Chapter Text
Harry panted, his breath coming out in heavy breaths as he stood in the middle of the battlefield. Across from him, was a body. A scaly body that belonged to Voldemort. A body that marked the end, finally an end! An end to the war, an end to this hell, and most importantly the beginning to his true life. Harry couldn't help but smile, he turned and rapidly searched for Hermione and Ron, his friends though everything. Harry found them, they ran towards him both with blinding smiles on their faces. Hermione looked absolutely overjoyed, she had one arm linked with Ron and the other held out. Harry ignored the weakness in his limbs as he limped forward, it was time to celebrate the war was over. Voldemort was over, and Harry's life has started.
Abruptly, a look of confusion and mild horror rose to Hermione's face, making Harry pause mid wobble, she opened her mouth to yell something at him, Harry turned to see what she was looking at, hand tightening on his wand as he half expected to see Voldemort back on his feet.
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry stared at Lucius Malfoy, his voice and face filled the air, desperate anger. Harry tried to dodge, but his attempt was futile. A dead body of the boy-who-lived-twice plopped to the ground like a puppet with freshly snipped strings.
But that was unfortunately fate, wasn't it? Harry could never get a break, with the spidery footsteps of Death following him. Peril seemed to always be around the corner no matter what happens. Harry had always been destined to die at the chilling magic of a killing curse. The realization hit too late, Harry should have moved as soon as he saw Hermione's face. Instead, he turned just in time to see the killing curse's blinding green light launching towards him at a frighteningly unavoidable pace. Just having a moment of sombering relation and a shot of panic before it hit along with the killing curse.
Harry's soul was pulled harshly out of his now former physical form, and he cried out in mourn as he stared at Lucius with anger and hatred. Lucius, like the coward he was, now looked quiet queasy and sick. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all! Why was nothing ever fair to Harry, he just had his victory, won his rights to a happy ending, yet there it happens again. Voldemort ruined his happy ending, not himself but a follower of his. Harry thought now that Voldemort was dead Harry would have a chance to live, just like the prophecy said but no-no, apparently nothing would allow Harry the chance to be happy and free. All Harry had in his life, was some sad half-life of running and desiring to end a war he shouldn't have ever been forced into. Harry was going to start a real life, a real life with his friends! Why couldn't he ever get what he wanted? Just when he was about to turn the page on this nightmare and start a story he wanted to be remembered for, he was murdered.
Torment spun in his soul as his attention moved over to his own corpse as a series of spells were launched at Lucius, he stared down at himself. Harry met his own dead eyes, and they seemed to stare at him and through him. The wand, one of the three Deathly Hallows, was still held by his lifeless hand, a ring that was formerly a horcrux was positioned snuggly on his former pointer finger. Harry's soul felt cold as a shiver wracked his form, he took in his expression. Terror. Hopeless, devastatingly hopeless terror. Harry's mouth had fallen open when he hit the ground, and it looked like he died screaming. On his forehead, his hair spewed around his scar and show cased it like some twisted art form. Harry noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes, and glanced over to find Ron and Hermione. Hermione clung to Ron, tears in her eyes as she pointed down at Harry's body, she was saying something as Ron shook his head as a few tears started to fall. Harry reached out, he went through them. Harry was left to watch with an ache in his heart as Hermione dropped next to his body, she reached forward and felt his neck.
Already knowing the answer, he wanted to cry himself when he saw her expression as she looked even more helplessly up to Ron who kneeled beside her. Hermione moved his head to her lap as she slouched over him, she started to heavily cry as she seemingly whispered word Harry couldn't hear. Harry could only guess she was praying to any deity who would listen, Ron reached around her and patted her on the back as he used his other arm to hold Harry's deathly hands. Ron shook his arm gently at first, he mouthed a few words as he leaned forward before he shook the arm with both hands and a little more rigor. Another plea for Harry to just wake up, another plea for a small victory, another plea for Harry to stand a chance for once.
Harry shook his soul's equivalent of his head as he looked back over to his murderer. Lucius Malfoy was tied in ropes, he looked so tired and pained, his wand was in Draco Malfoy's hand as he seemingly had a shield charm casted. Narcissa Malfoy was on her knees in front of Lucius, a hopeless expression on her face as she shook her head, tears in her own eyes as she showed the most emotion Harry had even seen. Narcissa reached over and hugged Lucius, he seemed so guilty as he shifted his head over his shoulder, he stared past Draco and to Harry's body. Lucius dug his head in Narcissa's shoulder for a moment, he remained still for a few seconds before he looked up. Lucius's expression was stiff, blank as a board as he opened his mouth and seemingly started speaking to Draco.
Draco looked at him, and shook his head. Lucius seemingly went on unimpressed and Draco's shield dropped. Promptly Narcissia, Draco, and Lucius were all hit with a series of spells. Draco fell to the ground, and Narcissa was frozen hugging her husband. Harry looked away and helplessly back down to Hermione and Ron. Why was it always him? Couldn't he get one happy ending for once in his life? Harry lowered himself hesitantly between Ron and Hermione, sitting between his two friends as they mourned his death. Moving his hands out, he tried to clasp at Ron and Hermione's hands, he went through them like he was nothing. As he wasn't anything anymore. Harry was just an idea, he wasn't a living being anymore, he was dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead just like Sirius, dead just like Mum, dead just like Dumbledore, like Dad, like Snape, and just like Voldemort. Neither of them really won, and why is that? Why is fate so fucking cruel? Why is fate cruel enough to not even allow Harry a proper ghost form. He wasn't even like Nearly Headless Nick, he was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Life and work thrown down the drain, years of frustration and mourn gone, as Harry didn't ever get time to change. Never got the time to grow, never got the time to live a life.
"Are you done yet?" A quiet voice asked in a tone that was borderline angelic as a hand fell on his shoulder, Harry jumped, and passed through Hermione as he scrambled away. Harry stared wide eyes and on the ground at seemingly another ghost. They were a young anorexic looking man, with snow white skin, dark black eyes, long black hair that floated around the man almost like a halo. Harry was reminded of Snape, just this man lost the hooked nose that was instead small and unremarkable. They seemed to have a similar fashion sense too.
The two stared at each other, the man's hand falling to his side as he rolled his eyes, "Who are you?" Harry sputtered, having a voice and a semi-physical form back as he stumbled back to his feet and backed away from the figure. The man watched Harry, before he sighed. Snapping his fingers, the world's colors turned into a monochrome gray scale as the movement around them fully ceased. The hues of grays seemed stark with the figure's pure black pure blood like robes, and Harry didn't like this one bit. Harry backed up again, inching away as he was watched with an unimpressed expression.
"I would advise you to walk with me," The man drawled, tilting his head as he seemingly looked Harry up and down.
"Who are you?" Harry repeated, standing firmly away from the man. For a few seconds, the man looked annoyed before he sighed again.
"I go by many names," The man finally said, in a demurred tone. Ignoring Harry's discomfort, the man prowled forward in a way Harry found predatory. Harry tried to move, and with a sparkling shot of panic Harry found himself unable to move other than a flinch and a frightful blink. The man stopped in front of him, staring into his eyes unblinkingly as he reached towards Harry and ghosted up Harry's cheek and trailed up to the lightning bolt scar that once held Voldemort's horcrux. Harry fought with his invisible restraints, trying desperately to move as the man tilted his head again with a small frown, "The easiest name to give you would be Death, as that's my name from the story you know me from. Besides, the concept mortals granted that name speaks very aptly to what I am, and more importantly in your mind."
"Why?" Harry managed to say as he managed to speak through whatever binds Death put on him. Was Death going to torture him for enturnity? Was Harry really so universally hated to attracted Death's attention? Death chuckled darkly, the supposed Death drew his hand back, his dark brooding eyes peering maraudingly into his soul.
"That question is highly subjective," Death drawled, taking a generous step back from Harry, "It depends on exactly which why of this horrendous situation I foolishly managed to get intertwined with. You must be wondering, why I even bother talking to you, as per protocol you should be already reaped and to the train? Or why are you here? Why Lucius Malfoy killed you? Why Voldemort causes the war? Why you were placed with the Dursleys'? Why Dumbledore used you..? Simply which why? Or was it vastly different from these presented assortment of whys?" Death rambled his voice growing rapidly more annoyed as he stared down Harry, his expression twisting into a scathing scowl. Harry tried to speak but found himself unable to answer, Death hummed and turned away from him walking towards the frozen scene of Ron and Hermione mourning by his corpse.
"You have no need to speak," Death spoke again, his voice back to being soft, "I can explain all you need to know with a few sentences," Death paused, seemingly staring down at Harry's dead body before he huffed and turned to face Harry. A sharp look bordering on a glare landed on Harry almost instantly, "You know the Tale of the Three Brother's well by now, don't you? How I offered great power to those three mortals, and eventually all of them, even the third in his craft, fell to my pull? Well, you, Harry Potter, got all three of those trinkets of mine. That means you managed to get the title of Master of Death!" Death exclaimed in a tone that was sarcastically sweet, "Congratulations," The silent world exploded with sound, making Harry flinch as Death turned away from Harry again.
A long pause ensued, Harry unable to speak or move to fill the void.
"Only," Death voice was a deathly whisper, as the roaring sounds of clapping feel into a murmur, "Now you, as the assumed title and according to the story, my Master of sorts, I need to clear up some things. Not for you to fret, or misunderstand, you will never control me. I am in control!" Death spun on the heels of his feet, his cloak spinning around him in a dramatic way, a very dangerous look on his face as he walked back over to Harry and got uncomfortably close again. With Death's superior height, he loomed over Harry so he leaned down to where they were at eye level, "The relationship I will maintain with you is a partnership of sorts, and as such, I will be giving you your little wish of correcting all the wrongs in your little cursed life."
Death drew way from him again, looking somewhat satisfied as he moved a few firm steps away from Harry again, "For one, you being the child forced to fight Tom Riddle," Death paused before scoffing, "Or his pathetic rename, Voldemort. That was stupid, wrong, and exceedingly ridiculous. You know how many times I was so close to your soul? Just a few millimeters from just taking it? You have no idea how close to me you've been. To get back on point, Dumbledore was never on your side. Surprising right? Dumbledore is on a side of his own, no one was ever able to see the full extent of his plans for the world as he always had a habit of holding his cards to close to his chest with no one ever able to track his paper trail or footsteps. You may see him as o'so honorable and noble, but he was only in it for his moral code. The last dark lord fell to him with mild ease, despite their past relations that should set a glaring example how he should have solved the problem before it even started. Or just be a good moral person and help the broken abused child, but apparently that's above every person's Greater Good radar."
"Secondly, I wish for you to reach your full potential before we work together. You are still so young, you haven't tasted happiness, felt a lust for life, or seeking for something more that wasn't force via love potions or mild charming. Also, the magic you were denied was straight up offensive, the worst possibly thing you can do to a magical being is block a large percent of their magical core. You have so much potential for what you could do, but unable for how your core was handled. Wandless magic, Occlumency, Legilimency, Necromancy-your own blasted Soul bond was blocked!" Death sounded beyond pissed, his voice rumbled and echoed around the still landscape surrounding the two and Harry could swear to hear distant screams, "That will nicely be correctly by me, you'll have your chance for happiness, it won't be so easy but you'll feel happy in the end," Death's voice smoothed down to a drawl and the screaming vanished, "Thirdly, I was never the one to lay down and surrender to injustice. I try to help out when I see fit with mortals, but with my job compromises must be made," Harry tried to speak again, "You'll be able to talk in a moment, I'll send you back to a time where you won't be pressured into a role unless you force yourself into it. Those compulsions charms, curses, and keyed hatred won't carry over this time, so you should be of clear mind. You will go back to 1942, don't try to disagree as there is no manager to speak with."
"What?" Harry overwhelmingly imported, his voice was somewhat meek as Death rolled his eyes.
"Mortals these days, unable to form a fully functioning sentence without imploding," Death mused, in a mocking tone as he stared down Harry, "Which what? Was that just a close response or did that mean anything to you?"
"What was all that you were saying about," Harry hesitated and found a part of him almost feeling guilty for asking. Dumbledore. Dumbledore was always good to him, he kept him out of the loop sometimes but he was okay... wasn't he? "...about Dumbledore."
"Ah!" Death smiled sharply, his tone a low dark purr as a glint of malice rose in his eyes. Walking towards Harry again, he laughed, "You're really going to hate this."