Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I have rewritten this story with the help of my beta. The idea stays the same though. I hope you like it.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, Zyzyax.

Chapter 1

It was a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry worriedly checked the mirror once again. After a few months, he was concerned. After a few years, he outright knew he wasn't aging. People were beginning to get suspicious. The Unspeakables would want to dissect him more than they already did. He had left the Aurors because of that. Seriously, as a head Auror, he had gotten more new Unspeakables to his Auror corp than real Aurors. After dosing the fourteenth Auror who he suspected of spying on him with veritaserum, he had come across an Unspeakable - He had finally given up and resigned. It wasn't a hard choice, he had become an Auror to avoid them being corrupted and to catch the last remaining Death Eaters. A few months later Ron had resigned too, it just hadn't been the same without Harry, also the Unspeakables were starting to tire him out. Always spying on him because of Harry and because of his so-called knowledge about Tom Riddle.

After resigning as an Auror, he had sometimes felt invisible eyes on him, like somebody was watching him. The logical conclusion was that the Unspeakables were still spying on him, so he decided to visit Fleur and Bill in France. Bill was still working as a curse breaker and Fleur had taken up to warding. When they heard of his worries they were more than happy to help. Still, they had suggested for him to leave Britain, just in case someone decided that he was too powerful to live freely and tried to lock him up. Harry refused though, Britain was still home, despite the war and the trouble with the ministry. He wanted his children to go to Hogwarts, feel the magic inside the castle, see what he had called home in his teen years, and perhaps even now.

Once again he checked the mirror in frustration. There were no aging marks on his face or anywhere else. Every one of his friends showed aging marks. Wizards had a longer lifespan than muggles, but he was reaching the limit, he was twenty-five and looked like his seventeen-year-old-self stepped out of a history book. Speaking of books, he was fortunate that the goblins had put copyrights to everything involving him. If anyone wanted to print anything about him, they would need to show him the work before publishing it. It was the horror of what had been printed about him after surviving the killing curse as a baby. He had been watching himself in the mirror for longer than necessary as if hoping he would start showing marks of a twenty-five-year-old man. Harry was known as a powerful wizard and therefore his appearance was put off as a sign of his power, as it was known fact that the slower people aged, the more powerful the person was. But his looks were starting to raise eyebrows. Who looked seventeen when they were twenty-five?

Harry started working out, hoping to get his appearance to at least twenty-years-old until he managed to find a solution to this problem. He was so worried about his appearance that he didn't first realize when the shadows around him begin to comfort him. Harry started to melt into them, nobody could see him when he stayed in the comfort of shadows. He first noticed his odd behavior when he took to visiting the graveyards more often than usual, but the feeling of peace he felt there scared him. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, that the war had affected him more than he realized, but the chilling pattern (in his mind) stayed. He worked out hard every day and started to see effects, he was more muscular and looked like a nineteen-year-old, not his final goal, but almost there. He researched his feelings of shadows and graveyards. Coming to one conclusion - death. In the beginning, he was afraid he was a necromancer. Oh, that would be a great joke, The Chosen One as a necromancer. But that fear had quickly passed when he came across an old text from his family library. A daily diary of Ignotus Peverell. It was well worn, half of the pages were gone, and the other half was barely legible if he was lucky.

O2.11.1269

Dear Diary,

We fought a dragon today. My brother Cadmus got badly hurt. To heal him, we had to bind him as he could not stay still. It was horrific, but it all changed as he took the stone to his hand. He calmed instantly. This stone is wonderful! ...

A lot of pages were unreadable or in some unknown language or languages. As it was not on a topic Harry was researching, he decided to put the book in the to the interesting books pile and move on. When he stood up he accidentally nudged the pile and it went flying over the floor. As he was going to levitate them back the table he saw that the diary of Ignotus Peverell had opened as he could not hold his curiosity back when he took the book and read.

...

The resurrection stone, as my brother named it, is scaring me. It has started to draw people's magic to it. My brother has this faraway look on his face when he is holding it. As if he was somewhere else. I tried to get him to part with it, but he refused.

...

Antioch is changing

...

As the days pass, Antioch is getting more and more arrogant. As for Cadmus, he wouldn't leave the Resurrection Stone. Should I leave the Cloak of Invisibility before it starts affecting me?

..

It's too late. Shadows are dancing around us. They are chilling, cold. Cadmus doesn't feel anything. He always wears this faraway smile on his face, you could hit him and he would still smile and not even notice you. Antioch makes speeches all the time about his wand.

...

Antioch has fallen

...

The shadows are getting larger. They're even in the desert. The only time I can be at peace is when I wear the cloak. I wish I could give it away, but every time I try, I choose to do something else.

There were no legible entries after that. But Harry had read enough to know what was happening. But there was a question. Ignotus Peverell had felt cold and chill in the closeness of shadows. But for him, it was a comfort, home even. Unless... There was a whisper in his mind, "Is the legend true? Could there ever be a Master of Death?"

Harry didn't expect an answer but it came anyway. "The legend has both the truth and lies, but the title, Master of Death, exists as you are currently the holder of it, Master." called a figure with an ice-cold voice. The figure stepped out of the shadows. She was wearing black, her face was completely shadowed by the cloak, only her white hair and yellow eyes were to be seen. There was a silence as Harry was inspecting Death.

"Take the Hallows with you and leave me alone," pleaded Harry coming out of his stupor, his voice still weak from the shock.

"That does not make you mortal, as I believe was your plan. You still would be a Master of Death. You can not run away from your heritage, Master"

"Then ignore it. I won't be lording over you and you would leave me to be." Harry tried to sound demanding and not desperate like he was.

"You can not run from me. The magic of Hallows has been mixing with yours. You like the graveyards, don't you, Master?"

"At least let me have my life with my friends, with normal aging, I will do what you want. Whatever you want. Just please let me grow old with them." Harry knew he was begging, but he didn't care. He had fought a war for his future, he wasn't going to give it up. His chance for a family, for a normal life as normal as his life, could be.

"Certainly. One lifetime is insignificant in terms of eternity." Insignificant to you was Harry's rather uncharitable thought. As if Death could sense his thoughts. "Don't get too attached. It will only make leaving harder," was said in a low dangerous voice before Death melted into the shadows. Death whispered in his thoughts.

"Yes"

The years had past and true to Death's word, Harry had aged normally. True to the Death's warning, Harry hadn't gotten attached to anybody other than those that had been his friends in Hogwarts years: Neville, Luna, Hermione, and Ron. It had been a rather short list and now Death had claimed them all. Neville had been first when he and Luna had been traveling around the word he had met an unknown plant which had taken his life. Luna had returned to Britain and lived her last living years with Harry, to Ginny's great displeasure. Hermione had been next, she had worked for the ministry and made significant gains in rights for creatures, particularly house elves, on her way home she had been killed by one of Tom Riddle's old supporters. Ron had felt responsible for her death, figuring if he had not retired as an Auror, maybe the supporter would have been locked up. Harry had tried to help his friend in his grief as Luna had helped him after Neville's death explaining and repeating that death was a natural part of life. Ron hadn't comprehended it, and he had become an Auror once more and paid for Hermione's death, after that he had drifted away rather quickly.

Even Ginny had not made it. Ginny had changed with the war, but not as much as Harry. Ginny could not understand Harry as the friends who were there with him from the beginning to the end. Even for his friends, it had been difficult. Harry's aging had not changed his love for shadows and graveyards. With time he had been able to not depend on shadows as he finally realized what had happened to the brothers. Dancing shadows had been their magic with Death's magic as it grew larger and could not sustain inside of him and had been hiding inside shadows. Their mortal bodies had been too weak for the magic of Death.

Other than being good friends with Neville, Luna, Hermione, and Ron, he had been a (mostly) good friend to his children. He listened and explained things that the community didn't want them to know, as Ginny had stayed fairy light-minded and was still resentful towards the grey and dark areas of magic. At least his children loved him for speaking to them as their equal, not as a superior. They knew they could come to him whenever they had a problem or needed somebody to listen to them, he had made sure of it. Perhaps it had been why they had been so understanding when he told them after Ron's death he couldn't stay, because of a deal he had made a long time ago. The grandchildren had been sad, but understanding as well, but a deal was a deal. It still made him sad though. Harry took one last long look at his friends' graves before turning around and closing his eyes. A voice whispered in his thoughts, "Are you ready, Master?" It was the cold, clear voice of Death. Harry answered. "Yes."