I do not own Harry Potter. That much is clear
Chapter 1: Not what I had in mind
Harry James Potter looked upon the barren lands of what used to be Hogwarts. An ancient place which some considered sacred, it had long since been destroyed by those who did not understand his people. He was standing in the middle of the rubble for his annual pilgrimage – his own way of remembering those long since lost. His green eyes, once bright, were now dull from all the years of solitude, witnessing nothing but carnage and war.
His life after the second War was as close to ideal as he could get. Life became peaceful, he had his friends and his godson; the one he could truly consider family – Andromeda coming a close second as well as Hermione and Ron. His budding relationship with Ginny was opening the prospects of having children of his own, a future family to add to his growing one. He was happy.
But all good things have to come to a close, just like in the end of the first War; the older folks became careless and started spreading the good news while they were still in the Muggle World. They celebrated and caused uproar that the non-magical community took a great deal of notice. The conspiracy theorists that sprung during the end of the first war re-emerged and presented proof that there was a hidden community amongst them. The bitter relatives of muggleborns and the vengeful squibs supported these claims and took some of the belongings of their family members to prove the claims of conspiracies.
Other facts also surfaced, namely the security precautions that were used by the Wizards and Witches to ensure that the statute of Secrecy remain intact. The memory charms and confundus charms were speculated upon and there were people who claimed to be subjected to them. Distant memories of odd children doing fantastic yet impossible things were ringing in their subconscious. They called upon experts to hypnotise them, to call back blocked memories, and the muggles started to remember. The muggle Minister could not do anything to placate the panicking masses, there were too many proofs, and he was under constant surveillance – his people fearing for his safety of both his mind and body, he could not alert the Minister of Magic. People were calling for blood; hiding a society different from them was understandable, but they drew the line with the "safety precautions". The muggles considered it a violation of their rights, they justified that if the Magicals could experiment on them, then they had a right to do so as well.
Mysterious deaths from the former wars were called into question – from Grindelwald to the most recent war. There were questions about missing relatives who were mysteriously forgotten or were discarded as runaways. The muggles were outraged by the deaths that were never brought to their jurisdiction because they were made to forget. To them, the Magicals simply thought they were above the non-magicals. It was a declaration of war and they were out for blood; Wizard and Witch blood, and with their advanced technology they finally had the means to do it.
...
It was an ordinary day, Harry would think back, he was with Teddy and Andromeda enjoying the elder Black's birthday. Teddy was babbling happily about the pranks he pulled on Kreacher and how he could not wait to become eleven so he could enter Hogwarts. The young metamorphmagi's eyes were the same colour as Harry's killing curse green, the boy's hair was an explosion of emotion. Harry simply laughed at his antics and nodded while Andromeda looked on fondly. Kreacher was there watching over his masters and mistress, while keeping an eye out for trouble.
Suddenly a popping noise came, and a panicked and scared Hermione was pulling them up and telling them to run. She was rambling about muggles breaking the ward foundations and coming in with guns blazing in Diagon alley. Wizards and Witches of all ages being arrested or shot on sight – shops were being raided and military speakers screaming arrest and violations of civil rights. Kreacher held on to Teddy as they apparated to the Black ancestral home. They needed to hide and plan, fast.
Back in Diagon alley, the Wizards and Witches were holding strong against the muggles, however they were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers that attacked them, and they were forced to retreat back to their heavily warded homes. Knockturn alley did not fare much better, however they had a greater loss, for further ahead in the alley there were old books, books about their rituals and magic, Old Magic. In the hands of the muggles, this knowledge tipped the scales, and even without war starting yet, the Magical World had already lost.
...
It soon became apparent to Harry and the rest of the Magicals that they were at a disadvantage; muggleborns were forced to lead the war – for they had a deeper understanding about the enemy. However, their magic was no longer as potent; this caused alarm in their ever dying community. Harry and Hermione, the core leaders, delved into the matter – they searched magic and rituals harder than they ever had. It no longer mattered if it was Dark, Light or Grey. Magic of any form was now needed; in times of hysterical desperation they would often joke that the one that would unite the Magical World was the one that would destroy it. Ronald did not think this humorous but he understood the pressure they were under. The trio were forced to lead once more, along with their generation. They had fallen far and were preparing for the eventual crash, but they would do it together.
Life no longer became simple, it was a matter of survival and to the trio their lives will never be normal. Their relationships were failing; Hermione and Ron broke it off – claiming that in these times a budding family was too dangerous to have. Ginny broke up with Harry – they just did not see each other too often and when they were together, the other just seemed so far away. The green-eyed wizard hung on to his godson and Andromeda though, they were his family now along with Hermione and Ron, and to some degree Kreacher as well; they were his reasons to keep fighting.
His family started dying one by one; Kreacher fell first, he died protecting Teddy. Andromeda was second she was sneaking out to gather food for their family. The muggles had developed a method of recognizing magic with their devices – the very same magical residues that they naturally emitted were used as frequencies to look out for. It was getting harder and harder to fight back. Hermione and Ron died in each other's arms, they were surrounded and weak; apparition no longer worked, it was lost magic and the other Magicals did not know why the ability disappeared – The two held onto each other as they were shot. They wore a content look on their faces, because in the end they had each other.
Harry was alone in leading the war, his other friends – Neville and Luna often offered their assistance but they did not have the basic knowledge in muggle warfare. His greatest regret was Teddy, the boy was robbed of his childhood, and instead the metamorphmagus was being groomed to be his successor. By then, he had discovered why their magic was no longer as potent as they were before – they were losing connection to Nature's core. Magic was dying with the death of nature. The muggles – who had developed a substitute for organic sources and habitats for animals did not need nature in the same intimate way Magicals did. The muggles had cut off the main power source of the Magicals before the latter even realized what was happening. Everything was lost from the beginning and Harry did not have the courage to tell his people so. They were dead men walking.
In the end it was neither the bombs, guns nor the fires that got Harry and Teddy. They died of suffocation due to the toxic gases exhumed by the rubble and bombs. They died amongst the fire – not close enough to be burnt but they could feel its warmth. Teddy died in his arms, and in the now man's dying moments he simply looked at Harry with something akin to adoration, a smile plastered on his face lovingly. Harry simply stayed with his godson, holding the metamorphmagus as the toxic gas put him to sleep.
...
It was the rain that woke him up, the droplets teasing his face and cleaning it of mud and blood. Teddy, still in his arms, dead with a smile on his face – his hair was the colour of Harry's jet black and the older man knew that if his eyes were open it would be his own shade of green. The man rose from his position and waved his hand in a silent command of magic. Dirt moved and soon a hole was present – a place where he could bury Teddy. The rain was becoming stronger, but he paid no heed to it; rather he was relishing in its feeling. He was letting the water wash away all his sorrow, the last of their kind was dead and he did not know if there are others who are in hiding.
He walked forwards and searched for a brook or river clean enough to drink from, it was hours before he found one. He knelt down and drank his fill and washed his face, and after feeling his face was relatively clean of filth he shaved his face of stubble and glimpsed at his face for the first time in years. He promptly paled at what he saw; there in the waters his face was mocking him. He was over 50 years old yet in front of him his face was as youthful as he was 30 years ago. A pained sob escaped him.
He wasn't aging.
...
Years had passed since that discovery; Harry had first foolishly thought that he would die soon after magic fully disappeared from the earth. He was hopeful, yet as years passed dread was replacing his hope. He searched and searched for tomes to explain this anomaly. At some points, desperation took hold and he tried to commit suicide. Yet he always failed, he would wake up the next morning, his body healthy as if he did not shoot his brains out the previous night, or slit his own throat that afternoon. It was driving him insane.
It was during one of his bouts of insanity that the answer came to him. He was walking aimlessly in the streets of the muggle world – The Hunt was long since over, and for him he was coping well. He had adjusted and blended into the background, he was but a simple man, walking near the alleys of the dodgier parts of town when he saw it. Graffiti painted on the side of some questionable establishment. It was a circle inside a triangle and a vertical line separating the middle. It was of the symbol of the deathly hallows. Harry James Potter was the Master of Death.
...
He became even more desperate and tried harder to end it all. He was just so tired; he started making his own rituals. The resistance forced him to be well versed in all sorts of magic. He started anchoring the rituals to his own core instead of the long since depleted Earth. Years of work had worked out and he had a way out.
Which now brings him to where he was – The Ruins of Hogwarts; the only Place that still held a spark of magic in the ruined wards; the Magic was but an echo but present all the same. It was like a dying ember, and with his powers, he could relight the fire. Onwards to his next adventure – death or something else he does not know. It would be an explosion of magic – his life in exchange for the rebirth of the Earth. He was bringing magic back.
Harry took the Carnelian dagger and started the ritual. He offered his blood to anchor his inherent magic, to easily fuse it with Hogwart's dying magic. He started feeling lightheaded, like he was flying away. He smiled, it was working – The Master of Death let go and felt his magic scatter. He gave a considerable amount to the core of Hogwarts. His vision was going dark; with his last consciousness he took the dagger and stabbed his core. Then he fell asleep...
...
... And promptly woke up to horrible excruciating pain. He felt like someone was pulling the insides of his guts. He screamed.
"Oh Merlin! What the fuck...?!" He was grasping for something, anything he could get a hold on to. The pain was intense... and it was dragging to what was now feeling like an eternity.
"What kind of torture is this?" He screeched not paying attention to any of the noises or his own voice, the pain was clouding his vision.
"Thank Morgana you're alive!" a voice from his left broke through the haze of pain. "We lost you for a minute, it's a miracle you came back." The voice prattled on; it was getting on his nerves. Did they not understand that that was the point? His life for magic, an almost equivalent exchange – he was supposed to rekindle the embers of magic. The voice must have kept babbling on because there was a finger snapping in front of him now.
"Focus on the sound of my voice..." the voice demanded, Harry scowled he was too old for this young upstart to demand anything from him. He shook his head and felt sweat trickle down his forehead. He opened his mouth to berate the child but a gasp of shock and pain came forth instead. Shock because right in front of him, in the flesh, was a Healer. A magical Healer; and pain because his lower abdomen was cramping and constricting.
"... Make the pain stop" he moaned as another constriction pulled at him. He grabbed the healer's hand and promptly crushed it with all his might. He took a vindictive pleasure at seeing the healer flinch. Good, if I'm in pain so should you...
Another scream, this one far shriller than the first, Harry didn't think much about it, he hadn't talked in years. His voice must be breaking.
"It's going to be alright... I want you to push." The healer instructed calmly, and not so subtly disentangling Harry's hand.
'Push... what... do you mean? pu–' His thoughts were broken by another scream. He pushed at his guts. He could hear the bones of the healer breaking from his grip.
"That's good, you're doing well" another voice by his feet said, his mental facilities were becoming hazy again, he still had no idea what was going on he just wanted the pain to go away and to go back to sleep.
"Follow my breathing." The one on his left said, and suddenly started doing wheezing noises of hees, hoos and haass. It looked and sounded ridiculous, Harry started giggling.
"Dear Merlin, She's gone hysterical." The other one voiced out. Harry's giggling stopped.
What
She...? Who is she? Last time he checked he was very much male. And why are they –
The pain again, Harry screamed.
"Push as hard as you can, you're almost done." He didn't even know who it was anymore, his mind just couldn't get past through the pain, pain... PAIN
Something... something was coming out... pain
There was a loud noise, Harry was vaguely aware that it was a sound of a baby crying. He gasped... no... No... NO
He was pregnant
He just gave birth
What kind of hell was this?
There was a noise coming from his left, ah yes, the healer. It's alright, he's ancient; centuries old, this little bout of sex change won't faze him. He was better than that –
"It's a lovely boy my Lady Black"
Harry choked on his own spit. "What?" He asked, and then he flinched at the sound. It sounded a tad shrill and far harsher than he intended. He gazed at the healers who suddenly looked fearful. He wouldn't blame them, if this newfound reality was what he thought it was then they had a right to be scared. He cleared his throat and looked at the healers.
"T..The Black Heir?" he questioned softly. The Healers' eyes widened. He sounded awfully polite. Harry paled... no way
The Healer holding the baby choked and nodded, still looking surprised at Harry, and then replied.
"Yes Lady Walburga, it's your Heir apparent" Harry heard no more as he fainted from shock and exhaustion. One thing was clear on his mind.
I wanted rebirth, not to GIVE birth!
Note: I dunno. I just thought this would be okay, to those reading my KHR fanfic "Little Sky", I just want to say, it's in the process of being rewritten. I'm fixing some holes and yeah... sorry I am back though so yaay!