Harry Potter was a boy of 15; he stood 5'10'' with strong well-formed muscles and well-chiselled features. His black hair, longer than it seemed stood on all angles giving him a roguish quality that softened his serious expression, and largish round glasses gave him a bookishness that was offset by the feature that would otherwise have drawn the most attention; a set of sparkling emerald eyes that expressed a thousand different emotions that sought there way onto his face. He was strong and emotional, possessing a quick wit that was often understated. He was in the higher section of his class when it came to academics and was noble and kind to most that knew him. He was going into a fine man, yet all of this often when unnoticed as there was two features about him that was superimposed on top of all of that; first was the large and ratty clothes that he wore that gave him a starved and worn expression, the other was a lightning bolt scar that played across the right side of his forehead. The events that happened to him over the past 5 years left him traumatised and ambivalent to the snide remarks that his family shot at him as the first weeks of the holiday past. He ate what he was given did whatever chores were set him and what ever else that he was expected to do. All without response or even any sign of acknowledgement besides preforming what ever task that was set.

He was wasting away and there was nothing that anybody could do about it, though there still was the destiny that was his and that refused to have its vessel ruined. He needed to be ready, he would be ready, even if the fates had to snap the boy out of it, it would. For in the morbidly depressed hands of a 15 year old lay what could possibly be the fate of all things. For alongside everything else Harry Potter was powerful in ways that could not be imagined; and on this day Harry Potter would receive a visitor that would change everything. For on this day Death was coming for him.

It started out much differently than one would expect, given the general contempt that was shown to him, but in the room that was strewn with the discards of several emotional outbursts lay the result of many years of emotional torment. Sun shining through the window woke him as he slapped himself in a vain attempt to swat away the offending stimuli. Groggily sitting up he saw a figure sitting on the stool in front of his desk seemingly content to wait for the youth to wake on his own. The figure features could not be seen as the midnight black holocaust cloak hid any visage of what lay beneath, yet for all that it seemed that on could tell small things that otherwise would be impossible to tell for instance the direction of the creature's gaze.

Harry looked at the spectre with curiosity and waited for it to speak. It didn't. The figure just watched and appraised him, finally the spectre spoke,

"As amusing as this is there is a matter of some import that dragged me from my work for the purpose of speaking with you, so I will not sit here and tolerate this fool-hardy silence that you surround yourself with" pausing to wait for the others nod to continue, " I have come in order to gain your assistance in a matter that is pressing and can only be brought to a conclusion with your assistance, thus I am here to get it.

" There is a balance to all things that happen and though this balance all things function, now it seems that this balance is being threatened and it falls to you to set things straight. There are places you need to be and things you need to do and I have come to see that you do them."

All this was spoken in a voice that sounded soft and commanding as though describing a tree, that is to say that what he spoke of was simple immovable fact, it would happen and it would happen as he said it.

" Who are you?" Harry said finally having sat there for a few moments, his voice scratchy from ill use. The reply was chilling.

" Death, ruler of the Realm of the Dead."

" What do you want? Why me?"

" To fix the balance that supports all living things. I am Death and my brother Life have a balance, we may try to again an upper hand between the two of us but it still remains that the balance must be kept; the result of the balance being destroyed is not a thing that one would wish to contemplate. For the result would be a world without death or a world without life. Voldemorte is trying to circumvent that balance he is killing those that are supposed to live and allowing others to live that are supposed to die. Evil is not supposed to be as unified as it is now, just as those that resist evil are not. This way the Balance between Good and Evil are arranged so that their struggle is small. Voldemorte is trying, and to some extent succeeding to bring to bear the power of the demonic forces that guide of the world in much the same way as the gods, but for the fact that the gods protect the continuance of life, these demons are trying to end it. We need you to stop that." Death explained

"As to why it is you who must do this, nearly all life is made to adapt it self, to become stronger in order to survive." Harry nodded to show that he followed, "Do you know how it is the Killing Curse works?" Harry shook his head confused, " It works as a tear between your soul and your body." Seeing the blank look that that statement brought he added " Your soul is your mind, your emotions, your will. It is the core of everything that is you, the curse tears it away and destroys the way that they connect leaving nothing but a dry husk of that which was once a living being. When your mother died to defend you she bent her entire will upon one action, keeping you alive, this in conjunction with her sacrifice created a bridge between your soul and your body that the Killing curse could not break; yet when it hit some of the magic fused the bridge into place and created a doorway between yourself and Voldemorte. The curse then travelled through this doorway and hit him, but through the many rituals that he went through the destruction was wrought upon the body thus destroying it.

" But in the process your body underwent changes, your soul, body and magic where linked together as a whole, you also carry the substance of your mother's love in your blood willing you to live." Death looked to Harry to see if he understood,

" When Voldemorte possessed you and forced himself through you, it required himself and yourself to join and when you forced him out it ripped away a large section of his magic and kept it for yourself. Nothing that would make him weaker, just you stronger, Voldemorte's magic was accepted in to yours because of the bond and the previous graft of his magic. Now Voldemorte as you know is the heir of Slytheryn and the basilisk in your second year was his bonded familiar so when it's blood mixed with yours combined with the phoenix tears bonded the animals D.N.A. with yours further changing you so that you possess small parts of them inside yourself augmenting you. Now add the infinitesimal amount of the Philosopher's Stone that made it's way into your blood stream and you find yourself not quite human but something else entirely. You are unique; part phoenix, part basilisk (both immortal creatures) and a small amount of the elixir of life fused into your blood. Your magic carries the combined weight of your large amount of magic to begin with joined with the magical grafts of Voldemorte, which is joined firmly into your body." Death finished and looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry looked at once awed, incredulous and fearful

" Are you saying that I am immortal or something?" he said with a laugh that spoke of obvious impossibility.

"If not immortal than very long lived, now we must be gone to prepare you for what is to come"

With that the god stood and walked over to Harry and reached out to touch his shoulder. A second later they were gone and the only thing that remained there was the broken things that once belonged to Harry's cousin.