Chapter Text
Harry stared down the walls of Grimmauld. He swore to never come back to this place after taking up his mantle as ‘Master of Death’ at 19.
One of the weirdest things about being, master of death— is that once you take up the mantle, you stay that age forever. Forever 19 while his wife, his beautiful ginny grew to be 54 before passing.
Harry didn't love again after that. He saw his son, Albus Severus Potter to the end of his life. His son died on an auror mission at 22.
Harry was still 19.
And Harry hated being 19.
Hated how his skin crawled with energy he could barely contain on a good day. Harry hated how much he just wanted… to change.
To change everything that had ever gone wrong with his life.
Wanted to change the dursleys, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Sirius, hell…. Even hedwig.
Listen.
Harry never said he was the smartest of his friends. He was just the most, resourceful.
So Harry read a tome.
Read a tome, and his vision whitened out as he finally spoke those words— “surrounded by bones of the lost, bones of the true and bones of the faithful. This humble servant of mans greatest fear, asks for the release.”.
…
Harry awoke in the cupboard.
The cupboard he had spent most of his life in, due to the abuse he faced at the hands of the people who were supposed to be his family. His uncle Vernon seemed to enjoy smacking him around, wearing his gaudy wedding band when back handing him, making Harry's mouth swell with blood and bile as he stood there. Obediently, taking every slap, punch kick.
But what Harry would never tell anyone that happened, was when Vernon had come into the cupboard, and put his hands down Harry's pants.
Harry was 7, and he remembered it so vividly.
…
“Uncle Vernon?” Harry had called out, when he saw the man, his vision blurry from the lack of his glasses. Vernon didn't answer, simply stepping closer, and Harry's nose wrinkled when he smelled the cheep beer his uncle reeked of.
“Un-” Harry cut off when Vernons clammy hands found his throat, and Harry went lightheaded as the rest of his body hung limply in the air as his uncle felt him up, his disgusting breath right over his lips as Vernon mouthed at the skin.
…
Harry couldn't believe it. Shaking off his previous memories like the dust off a shelf that hasn't been touched in years. The ritual had worked.
Harry was getting his second chance.
Did he hate, and he meant hate, that he was stuck in his nine year old body? Knowing that the ritual had side effects, Harry wondered absently if his psyches would mesh, and become a different version of him all together— Harry shook his head. Ignoring how it made him have a headache like no other.
That meant he was probably around the time of the bacon grease incident if his head hurt this much.
He vaguely remembered his hand being held on the stove top, his skin burning and sizzling as he bit down on his lip to not cry. Petunia just stared ahead, not caring for what she was doing to hurt him.
Harry shook his head more forcefully this time. He wouldn't get all woe is me. He was back in the past for a reason.
His second chance.
“Lord death?”
“Yes, master of death and magics, son and lord of the most ancient and powerful house of potter, heir to the throne of the most powerful and prestigious house black and Prince apparent of the most ancient and revered court of LeFay?”
Harry's mouth dried. Prince apparent of the most ancient and revered court of LeFay? As in, Morgan LeFay? The sorcerer queen, one of Lady Magics daughters and the queen of the Fae courts?
“Lord death, the ritual worked… may I, inquire into why you have granted me such privilege?”
Harry's voice shakes.
“Master of death and magics, deserves to live his life the correct way. Not under the thumb of a false man.”
Death hissed with a viciousness Harry had recognized when the deity had helped him in his endeavors to rid the world of Voldemort's horcruxes. Harry swallowed, before sighing.
“Albus?” Harry has enough general dislike for the man that he would never honor the man with a title again.
“He is a false man with ideals too big for someone of his low stature and power. He uses something which was never his to cast magic that should've never even left the sacred texts.”
“The sacred texts?”
“Master of death and magics, would you like to converse in my realm?”
“My aunt?”
“Yes, I am apologetic for the state of your life at its beginning.”
“Do not apologize, Lord Death.” Harry smiled, gentle and vulnerable with the Deity. Harry then laid down on the cot and quickly fell asleep, the exhaustion of his starved, lethargic and almost catatonic 9 year old body taking over his mind.
…
“—is that what you intend for me, in this lifetime? Lord death?”
“Avenge and let those who are close to your heart, even closer. But do not, let yourself be manipulated by that man again. It is unfitting of the Prince of the Fae courts.”
“I should go to Gringotts, and properly establish myself before I leave and change everything.”
“Do you wish for my help Master of Death and Magics?”
Harry shook his head, and slowly woke up. His mind drifting off to the living realm, no longer sat upon the bench in front of the weeping willow.
The still world.
As he had so bravely named it many years ago, after his visits.
Harry stood on shaky legs that he knew were too skinny. He hummed and then creeped up to the bathroom for the morning, but was met with a sight he had never expected to see. Before, Harry was pale, due to the bleach baths petunia would give him. But now, he had his natural skin color, the warm brown making his green eyes, the same green as the killing curse shine like emeralds. Harry traces his scar with delicate fingers, his bitten bare nails digging into his skin ever so slightly as he marveled at the sight of his true self.
Harry wanted to sob, he looked so much like his dads. He missed himself so much, what he looked like in his dreams, not the forced paleness aunt petunia had insisted was needed for him to be normal.
He hissed under his breath in parseltongue, before he set out of the house. Taking the only thing to his name, a small pocket watch he had stolen from the dursleys. He traveled to a muggle pawnshop, ignoring the looks he got for his scar, and untamed curls, and probably just his skin tone. Non-Wix were always judgemental, especially in Europe. He used the money to get on the bus to the leaky cauldron, pulled the hood of his washed out black hoodie over his head, and walked to Gringotts.
The bells of the door chimed and he stared down a goblin, before walking towards the creature.
“May your coffers overflow with gold and silver, Mr.Nargok.” Harry greets, and then glances up at the goblin.
“Mr.potter… may the blood of your enemies spill at your feet. What can we do for you?” the goblin, Nargok hums. “Id like access to an inheritance test, a blood test and maybe some healing— my magic is off.” Harry says, and his voice is filled with practicality, and well disguised joy at the goblins greedy smile.
“I'll pay the full cost, as long as I am promised full discrepancy.” Harry states, before he is led to the room with the potter account manager.
The goblin greeted him with a sharp toothed smile, and then pricked his finger. It made Harry just sigh, and then he sat down and waited.
“Mr.Potter, your… results.” Another goblin entered the room, and handed Harry his papers, before quickly exiting the room. Harry stared down the door before letting out a sigh that could rival Snapes’ own. “Mr.Nargok.” Harry says in Gobblydook, before setting down the papers on the table.
“It is of utmost importance that this meeting is not written in paper, and that you are to tell no one I was here.”
“...Of course, My prince.”
Harry smiled, his slightly sharper canines peaking out as he read his papers all, he could definitely get used to being referred to properly.
—
Given Name: Harry James Potter-Black
True Name: Hasrine LeFay
Bearer: Lilian (maiden) Evans (by marriage) Potter-Black
Bearer Spouses: Regulus Potter-Black, James Potter-Black.
Magical Guardians: Sirius Black, Remus Black(By marriage)both compromised by magics
Self appointed guardian: Albus Wulfic Brian Dumbledore.
Heirships: Lord Potter, Heir Black, Lord Peverell and Prince LeFay.
—
Amused, Harry raise an eyebrow, before looking to Nargok. “If I was to request a name change, both last and first, so I may attend Hogwarts in my own way. Instead of as a pawn.” He hisses, and Nargok simply nods. Not wanting to piss off the Prince of the Fae courts, and the heir and lords to several houses that the goblin nation did not want to piss off. “Of course, my prince. What would you like to have it be changed to?”
A vicious, and sinister smile overtook his face.
“Harrison Peverell.”