Work Text:
The light had won the war.
Harry, out of sheer pure luck and idiocy murdered himself and Voldemort, thus granting the wizarding world the victory they desperately craved.
So why didn't it feel like it?
Harry didn't feel an abundance of dread, guilt, joy, or even relief, he barely even felt there.
Maybe the closest words were, disappointed and unsatisfied.
Bodies of both parties splayed on the ground and there. Harry had spared a short nod of pity and honor.
Harry knew what he felt wasn't normal. He just killed the man we ruined countless lives! He forced himself to smile and faced his army. Deviation, horror, and misery leaked from the mob. A high-pitched sob gushed from an aging ginger woman, who he deemed his replacement mother.
"The dark lord—he—he took him!" From me— from us!" Warm, desperation-filled tears flowed down her face.
Worry seeped through his veins and Harry proceeded to do a quick count of her loved ones.
Her husband, eldest, twins, her youngest boy, and her darling girl.
They are all there, so why is she upset?
We won, haven't we?
Harry decided that Mrs. Weasley's well-being was much more important than his philosophies and went to comfort the woman.
But when he ran, nobody perked to face him. The sound of his trainers crushing the gravel behind his feet alerted no one. He greeted them with a polite wave and smile. Nobody turned to face him. Harry then offered his hand to Molly's shoulder. He phased through her, not even making her jump in the slightest.
A cold, yet humorous chuckle erupted behind Harry. He whipped his head to see what appeared to be a single dementor.
Something was off.
Harry did not feel the frostbitten horror associated with the dark creatures chasing after him. The urge to run, curl up near a fire, yearning to munch on chocolate had also vanished. Harry could perfectly recall his happiest memories without the slightest faint of dread. The thought had made Harry's stomach churn.
Harry pointed his wand at the figure, and out of instinct tried to cast the Patronus charm.
Though a stag did appear, it simply fled, as if it had much better matters to attend to.
"A Patronus running from the face a death? Now that's a sight to see," the damned spawned laughed again.
Harry's eyes opened in bewilderment.
"You scared off my patronus, look like a dementor... but you don't act like one.
"What are you?"
The creature faked and gasped," A dementor??? The audacity! I am a God, the god of death!"
"Supposed I should've expected that from a Peverell descendant." The god of death shook its head.
"Peverell descendant?"
"Yes, boy, why do you think I'm the one you're talking with right now and the big man upstairs?"
"What does my having to be related with the brothers have' anything to do with this?"
Death sighed.
"You're familiar with their story, correct?"
"Mhm."
"As you know the three brothers had tricked me out of their lives for quite some time, especially the one you decent from. Does the name Ignotus ring any bells?"
Harry nodded.
"Yes, good, good. You are related to the other brothers through his blood and that allows my artifacts to connect with you."
"The cloak, the wand, and the stone?"
"Yes, the cloak, the wand, and the stone."
"Also the fact of you being so closely related to death," the god motioned to Harry's scar.
"I've found you suitable enough, allows you to bear the title, Master of Death."
"Don't be fooled though, I am quite the deadly god
And you are merely my high priest." Death sneered while trying to remain cliff-faced.
Harry stifled a laugh." Was that your attempt at a joke, Almighty God of Death?"
"Perhaps."
...
".. Young Priest, God of Death is a long and, dare I say, quite boring title. Perhaps, some of my given names will better suit you addressing me?"
Harry squinted at Death, "You're asking me to name you? Don't you have one?"
"Truthfully, no. A god is not born with powers nor a name, only through worship and praise are we to gain so.
"I see.."
"What are the names you've been called in the past by your previous priests??"
"Death, Hades, Pluto, and Anubis are by far the most common." I have also been called Hel, Kali, and once Ryuk–"
"Ryuk?"
"Ah yes, that boy was a bit... how do I put this? ... deranged
perhaps I will share his story with you someday."
Harry nodded along.
"Death suits you fine," Harry shrugged.
"Back onto our lovely agenda—have you finally figured out what's happened?"
"I'm dead, aren't I?
"Bingo! Oh, and would you look at that! It took you almost an hour to figure that out! That's 65% longer than most! It's almost admirable!" The figure mimicked a glance at a watch.
"So Death, as your master what can i do?"
"Ugh, one moment please!" The god conjured a heavy-looking book titled; The Organized Guide of Death, Life, and the In-between."
"I don't see why we can't separate your
rules, from all this other deity rubbish," it sighed while flicking hastily through pages.
"Aha! Here it is,"
The dreary eyes of the god skimmed over the vast pages.
"So in summary, you can do just about anything as long as it has a correlation to death or can cause death!" The god slammed the book shut and sent it away.
As long as it has to do with death...
"Hypothetical...would it be possible to go back in time?"
"Yes, Potter, you can indeed go back in time, hypothetically or not."
Harry did not seem to notice the cunning grin on God's face.
"There's absolutely a dire consequence to doing that, huh?"
"Oh for sure, priest."
"What is it?"
Death solemnly looked into the boy's eyes." The lives of this universe."
"So if I do choose to go back, everyone here will just cease to exist?"
"In this universe, yes."
"Death?"
"Yes, my priest?"
"Maybe I am selfish."
"After what happened here, I cannot say I'm surprised."
"Are you ready?"
The boy nodded
"Very well, lay down on the ground, please."
"Now, close your eyes. You'll be there soon."
Death had taken a seat next to the boy's mangled corpse. He watched as Harry's soul reentered the broken body, his eyes fluttering closed. Death caressed his hair." This will hurt, both mentally and physically." He warned the boy.
Perhaps, this time, things will go as fate planned.
Harry was too big, so he shrunk.
The boy could not shriek. He could not breathe. He could feel all the sharp, burning hot pricing tendrils seeking to impair him. Harry could feel a heart pulsing through his chest—though it pumped no blood–His skin rip apart at the carefully crafted seams, and magic and his fluid oozed out from within him like an infected wound. Harry's head tighten around his brain and he was certain that it would erupt from his skull.
There was no space for his body, so he became smaller.
Harry could feel his other body parts one by one exploding and then itching creeping together to become whole. Though this time his body had become impeccably smaller.
Long, grueling seconds turned into hours, and Harry's eyes felt silken with tears.
His eyes felt silken with tears
Harry, desperate, tried to inhale. He could do it! Harry could move his body, Harry could feel the aching lingering in his throat if he could scream. Harry, could jump–though not very high–he could sing and laugh, all in the face of death.
Harry wallowed in the shot of pure ecstasy, the excitement of simply surviving.
He then, for a brief moment, saw a flicker of light. Something much better than the dark that cloaked his body.
Overtaken with greed, he ran towards the light—only to be met in a dimly lit room with a poor excuse for a bed.
The boy sat up in confusion.
"Dudikins! please sit down for breakfast!"
Harry decided right then and there that he was going the kill that damned god.