
“No one can see the loss of millions and feel nothing. All those people and their families suffered, it’s no stretch to think that he suffered as well.”
Michael wrapped his arms around the Doctor, and buried his face in his shoulder (despite the slime. At least the slime smelled a little like roses, or maybe closer to a rose made of burnt rubber). The grip on his tweed jacket felt too tight, but the Doctor was not going to argue now.
“Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough? Hasn’t everybody suffered enough?” As the words left him, he felt the done-deep exhaustion. All this fighting, for what? “Your mother may be dead, but she would have wanted you to move on, Michael. Live happily, not live to exact revenge.”
The change in his breathing seemed to resemble sobs. The Doctor stroked his back, trying to project emotions of kindness and calm. There was no point to be a low-level empath unless he used it, after all.
“Doctor!” the walkie-talkie screamed, jarring him from the hug and the emotional projection. “Doctor—ow!—Doctor, the Carmack is freaking out! I can’t get it to calm down!”
~~~
In all his years, Harry had of course wondered what death would look like this time around. He had pictured Dumbledore and a pure white Kings Cross Station. He also pictured something dark, but warm, a place where he could connect with his loved ones and be at peace.
Instead, he stood on a bridge in the middle of a thick forest. The wide below river was loud and powerful, and something about it felt hungry yet hypnotizing. The bridge, on the other hand, seemed to be just as strong, made from sturdy old wood. Even the nails hasn’t rusted yet. The contrast was nearly unreal, and something close to beautiful.
Harry saw his hands as he gripped the bridge’s railing. They were not his bony hands, spotted with age. He seemed to be young again, just barely reaching adulthood.
“I hope you do not mind the change in scenery.” Harry whipped around to see a cloaked figure, face covered, and floating. Black tendrils of his cloak fluttered in the wind, and hands of white bone peeked from the folds.
“Who are you?”
The raspy whisper continued. The speech didn’t seem to come from the figure, but rather, simply sounding inside his head. “I suppose introductions are in order. I am Death, and you, Harry Potter, are my master.”
Of all things, he had not been expecting that. “What?”
“You have the three Hallows, yes? They belong to you, and with it, the title of Master of Death.”
“That’s just a children’s story. It wasn’t supposed to be real. I even tried to get rid of them!”
“And yet, here we are.” The hand gestured towards their surroundings. With a start, Harry realized exactly where they were.
“This is where the Peverell brothers built their bridge, and bested you.”
Death made a noise that sounded like it could be a hiss or a laugh. “Indeed.”
Harry inspected his surroundings closer. The forest looked older than Hogwarts itself. The trees were so thick and tall, it was impossible to see far in. What was in there? Was it his afterlife?
“So, er…what now?”
Death did that noise again (maybe a chuckle?), and floated closer to Harry. “You have options, being the Master of Death. You may choose to live, or die. Live, and you will awaken in a new world, with new people and unknown adventures. Die, and be reunited with your loved ones, and take a different kind of adventure with them. Another will take the title of Master in time.” The response seemed concise, like he had thought long and hard of what to say. Perhaps he had. After all, Harry had taken a while to die once the war was over.
“What kind of a new world?”
“Something entirely different. No one and nothing you’ve known in your life will exist in this new life. It will be a fresh start, in a place where you are needed.”
There was a pang of mourning, knowing that he would not see Luna and the children until they too had crossed over. Is this what all parents felt, as they left their loved ones behind in their death? Is this was Mum and Dad felt?
The next realization hit him then. He could be reunited with his parents, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, and those who had died along the way. His heart nearly ached at the thought. He knew life and happiness without them, certainly, but he had depended on these people for love and support. They were, and always will be, a part of him. Clearly, death was the choice he favored, and he was about to say it.
Yet a part of him fought his instant response. A truly new world, somewhere he could go and find new adventures and new friends. It had been long since he had done something like it, perhaps not since his Auror days. His body felt literally decades younger, and the fire for adventure burned within him. And as Death had said, he would be ‘in a place where he was needed.’ The living still needed him, somewhere out there, and he could help.
Hermione would point out, around now, that he had something of a hero complex. Well, sue him, he was the Savior of the Wizarding World, and Hermione wasn’t here to stop him.
“I want to live.”
Death nodded slowly. “Excellent choice, Master.”
“Somehow, I sense my title is being mocked.” Harry tried to suppress a grin, but a bit peeked out anyways.
There was that noise again. It must be something like a laugh, for Death. Perhaps it sounded insidious simply because he did not do it often. “You sense correctly.”
“Would this be something like reincarnation? Am I being born again?”
“No. This place freezes your body and soul in the time-space continuum. Besides, there are too many souls to spare a birth for you.”
“I’m frozen?!” Something about that sounded dangerous.
Death made a noise like a sigh. “You’re simply put in stasis. You will not age, or die, unless you want to. Call it a perk.”
Harry looked down at his body. Hopefully, this body was mature enough to grow a beard. He rather missed the one he sported as he grew older.
“Any other questions? I really must return to my work.” If Death itself could be annoyed and impatient, it would sound like that.
“No.”
“Good.” A hand pointed towards Harry’s left. “That way will lead you towards your destination. This world is quite different from yours, but I suggest you find the Doctor.”
“A doctor?” How random.
“Farewell. May your soul find peace.”
And with that, Death faded into nothingness.
Harry stared at the river for a moment. This river had killed hundreds before the Peverells came along, and vanquished Death. Harry had done that same thing, twice, and counting this new revival, a third.
With a sigh, and a muttered “right,” he walked towards the left. Into something new. Merlin help him.
~~~
The last thing that Harry expected upon stepping from the bridge onto the ground was to suddenly find himself in a dark room with metal walls, and a giant slug being coaxed by a short red-head into a reinforced cage. The room smelled like burnt rubber. He looked back, almost expecting to see the bridge again, but it was gone, along with the sounds of the deadly river. “What the hell?”
The woman, who was half covered in a light orange slime, jerked her head to look at him. “Who are you? How did you get in here?!”
“I asked first.”
“Oh my god, just…” The woman sighed. “Just keep out of sight, or something smart. It’s deaf, but if it sees you, it’ll go beserk, and probably kill us all.” She did a surprisingly good job of ignoring him after that, and continuing to guide the slug into the cage. Upon looking closer, Harry noticed pinpricks of light dancing across the surface of its skin. Occasionally, bits of those lights would jump out and disappear in a green flash.
Harry pursed his lips, and stayed where he stood. After all, the giant slug looked unpleasant and somewhat dangerous, so staying still seemed a smart choice. His career as an Auror had taught him that sometimes, it was best to wait and let others take over. Besides, it was a good chance for him to take inventory.
On his ring finger was the cold metal of the Gaunt Ring. It gleamed silver, even in the dim lights. On the top was the Soul Stone, black and haunting. He had last seen it when he summoned his loved ones as he walked to his death. There had been plenty of time in his life to process that experience, but it still made a painful memory. He took it off, and shoved it deep in his pocket.
Already in his pocket, however, was the Invisibility Cloak, folded into a small, light triangle. At least he wanted this one. It was familiar, being a part of him since his childhood. The silky cloth felt unreal in his hands. He returned it to his pocket, hoping that it would serve him well, as it once did.
His other pocket held a wand. He half hoped that it was his holly-and-phoenix-feather, but he wasn’t surprised to pull out the Elder Wand. The wand vibrated with magic at his touch. It felt eager to use its power and prove itself to its master. He had felt this when he first held this wand, all those years ago. It felt disturbing then, and it still did now.
The slug across the room made a groaning noise, and more of the lights shot rapidly from its skin. One hit the woman on her arm, causing her sleeve to smolder. “Ow! What the hell?”
“What’s it doing?”
“It wants to blow up and set us on fire, that's what! Shit!” She tried to continue leading the slug, but the sparking only grew faster and more violent. It wasn’t moving now. Suddenly, Harry realized the danger they were in.
She didn’t look at Harry, instead pulling a walkie-talkie from her pocket. “Doctor! Doctor—ow!—Doctor, the Carmack is freaking out! I can’t get it to calm down!”
“I’ll be right there!” a voice replied.
“But what about Michael?”
“He’s safe now, he isn’t going anywhere.”
Harry gripped his wand tighter. The air felt thick and tense. There were lives at stake here, and his newly young body felt a familiar urge to fight. Again with that hero complex Hermione had always pointed out. It took effort, but he stood his ground. The woman knew more than he did about this creature, and it could be disastrous if Harry made even an accidental mistake. At least help was coming.
A door to his right slammed open, and in burst a skinny man with a tweed jacket and waving a metal wand(?) that lit green at the end. He was covered nearly head-to-toe in the same orange slime as the woman. The man scanned the room and locked eyes with Harry. “Who are you?”
“He just showed up” the woman responded for him. “No idea, mate. Carmack first.” The sparks were flying faster and faster after the man’s entrance. Harry gripped his wand tighter in his hand.
“Okay, let me see.” He pointed his wand at the alien. It made a rather strange sound. He seemed to analyze something on the side of the wand, and declared “we should have at least 4 minutes before it reaches dangerous levels.” Was this what magic was like in this world? Would Harry’s magic even work?
The tension in Harry’s body redirected towards curiosity. Certainly Death would not send him to a world where his magic did not work. Harry silently cast a simple detection charm, normally used to find natural sources of magic, such as magical creatures or wizards.
The charm told him that the slug was an extremely sensitive magical source. Harry barely had time to think ‘oh no’ before the slug screamed. Both the man and woman stared in horror as the cursed sound consumed the air in the room, its skin showering sparks, and seeming to disappear within the light.
“Hurry, move the cage closer!”
The man and woman snapped into action, pushing the cage in the corner with all their might. The cage scraped along the floor at an agonizingly slow rate. As the slug continued to pop with sparks, a few landed on the trail of slime and began to burn green. It reminded him of fiendfyre. “They’re not going to make in time” Harry breathed, gripping his wand. The flame was quickly growing, following the trail the slug had left behind. Both the man and the woman were trying to avoid the sparks as they got closer, but some caught on the man’s sleeve, and was quickly overtaking his arm in flame.
Magically sensitive or not, Harry had to help. “Protegio!”
A stream of faint golden light burst forth from his wand, and flew across the room to form a barrier around the slug. It was a modification to the normal ‘Protego’ Harry had learned a while back. If the enemy was a wizard, they could cast spells through it, but it would keep their physical form locked in place. The slug still groaned and exploded with sparks, but more importantly, the sparks were blocked. The slug or its fire wasn’t going anywhere.
“What? I mean...how?!”
Harry looked over to see the man beyond shocked. His jaw had dropped, he was gesticulating wildly without making a sound. He was still covered in slime, and his sleeve was on fire. He didn’t seem to notice it as he started to grip his hair with a hand. Harry took the liberty of casting an extinguishing spell on his sleeve, before the poor man (who hadn’t seem to notice the extinguishing either) lost his jacket to the flames.
The woman, however, looked too tired to care. “Honestly, this isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve seen today” she muttered, falling to the ground and leaning against the wall. The slug’s groaning started to fade, and its form had shrunken to half its original size.
With an inhale, the man calmed himself. “Who did you say you were?” His voice was much deeper, now that he wasn’t panicked. The way he stood changed into something resembling determination and captivation.
“I never said. But my name is Harry, now that you ask.”
“So sorry, that was very rude of me, wasn’t it? You’ll have to forgive me, since I was busy with the Carmack at the time.” Harry wasn’t sure how much of that was sarcasm. The words and tone seemed genuine, and the man was smiling. A bit whimsical, reminding him of Dumbledore. “Thank you very much for your help, Harry.”
Harry shrugged. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who set it off, after all.”
“Excuse me?” His eyebrows raised, though there wasn’t much eyebrow for him to raise.
“My magic set it off. It was sensitive, and obviously panicked when it sensed me using it.”
“Yes, that was going to be my next question. Magic? Is that what you did?”
“I just said it was.”
“Right. Of course. Magic.” The man nodded, and clasped his hands together. The smile he was attempting seemed forced, yet distracted, like he was trying to figure an explanation for Harry’s abilities. Perhaps there simply was no magic here, if it surprised the man this much.
Harry pocketed his wand, a movement that caught the man’s eye. He didn’t immediately comment on it. “Sorry,” Harry began hesitantly. “I didn’t get your name either.”
“I’m the Doctor.”
“Doctor who?” Harry said the words, and suddenly felt an extreme sense of déjà vu. It felt like he should have been working in the kitchen at the Dursley’s while the TV was going on in the background.
The man—Doctor smiled in response. “Just the Doctor.”
“I suggest you find the Doctor.”
It seems that Harry had come across the man Death told him to find.