Author's Note: What you are about to read is basically a bunch of headcanons, snippets, oneshots, crossovers and many other things. That being said, I hereby disclaim any ownership of any fandom I will write in, and state that all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners and no copyright infringement is intended.
AN#2: I am writing for the sake of writing and my own amusement, so if you happen to find anything not to your taste, you are more than welcome to hit the back button. Lastly, all chapters will be self-beta'd, so expect the usual amount of typos.
Well then, enjoy.
Beginnings
When death came, Harry Potter was unprepared.
It was too early, too sudden and without a moment's notice. But what was more worse is the feeling of hopelessness that washed over him as his wife's voice still rang in his ears, pleading with him to remain alive.
He thought that death will come when he was old and lived a fulfilling life, surrounded by his beloved people, assuring them that he was merely going to the next adventure.
He thought that if he died earlier, it would be in a heroic battle. Taking down his enemies with him.
But fate was never kind to him.
And so he died a week after holding his firstborn, little James whom he will never see take his first steps, utter his first words, or experience his bouts of accidental magic.
He died after being struck with a Bombarda. A common blasting curse he used when exploding chairs with the Weasleys. And it was ironic how Avada Kedavra could not kill him and keep him died, but a mere well casted Bombarda could.
Even more ironic is that his killer was some rouge wizard. Certainly none important. Maybe he should have stayed home that day, not obeying his restlessness and strolling around Diagon Alley.
But he died. And he didn't greet death like an old friend.
"Return me", He demanded as soon as darkness fell around him. Whereas he had expected Kings Cross station.
"That cannot be done" a deep voice answered him, while the image of the most terrifying being appeared.
"I owned the deathly Hallows!" Harry cried, useless things, horrible things that he scattered around his world, but he owned them once. Why not return when he had already done so before?
"Being the master of death doesn't permit you to return whenever you die. The first time you died, Harry Potter, you were given the choice, but no more."
Despair filled him, and he let his head fall down on his hands.
"But.." Death said slowly, and he raised his head and looked at them hopefully, "There is one method should you wish to return to this life."
"Anything!" Harry breathed.
"You must live other lives. Continue the eternal circle, until you reach this life again." Death decreed.
Other lives? Countless of possibilities and chances, endless cycle that begins but never truly ends.
"How many?" Harry asked slowly, dread beginning to fill him, "How many until I can return here?"
Death hummed, "Many years. Centuries. Millenniums. Time never matters. You will live hundreds of lives. Meet hundreds of people. Forget countless things. For despite being my master, you are still human, Harry Potter, and you will have the disadvantage of humans that is forgetfulness. Sometimes you will think it a blessing,
Other times a curse. But you will continue on and on and on.."
Maybe death back then was being merciful, trying to dissuade him from the pain that will come. But he was foolish then, hard headed and believing that he could overcome whatever may come, will live thousands of lives and still be able to remember his first resolve. And so he accepted the deal. Even when death's fathomless eyes gazed at him with pity.
"So shall it be."
.
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II
When death came later, Harry Potter was still unprepared.
In his first (or is it second?) life, he was reborn. Awareness hit him like a train when he was four, causing him to drop the pan he was holding for his aunt.
And wasn't it such a warm welcome to hear Aunt Petunia's shrill voice scolding his little four years self for being a clumsy little freak, and how many four years old kids can sit still while holding a hot pan for their aunties? Surely not Dudley Duddykins.
Somehow, he managed to live his first life until the very end. Where he got his wish by having a stable family, with three precious little (but no more) demons. And then he died. But when he arrived before death once again he was bitter, that life was as if it is from a distant dream he could not remember.
His third, fourth and fifth lives were blurry, once he was abandoned by the Dursleys to live in an orphanage, and it was definitely better than living with them. Once Neville was the boy who lived, and he got to be 'just Harry'. Once he died from his cousin's carelessness, when he pushed him into a speeding car and the little bugger was merely eight years old. He hoped that Dudley never forgot killing his poor cousin, but he supposed that was impossible with Dursleys as a family.
One thing he lamented was the lack of his parents. His first lives were similar his first one. Except for the fore knowledge he had when awareness came, and the dying part.
And then it began to change. He wasn't reborn in his sixth life. He was transported. One moment he was trying to tidy his bird-nest hair for Neville and Hannah's wedding, and the next he was blinking at a Malfoy-looking bloke holding his wand under his nose.
In his eighth life his parents lived and he had siblings, that life was so bittersweet.
In his tenth life he was so fed up with Britain, and so he packed his bags and left to explore the world.
His thirteenth life was unlike any previous ones because he got to be a cat. A goddamin cat.
In his fifteenth he was born a squib. And that made him realize how fortunate he was later in other lives.
He bailed out of his twenty life because no matter how mad he was he would never accept Snape as his father, even if he didn't have a greasy hair.
His twenty four life was interesting because he was reborn as a she.
The twenty sixth life was the first time he had a lover other than Ginny or his loyal hand. And it was Blaise Zabini. He didn't expect that to happen but it did.
He went batshit insane in his thirty five life. He couldn't recall the reason but maybe it was something minor like having Voldemort for a brother, but he got used to bizarre things like that later on. Thankfully death kicked his ass to the void and told him to 'solve his issues'.
In his thirty sixth life he somehow managed to be a painting in Grimmauld Place. He made do in trying to out-scream Walburga Black. He cannot remember how that life ended. Maybe the residents finally got fed up with him and burned him down alongside Mrs. Black.
It was the thirty seventh that was the defining life for him. He made a promise to live not for a reason. But simply carry on and enjoy the ride.
He was glad he did because death began to toss him in different dimensions. They didn't care if it was inhabitable or not, it seemed that they were not listening to his whinnying anymore.
He could safely say that death was his oldest companion. One that knew his dirty laundry. Correction, laundries.
It was around his seventy something that he had the great idea to create a persona for every life that will come. It was fun. And it helped his poor memory. Once he had to be the odd muggle uncle. The crazy seer. And a dark lord, because his morals somehow went downhill that time.
But he could clearly remember some of his lives. If not for the difference in the worlds, then for the people that he met and loved, hated with passion. And maybe killed.
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III
"I want to remain here. For a few years." Harry added the last part because death began to get more paler than their usual pale.
But really, he enjoyed staying here. There were a lot of things that he still didn't try and a lot of people who he hadn't met. Like that crazy immortality seeking pedophile. What was his name anyway? Orio something.
"You have used whatever small chances you had for lives, Harry Potter, you shouldn't even be able to do that the first times. You die when you're meant to die. You will be unable to return to the same life. But we granted you a few chances because you were a miserable excuse for a death's master." Death said in a flat voice.
"I know, I know! But please, this is the last time!" Pleaded Harry even if he knew perfectly well that it's not going to be the last time.
"I need a vacation." Death said solemnly.
"You can't have a vacation!" Harry said in indignation, "Besides, think of what's gonna happen if death decides to take a vacation! Err.. Over load in life thingies?"
Death replied in annoyance,"I have been working since The Creation, I believe I am more than deserving of a day off."
"Okaay.." Said Harry slowly, while eyeing death's twitching fingers nervously," Who's gonna take on your work? A junior death? Underclassman? Do you even have those? What about me staying here?"
Death looked at him as if he was a blithering idiot,"No. You are capable of doing that. You made that mess, you're going to clean it. Then you'll be allowed to return here in this precise moment."
They slapped a black colored book across his face, and made a dramatic exit from a door that suddenly appeared behind them.
"Git," muttered Harry, while examining the book in his hands. He opened it and saw a creepy looking writing, 'How to do Death's Deathly Duties' was scrawled across the first paper.
The next page was filled with instructions, and they began with:
1. Be Death.
2. Don't fuck up with Life. They're older than you.
3. Tree of lives saves a lot of trouble in collecting dying souls. Plucking the leaves of those who piss you off is unwise.
4. Be in the right place, at the right time in every fucking second across the worlds. Don't worry, you won't split. Unless you have a weak stomach.
5. If you're Harry Potter, stay low and don't push your luck. Lady Fate is willing to give you Days of Grace until We return."
6. Do not. Search. For. Us.
7. This is the last time we'll grant you a wish. We swear it.
"Well, it looks like death can get pissed." Harry said thoughtfully.
He put the book in his pocket, while humming tunelessly as he left the void they were in, he got duties to do now.
.
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IV
Harry Potter thought that he got used to the repeated cycle of lives. But sometimes, in rare moments when the final consequences of his idiocy danced on the edge-buried deep deep down don't think of it- of his mind, despair would fill him. Followed by hollowness so unfamiliar despite knowing it exists.
No matter how many ones he bared his soul to, they all depart. They all forget. No one truly remembers who he -was- is, none sees him, they simply see what they think they're seeing. Only them, those damned death know him, see him, recall who he was. Only death. His blessing, his curse.
.
.
Once, he asked death a question he repeatedly asked them in his first lives, 'when will the cycle end?'
In the beginning death ignored him, opting to give him vague answers, obviously not that interested in humoring the lowly ignorant human. But later, when he stopped counting his years, when he ceased thinking himself a human, death answered him.
"Your cycle will end after a week."
Hold your horses, sit back in your chairs, he began this freakin cycle since forever, of course he will be done sooner than expected.
You see, the eternal cycle of life is exactly what it means, eternal. The original one that is.
But, the current cycle that he's spending at almost a snail's pace, is simply a borrowed time from the original one. The primary one was granted to the beings that used to occupy this world. Or still occupy it, he never got to see them, damned slippery creatures. The borrowed time was granted to the humans since The Creation.
Now, when death gave him a certain book ages ago - he still has it- there was a brief mention of how heavenly beings count years.
The heavenly days are older than your human years. In the first millenniums since creation of earth, humans aged between one thousand to ten thousands. They were almost able to follow the heavenly days. Then it began to gradually fall until humanity barely achieved one hundred years. Thus no longer able to follow them, incapable of even thinking above a certain amount of calculation.
One heavenly day equals 50.000 human years.
So when death said a week. They meant a heavenly week. Like, 350.000 human years. Yay.
But Harry got something out from that rubbish, and it was the answer to one of humanity oldest questions, 'When does the world end?'
By his estimation, and he was not that great at mathematics, it would take one heavenly month* for the world to end. He honestly expected it to end sooner, with how humans -mundane or magical- seem so keen on wiping each other off the face of earth.
.
.
* If anyone is interested, it's 1.500.000 years.
I'd love to have Harry roam the worlds forever, but the idea of a final life is more interesting.