The World Is Your Playground
Rules:
1. H/Hr pairing.
2. Stick with the characterization showed here.
3. Death cannot be killed.
4. Harry cannot be killed.
5. Harry cannot lose his status as Master of Death.
6. As displayed, this Harry is not Light, but not purely Dark either.
7. Time of arrival: between Third Year and Fifth Year, you choose.
8. Yes, you can abuse Death's powers! Have fun with that!
9. Death can be a convincing actor on the event that you need him to supplant Harry for whatever reason.
10. Voldemort and his Death Eaters... do as you please. And by that I mean, destroy them!
11. Unforgiving!Harry: he doesn't forgive Dumbledore when they meet at King Cross.
12. Weasley bashing... purely optional.
13. No weaselling out from the deal made here.
14. Super!Harry, optional.
15. No weird inheritence stuff.
A/N: I need this in my life. Because no one will take this little puppy, then I'll just do it myself. I can't promise too many updates, but I'll try my best. I wanted to try out Reptilia28's Challenge anyway. This is the way I do it.
Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge: I'll be the first one to admit that I took the inspiration from that little challenge. Hopefully, my story isn't so cliché.
Disclaimer: As always, don't own, never will.
-Prologue-
Deal With The Devil
"Voldemort."
A beat.
"Vol de la mort."
Another.
"Now, that's proper French, Harry. I pity the day Tom LeRiddle got to the peak of his madness. Flee Death? Bah. That stupid anagram— He must have been veeeery drunk when he came up with it. Yes, yes… that's it. Little bugger he is, for butchering such a respectable name like Tom. Bob the Dark Lord sounds much better, in my very humble opinion. But there's no excuse— no, no, no… No excuse for the wicked. And little Tom was a very naughty boy, a trueborn villain. Yeah. And don't get me started on the other Dark Lords. Who wakes up in the morning and decides they want to conquer the world and torture a poor rabbit? Grindelwald this, Grindelwald that. He almost took over Europe. Tommy was such a whelp in comparison to those fine blokes—met Hitler, Grindelwald did—but Tom had daddy issues, don't forget, so he just had to, you know, kill his father."
A figure glided across the blank sky, the bottom line being this wasn't a sky to begin with. The specific word wasn't available in any human language, but if one had to choose one in particular, you could go with 'The Void'. Some called it 'Limbo'. Neither term was true.
Death made a loop in the air, whooping merrily when he completed the third one successfully without crashing to the ground.
He liked to pretend to be a limp pile of dusty bones when that happened.
Harry Potter, used to the being's antics, didn't look up. He had no desire to encourage them further.
Death was immortal, thus he had all eternity to mumble his musings to absolutely no one. One would pity the being, if it weren't a downright prat. The lowest of the lowest; an itch in his arse that he couldn't shake off no matter what.
But the most annoying aspect of Death was their bipolar personality.
And sure enough, with no forewarning to speak of, Death warped in front of him, but it was the image of Lord Voldemort who offered him a maniac grin. This, as unsettling as it could be to others, usually meant that he was in a playful mood.
"Tom Riddle was an absolute marvellous name, but it doesn't really match with my renewed persona, now does it, Harry?" he hissed silkily. The now he-being made to touch him with taunting fingers.
"No touching," Harry reminded him.
With a curse, Death flinched out of sight.
Harry snorted.
The entity's moody retreat proved to be more of a façade than anything else, because Harry immediately sensed Death's new position, which happened to be directly behind him.
The young wizard continued scribing in his notebook, nevertheless.
"Paradoxes," Death began with their ethereal tones, "are one of a kind."
The sound of a page turning.
"Oh, time does have its redundancies, of course, but it doesn't stand for them." They were suddenly a she and Harry froze in anger. Death knew which buttons to press and Hermione was one of them. The mere sound of her caused him physical pain, product of much anger and longing. "Surely, you must have heard of the Ouroboros? In Greek mythology, this giant snake is an ancient symbol which depicts cyclicality, or re-creation itself. Applied to time, this line of philosophy reached a very startling conclusion, one which is only surprising by its simplistic nature: time refers to itself, loves to repeat history as mankind knows it. Mistake after mistake… Crumbling civilizations topple pathetically one after the other… Worse still, the historical records humanity has managed to preserve so far prove that this theory has some truth to it: why, muggles did indeed pursue those of magical blood once they were aware of their existence, did they not? Only this time, they weren't grabbing torches and spears, but instead went entirely nuclear."
Mocking him, as always.
"Yes, the Witch Burnings… Those must have been enjoyable times for you," Harry said, frost covering every inflection of his response. He didn't turn for fear of what he would find there.
"Nuclear warfare is much better," Death sounded rather wistful. "Destruction and chaos. Deterioration and mutation…"
Death was at home midst the suffering.
The Master of Death shuddered. "Figures it would appeal to you," Harry snapped, closing his notebook shut. His eyes would have made Voldemort think twice before engaging in battle with the Boy Who Lived.
"War is a beautiful, beautiful thing, Master… A gift from the gods-"
"Don't you ever use her," he hissed. "Even less if you're going to put those filthy words in her mouth!"
"Why you must restrict me so, Harry?" Death bemoaned. They were Dumbledore now.
Harry's fist shook with tension as he turned around. Death's disguise was impeccable as ever, down to those thrice damned twinkly eyes.
Somewhere in his subconscious, he bristled as soon as he saw his old mentor.
"It comes with the job description," Harry said dryly, "though I'd rather not have met you, ever, if possible."
"It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life (1)," Death proclaimed solemnly and then broke into outrageous laughter.
Harry had never looked more unimpressed in his life. Not that he was entirely in the world of the living anymore.
Death never neglected to mention his ancestor and his recurring tale for countless of times. He and his brothers on a desperate race against Death… There was no lingering effect now.
"I get it," he said, "Laugh it up, see where that gets you."
Immediately, Dumbledore's countenance snapped back to seriousness.
"Harry Potter," Death breathed, "everyone must face Death once their time on Earth is over."
"I want to die, yet still here I am," Harry smirked.
"Ah, yes," Death hissed with venom. He strode forward, Dumbledore's eccentric robes trailing behind like loveable hounds. Death reached for the Gaunt Ring only to be repelled instants later.
Death's disguise dropped as they cradled their hand. Lacking any discernible form with the exception of the blackness of their shadows, the effect was quite perturbing.
In the event that Death pursued the retrieval of his long-lost creations, the same would occur with his Cloak or Antioch's Wand.
"The three objects…" Death spat, "Together, at last."
"You were tricked by the three brothers," Harry muttered softly, "and these are the consequences of your actions."
Enslaved for eternity…
… to his unwilling Master.
Death seemed to bristle- impossible to tell without any appearance to speak of- before settling for a form both were intrinsically familiar with.
Himself.
"Rub it in, why won't you," Death mocked, sticking out his long, long tongue in an effort to appear more childish.
Harry rolled his eyes. Death made an awkward adult.
"It's the only subject that you won't laugh at. Of course I'll remind you of your blunder every time I can."
Death glared at him. His irises were impossibly darker than his own, almost pits of pure darkness.
"So," Harry said, "back to the matter at hand." He waved his notebook emphatically. "Time travel."
"Pointless," Death drawled immediately. "Boring. Blooming cack."
Harry frowned. "Explain," he ordered.
Death straightened at the order. "Done, attempted and thought of countless of times," he said, kicking inexistent rocks with his boots. "I must say, what you lack with age, you don't compensate with originality, Master." (2)
"Let me sweeten the pot for you then," Harry said, thinking quickly. "If I go back in time"- because Death existed in all planes and at all times, making any effort to transport them along him incredibly redundant- "and I achieve my goal, I will order you to make me pass away when we are old." Death didn't outwardly react, but he could feel the being's excitement through their connection.
"You'll be masterless once more," Harry concluded with finality and the words carried to The Void, echoing around them.
Death licked his lips. "The objects will be returned to me."
"You may have them, except for the Cloak," Harry compromised.
Death bared his teeth threateningly. "The Cloak is my own!"
"You may never touch the Cloak nor trick anyone into giving it to you," Harry narrowed his eyes, focusing his powers as Death's Master in that single sentence. He knew better than to allow him completely free reign over the universe; it may not survive the catastrophe the next day. "Even if someone is stupid enough to hand it over to you willingly, you will reject it. The same goes if you stumble upon it on accident or if you actively seek it."
The embodiment of Death struggled vainly against the imposed order, trembling with outrage when he couldn't break free.
"Understood," Death hissed with such roughness that made Harry wonder if he had spoken in Parseltongue.
"Good," Harry nodded.
"As per agreement," he said as continuation, "you or any of your agents may not plot against me or mine, in any existential state, whether they be blood or bound to me by other means."
"Would never dream of it," Death uttered silkily, showing all teeth. A brutal glint appeared in his eye. "But your enemies, Master, are to be branded forever as my fucktoys."
Harry, who blinked rapidly in surprise, raised his both his eyebrows in disbelief.
Death laughed wickedly, making no effort to reveal what he had in mind for the to-be-doomed.
It was best that way, Harry reasoned warily. His mind alone could be cruel sometimes, but Death was on another whole level of his own.
"So… Do we have a deal?" he asked, extending his arm to sign the end of the contract.
Death grinned widely, striding confidently up to him and meeting him with a firm handshake. Magic started crackling up a storm as soon as their hands touched.
"Ah, Harry Potter," the being still wearing his body like a suit spoke with eerie graveness, his lips twitching upwards as Death seemed to age backwards in front of his eyes. Avada Kedavra green glowed with power as they stared each other down. "Do not worry. We do have a binding accord."
(1) Taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, property of J.K. Rowling.
(2) A jab at the recurring theme: 'Harry goes back in time'. Do not be mistaken, this is no mere Reaper. This is Death we are talking about. Hopefully, this will refresh the idea.