A/N:
Hello! So, this is my first fanfic ever so please no flames (constructive criticism is welcome!), please alert me of anything I've gotten wrong and I will try to fix my errors as soon as possible. Other than saying that both the Harry Potter and Avengers franchises belong to the brilliant minds that created them, there's nothing else to say so go on and read my story (please?)
Prologue
Harry stared dumbly at the object resting on his bed innocently. He blinked, expecting it to disappear seeing as it was a figment of his imagination. It didn't. In fact, it seemed like it was watching him, and that made him nervous, seeing as how it didn't have anything that could resemble a face, not even in the vaguest way. Yet Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, followed by an oppressing weight on his entire being. He did not like that feeling, only having experienced it with one other person. But it was impossible for that person to be able to incite that feeling on him, for one, that person had not been able to do so for quite some time, secondly, that person can't be here, because thirdly, that person had died less that twenty-four hours ago, no longer the infamous dark lord known as Voldemort. He felt like he should look around, find the source of his uneasiness because it was impossible for it to be coming from the object on his bed. He'd look around, find the cause, and walk out of the room.
Any minute now.
He'd avert his eyes and examine the room.
Very soon.
Even sooner than soon.
Right now.
But he didn't. Harry's gaze was fixated on his bed, on it. Behind his eyes a memory replayed: looking at Hermione and Ron, revealing the truth before snapping the wood in two and hurling the remnants over the side, never to be seen again. At least thought to never be seen again, yet there it was in one piece, and laying on his bed. He blinked again, it was still there. Harry's legs moved of their own volition and soon he was right next to the bed, leaning against the soft edge, peering down disbelievingly. He saw his hand reach down and pick up the smooth wood, watched as it was brought closer to his face. He turned it over, inspecting the evenly spaced knobs and tapering end. He blinked yet again, in Harry's hand was the one and only Elder Wand.
"I broke you. I threw you away." He told the wand after a moment of silence. Its reply was to hum in his grasp, unnerved, Harry switched it to his spare hand, hoping to dispel the aftershocks in his left hand. This led to Harry widening his eyes in surprise, now investigating the golden ring on his right middle finger: a medium sized band of gold encircled his finger, patterns resembling scales of all things were carved into the circlet. What got him though was the stone cemented on the ring, diamond in shape, an indecipherable colour that really depended on the light, and the Hallows imprinted within. On Harry's finger was the one and only Resurrection Stone.
"And I dropped you. On purpose I might add." He mentioned to said stone. As a response it glowed. Harry just blinked. At that moment he felt a familiar weight settle on his shoulders. With a sideways glance, he confirmed that he was now wearing the Invisibility Cloak, without being invisible. He frowned at that but was distracted by the door opening to reveal Ginny, Ron and Hermione. The smiles all faded from their faces and quickly turned into surprise and concern as they observed Harry's new getup. The surprise was appropriate but the concern was out of place, that was, until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face was contorted into one of a being in immense pain, his eyes filled with terror and horror. He looked back to the three people in the doorway. He opened his mouth to tell them he was fine, albeit confused, but what came out was a cry of absolute despair, "…help." Ginny was the first to react, lunging forward only to be flung back with great force into Hermione, knocking them both out cold. Ron's body went rigid as he took a step towards Harry, his eyes clouded over but he took another step.
Ron stop! Was the intended demand, "…hurtsss." Was what came out, slightly slipping into Parseltongue. Harry decided that that was a good time to drop the Elder Wand, or at least, he tried. Looking down he tried for the second time to drop the wand but his hand wouldn't release it. What in Merlin's name is this! He used his other hand to pry open his fingers, or at least tried to.
"Harry!" Harry jerked his head up to see Ron reaching out towards him, Harry shook his head fervently, trying to tell Ron not to come closer. The redhead paused, slightly retracting his arm.
"Harry?" He repeated, his voice muffled as though travelling through water, or a particularly weak muffliato spell. He shook his head again, not trusting his words anymore and nodded towards the two girls. Ever the good patriot. A snide voice in his head said, Harry quickly shushed it and repeated his action. Ron looked hesitant but nodded, heading towards Hermione and Ginny. They better be alright, Harry fretted. Positive that Ron wouldn't put himself in danger, Harry preceded to try and drop the Elder Wand, a seemingly impossible task as his hand would just not open! A pulling in his navel made Harry gasp, causing Ron to immediately raise his head. Another tug and Harry was forced down to his knees and he winced at the pain lancing up his legs.
"Harry!"
I'm fine Ron! Turned into, "…dying…" And with a start Harry realised that was true. Slowly, he locked gazes with his best mate and saw the understanding in his eyes. Harry opened his mouth but another pull made him press tightly against the ground, he gritted his teeth and tried to stand up.
"HARRY NO!" Ron's scream was the last thing Harry ever heard for a long time. A really long time. The floor was the last thing he saw for a long time, something he wasn't very happy about. He could feel though, he felt his body slip away from the mortal realm, instantly knowing that only his soul should have been taken.
He felt the Wand in his hand, solid and real.
He felt the slight burden of the Stone on his finger, cool and anchoring.
He felt the Cloak slide over his shoulders, soft and reassuring.
They were the only things keeping him from insanity while he travelled to… he didn't know where he was travelling. Nor for how long. It felt like less than a minute, or it could've been more than a year. He really didn't know, and that frightened him. He remembered the first time he had 'died', where he was at King's Cross Station, he'd spoken to Dumbledore again, a privilege he'd thought long gone. He also remembered Nearly Headless Nick speaking of going to a place similar to King's Cross Station, the place where everyone went when they died. Perhaps it was because he'd already been there, because he'd already seen that place, walked in that place. That is why he hadn't journeyed there again. It was the only possible answer. Why else would he be here? Wherever "here" is. Alone, with no sounds, no light. Wasn't there meant to be a feeling of peace? Wasn't there meant to be thousands of people? Wasn't there meant to be Dumbledore? Sirius? Mum and Dad? Wasn't there meant to be something? Instead of this nothingness, where he could not see nor hear, where he only felt the Hallows. The Hallows… why does he have them? He only kept the cloak, the wand and stone he discarded, not wanting to hold the items that Voldemort had so craved. Not wanting to hold that much power. Not wanting to hold… Death. The name echoed around him, startling him into realising he can hear again.
"Hello?" He spoke, but nothing came out. He tried again, but still didn't hear anything. Only in his head. Harry screamed, or at least, thought he did. He screamed until his throat was sore and dry from overuse. Then he screamed some more. Years passed, or was it minutes? He couldn't tell the time. Had no way of telling the time, having tried to count in his head but always getting lost after the seventh second. Or was it the seventieth? He even tried casting a tempus charm, the Elder Wand still in his hand but that was a lost cause seeing as he couldn't well, see. Harry thought he should be afraid, be afraid of the nothingness around him, be afraid of the solitary confinement, or at least be afraid of something. But he only felt a sense of wariness, not unease but wariness. Something cold brushed past him and he called out. No reply, or none that he could hear. Harry took a step forwards, or perhaps it was back, or to the left, or right, he really didn't know. He called out again, hoping his voice was loud enough for whoever was there to hear him.
You have arrived Magister.
The voice was in his head but not his own. Ethereal, whispery and all-consuming, it flowed over him like water. Harry opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, couldn't possibly of had his eyes closed that whole time, right? Yet he could see again. His first decision was to contemplate his surroundings. Which was nothing. Harry blinked but the scenery did not change, or lack thereof. All he could see was blackness, in front of him, to the left, right, above and even below.
Nothing. He was virtually standing on nothing as there was no floor, no walls, no ceiling.
No nothing.
Be not anxious my Magister.
Harry jumped, though in this particular environment he didn't know how.
"Hello?" He inquired, his voice hoarse and unlike its normal baritone. But that may be because of his countless hours of screaming, or minutes.
Greetings Magister.
Harry jumped again, not quite liking the idea of someone else's voice in his head, remembering all too well the lessons with Professor Snape. That thought made him sad and remorseful.
Ease your mind Magister, death is not a sorrowful event.
The voice consoled.
"Who are you?" Harry questioned, slightly ignoring the fact that the voice's words had in fact made him feel better.
I am Death, Magister.
Harry blinked, it being an easy action to use when his mind was in turmoil.
"Death?"
Yes, Magister.
Well, this is new. Harry glanced around and asked, "Where are you?"
Everywhere Magister. Death is everywhere.
"Okay… um, why can't I see you? Shouldn't I be able to since I'm dead?"
You are not dead Magister. Merely transforming.
"Wha..? What do you mean "transforming"?"
I gifted three wizards with the Hallows Magister, together they enabled the wielder to be Master of Death.
"I know that already," Harry said impatiently.
Apologies Magister, I am simply explaining as to the most beneficial for you.
"Uh, okay…" He said somewhat hesitantly. "Wait, why do you keep calling me "Magister"? What does it mean?"
Latin is the language of the immortal realm, Magister and Master are one and the same.
"What!" Harry may or may not have squeaked, "But-but." He flustered, "I don't want to be the Master of Death! I don't want to be the Master of anything!"
That is why Magister, only they who are worthy may behold the name Magister de Morte.
Harry let out what many would call a hysterical laugh, "I'm not worthy of anything! Neville is worthier than me, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley, Mrs McGonagall, anyone!"
Thee who crave not the title, thee who desires balance, shall be the Master of Death.
"Uh, what?"
It is the aphorism of the dead Magister.
"You do know that doesn't help right? And why can't I see you?" He added as an afterthought. Suddenly, an alienated figure materialised directly in Harry's line of sight. Stooped over, garbed in cloth that he could only resemble to his Invisibility Cloak, with unnaturally long limbs, neck and face. Or skull, would be the appropriate term.
"Bloody Hell, you look exactly like I'd pictured you." Was the first thing to pop out of Harry's mouth. "I mean! I-I- I'm sorry." Harry mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. A bemused chuckle echoed in Harry's head, whilst the figure's shoulders moved in the throes of laughter.
You need not apologise Magister, my form is different to all who see me.
"What do you mean by that?"
There are many dimensions alike with yours Magister. Many with unique ways of how they perceive the form of Death.
"Oh, I get it, I think." Harry supplied, trying to sound more intelligent than he felt. "Hey, you haven't told me the "transforming" thing." He reminded Death. The person in question bowed their head.
You are, simply put, dying and being rebirthed.
"What!" The exclamation left his mouth before he could stop it and quickly continued, "I mean, I don't feel like I'm dying…"
That is because you already have Magister.
Harry's answer was to blink. Already dead? Was that what the whole 'nothingness' thing was? Him dying?
"Um, so what's happening now?"
Your body is being reborn here, my dimension. You may call it the Veil, others Niflheim/Helheim, Heaven, Hell. It matters not, it is where all arrive when their time has come.
"How is that possible? How could something be born here?" Death smiled, impossible as it may seem.
Perhaps you will be ready in the future to learn of my dimension Magister. But for now you must be content with the knowledge that you are Magister de morte, Master of Death, and so you are immortal until the worlds are once more balanced.
Harry paused for a moment, one for processing the new information, two for realising that that was the first time he'd heard Death speak for so long, three for coming to the conclusion that Harry Potter still seemed to be the one who everyone depended on.
"Was there ever a chance that I could be normal?" He wondered aloud.
My apologies Magister, but you are Magister de Morte for a reason. No other being has held that title. No other being has the power to survive the title.
"So, because I'm classed as the most powerful wizard of all time, I'm the Master of Death?" Harry questioned resignedly.
Power is not how you perceive it Magister. Power is the aura of a being. It is the soul, the strength, the thoughts, the essence. It is vaguely put, you Magister.
"Me?"
Your power is the purest Magister. Only you are capable of bearing the responsibilities of the Master of Death. Any other creature and they would be lead to insanity and demise.
"Insanity?" Harry said nervously.
No fear Magister. You will not succumb to the dark forces.
"I'm seventeen." Was all he could say. Seventeen and the Master of Death. Great.
Age does no longer occur for you Magister. You are timeless.
"Oh, okay." He couldn't help but feel sad about that, still harbouring the little boy who used to blow out his own fake candles. A passing thought made him ask, "Why is there no light here?"
There is Magister, you are just willing yourself not to see them.
"But I do want to see them." He confessed, looking around.
You are resisting Magister.
"Resisting what?" He returned his attention back to Death.
Your fate Magister.
"You mean being the Master of Death?"
Yes.
"How am I resisting it? To be honest it doesn't seem like something you can "resist"."
It is your love for your friends and family Magister. You are resisting because you do not want to leave them.
"Well, I don't…" Harry mumbled, somewhat ashamedly.
Love is nothing to regret Magister.
"I would never regret love." He defended.
Regret and shame Magister, you cannot have one without the other lurking by.
"I don't regret love though!" He yelled, before taking a deep breath and adding, "I'm sorry. I just feel like it's selfish." Bowing his head and peering into the darkness.
Wanting to have someone love you is not selfish Magister.
Death's form crept closer to Harry, a skeletal hand resting upon his shoulder in comfort. Harry immediately leaned into it, sighing contentedly as clarity washed over him. He looked up into Death's face – er skull – and smiled sheepishly. His attention was garnered by something to the left. He leaned over to examine it and gasped. Blue lights coalesced to form millions of glowing orbs.
"I'm not resisting anymore?" Harry asked, smiling at the landscape around him, now rivalling the breath-taking beauty.
You accepted my embrace Magister, only one other has done so.
"My ancestor?"
Yes Magister, he who was gifted the Cloak of Invisibility.
"Will I ever see them again?" To ask whom did not need to be said.
In the end, everyone is reunited Magister.
"And when will that be?"
Only time will tell Magister.
"Great." Enthusiasm was for some reason lacking. A ghostly chuckle sounded in his head, making himself smile weakly. Harry gazed at the lights around him. Death waited patiently as Harry stared, simply drinking in the ethereal beauty of Death's home. An eternity later, or was it a second? Harry calmly turned to Death and declared, "I'm ready." The orbs brightened to an almost blinding intensity before blinking out of existence. Harry couldn't help the cry that escaped his throat as darkness reclaimed his vision.
Harry waited. He waited for the darkness to disappear. He waited for his travelling to end. He waited for his mission to begin.
And while Harry waited, he learned. He learned of a dimension based solely on technology. He learned of human experiments. He learned of demigods.
While he learned, Harry aged. His mind matured, his emotions calmed, his aspect on the universe(s) morphed from an eager child to a proud parent.
Thee who crave not the title, thee who desires balance, shall be the Master of Death.