Chapter Text
Tired. Tired is all Harry ever felt these days. The days of comfort and joy felt like an ancient legend, a myth by those convincing others it can be found. He had become so used to the feeling of being alone, surrounded by nothing but himself and the ghosts of his past; a never ending cycle of loneliness and the constant reminder of what life used to be.
The lingering memory of the excitement brought by seeking out challenges and thrills to inject into his otherwise monotonous existence, served as a temporary remedy for the profound sense of solitude he often grappled with.
His insatiable thirst for peril, any form of peril, was deeply rooted in his innate attraction to the unknown. Oblivious to the concept of settling down and ignorant of the tranquillity and steadiness that should have characterised his life, this unquenchable desire for danger played a significant role in pushing Ginny away.
The aftermath of the divorce was… disturbing to say the least. Not a day went by where Harry just couldn’t stop thinking about it; what he could have done better.
However, what caused the most pain was not the absence of his former lover, the woman he had come to love and cherish. No, it was the tragic demise of his dear friends, Ron and Hermione.
Ron, his closest companion since their first year at Hogwarts, was the boy who had grown to truly understand and appreciate him for who he was, rather than being solely fascinated by his fame as the "Boy Who Lived."
Even if throughout the years there was jealousy and arguments, in the moments where it mattered he stood right next to Harry. He couldn’t miss anyone more than his brother in everything but blood.
Ron had become an integral part of his life, so when he learned of Ron's passing due to a dragon pox, it shattered him completely. The realisation of his own ignorance and the constant reminder that he could have saved him inflicted immense pain upon him, which tormented him more than knowing his death could’ve been prevented.
It seems it was not just Harry who grieved this death, for Hermione must have been distracted when a horrible accident occurred. After years of being an unspeakable, it was inevitable something drastic was going to happen. He knew that. What he didn’t know is how much Hermione had suffered, and in the end, she decided to leave.
If only he could do the same.
That thought, it constantly played over and over and over. With his children long dead and his grandchildren not really coming to visit anymore, too busy with their own lives and children, what did Harry have to really stay here for?
That’s why tonight, as Harry sat in his loveseat, the fire young and warm -hopefully it won’t engulf the house- with a wand pointed towards his temple.
Perhaps this was just a dream, a very long nightmare, and little Harry will wake up back in his little cupboard. But for now, this was real. His imminent death is real and he doesn’t even care, he’s supposed to right?
Harry sometimes thought he always did end up wrong in some way, the mould just a little different for him compared to others. Now is no time to grief in lost fantasies and weep over not fixing the impossible to fix.
“I guess this is it.” Was this supposed to be more, dunno, dramatic? Aren’t there supposed to be tears and pleading for more time? But who was there to see his tears? Who would he be pleading to? It’s his own murder and he’s the victim and the culprit.
As he spoke the two words he was so familiar with, he wondered if he ever changed the will to give everything to his children. He quickly prayed to god the ministry wouldn’t obtain anything of his, or what was left of it, as the words rolled off his tongue like it would for an old friend's name; full of fondness and nostalgia.
“Avada Kedavra.”
——
Bright green flashed his vision. Then everything went dark. This is it. Thank god it worked the… third time? Yeah, or did he forget one? It doesn’t matter anymore, because he’s dead.
“You would think, wouldn’t you?” A deep voice came from the space around him, wait, he had a body still. Harry looked down at himself, stark naked.
“No need to blush darling!” That same voice called out, “If it makes you feel better, have some cloth.”
Suddenly, a white robe was fashioned around his waist and shoulders, draping over him. It really wasn’t covering all that much, but it was better than before..
“So, I’m still not dead?” Harry said as the void around him turned into the familiar white kings cross. He could never forget this place, so full of, well, nothing. This setting was ingrained in his memory as if tattooed onto his brain and Harry wasn’t too upset about that.
“Oh yes, you are! But not for long, master.” The last word came out like a hiss, venom to all that heard it. Harry stilled, or at least stopped attempting to look around, and tried to pinpoint the voice. The vibrations passed through him, as if the voice was speaking to his very soul.
“Because I am, master.” Then, a very obvious skeletal figure came from… somewhere? It didn’t really matter. Harry obviously knew, it’s the fucking grim reaper. He’s definitely not dead, probably just high or something and laying in his bed probably stark naked.
The figure let out a small chuckle, possibly laughing at Harry’s thoughts. “You are most definitely here. I intended to wear something suitable to the tales I have been included in. Perhaps it’s too much for your liking?”
After seeing this tall, skinny skeleton with a cloak draped around their bare bones. He wasn’t all too, afraid? What should he be feeling right now? Perhaps it’s due to the numbness of death, the loss of emotions that could have never crossed planes?
Suddenly, a burst of laughter escaped from Harry’s mouth. A cackle, if you would. Death stood there in stance they most definitely thought to be menacing, but with the whole grim reaper get up, he just looked a little silly. “What? Is something wrong?” Death looked around, as if to get the point across that nothing was amiss.
“No, no…” Harry huffed, his breath lost to the wheezing of laughter, “It’s just, truly, you truly look like that?” Death huffed, his pride lost to the void as Harry immediately laughed again. “I’m most definitely insane, crazy.” Harry flicked away a tear that threatened to fall. Oh, this was all too good.
“Others have seen me and they do not seem to be as..” the figure came closer to hold Harry’s chin in his hand “indifferent.” The bones he held Harry with were cold. Cold like a nice drink on a hot summer's day, freezing but all the more welcome.
“Well, we best get to explanations, yes master?” The figure seemed to try to smile, but there were no muscles so it was quite subtle. Harry just hummed and shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps this was just the trip over the bridge from being alive and going on. Or some really weird mind fuck.
—
After a nice sit down in some unremarkable office, courtesy of Death- or hades or whatever- and a spot of tea with what tasted like absolutely liquid gold - nothing could fake that, perhaps this is truly real- Death started to explain everything.
“From the moment you were born, it was known that you would become my master.” Master? Harry opened his mouth to speak but his breath was caught before it could escape. “Please, let me finish. Yes, you were born to become my master, it was written in your string of fate. Oi, listen.” Death snapped his fingers twice in front of Harry’s eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. His young arms, had he always looked so young? Is that why Ron and Hermione stared at him? With their greying hair and wrinkles whilst Harry didn’t look a day over 20?
“You saw death, you accepted death, you have peverell blood and you collected all the hallows. Gifts made by me to the peverells, although nothing special to me, very special to your little kind.” Death cooed at the end, booping Harry’s nose.
“Are you sure you’re the actual deity? To me you just seem.. crazy.” Death sighed, “Yes well, when you collected all three hallows, I was able to take a more corporal form,” they waved at their own body, “And ever since, I’ve been so bored!” Death wined.
Harry grunted over the childish act in front of him, the whining and crying was something he could never get used to, not even after his three children.
“That’s where you come to save the day, my dear master. For with your title, you become my anchor to the mortal realm letting me pass freely.” Death finished.
“Okay, I have questions.” Harry said as Death took a sip of their tea. “So after everything you just said, I have to go back?” This was the most daunting question, the one he rather wouldn’t want an answer to.
Even death seemed reluctant, but after a couple seconds, it was like a lightbulb turned on in their head “Well, you don’t have to live as you! You could go back to any time, be anyone as long as they aren’t too important to history like, say, Adolf hitler.”
That made Harry get a few ideas. “Anything? Absolutely anything?” Harry had to ask, for this was just a massive gold mine. “Anything, dear master. All you must do is live.”
Harry hummed, “what if, say I get into an accident and die?” Death thought about it for only a second, sipping their tea before answering, “you have two choices, go back and continue with that life, or become someone else in a different time.”
Fucking Brill.