Ninety-year-old Harry Potter moved with a grace that belied his age. The invisibility cloak flowed smoothly off his shoulders, the elder wand was hidden in a wand holster up the sleeve of his robe and the stone was on a chain down his neck. Soon after the Hogwarts battle, he had discovered that the Deathly Hallows were not so easily forsaken.
Twenty years later came the bad news; Grindelwald had escaped Numengard. When Harry had turned eighty-seven, he had laid siege to Hogwarts, with Harry inside it. Half the wizarding world had been inside Hogwarts to celebrate the anniversary of the fall of Lord Voldemort. Now, Amelia Bones, the Minister of Magic was dead, as were Minerva and Flitwick. Harry's godson was fighting on the front line to avenge Ginny's death.
Harry swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat whenever he thought Ginny and rolled his right shoulder. He smiled grimly. Grindelwald was not getting Hogwarts while there was a breath in his body.
Harry once more thanked whatever deities there were for his experience in the wild during his seventh year. That, combined with his Auror training had warned of someone entering his room. Eleven years on the wrong side of the century, his power was still enough to give most attackers pause. This lot is good. He thought as he waited with his hand on the Elder Wand. He tried to read the body language of the one with a wand. He's acting on the assumption that I'm awake and watching. So he's acting extra casual, which means he's going to attack about… now! He rolled of his bed and came up kneeling as the wall was decimated by the sickly green curse. He used and overpowered diffindo to cut through the first two attackers and transfigured the third's heart into a bullet. He scanned the room, alert for more threats, then flipped to his feet as he realized there was a draught hitting his back. "Grindelwald." He said calmly, turning around and locking eyes with the now withered wizard. He just smiled, showing his sharp canines. "Harry Potter." He responded. "I do not suppose you would give me the Deathly Hallows without a duel?" Harry blinked lazily and slid gracefully into dueling position. I hope I'm not rusty. He thought grimly. Then the fight began.
Drawn by the lights and the sounds of things exploding, the Nazis– Grindelwald's version of a joke- and the Allies- the wizarding world's response to the joke- watched in amazement as their leaders exchanged spells in a duel that eclipsed Dumbledore's legendary duel. Harry waited as they traded spells-what they were doing now was more for intimidation and show- hoping that the long years in prison would make Grindelwald make the same mistake he hoped he would make. And he did. Prison had made Grindelwald aggressive, and that same aggression made his lose his grip on his wand as Harry used a rather strong summoning spell. Before he could do wandless magic, Harry killed him.
The Nazis fled as the Allies cheered- but not before one shot a spell at Harry's turned back. One that was the same color as his eyes. "Harry!" Teddy called out in despair, and he turned around just as it struck his chest. He slumped to the ground, unmoving.
As before, Harry awoke completely naked, and as before, he wished for his clothes and they came. What was different was the location. Rather than the King's Cross-Station, he woke on the grassy floor of the forest outside their tent in seventh year. "Hello, Harry." Said a familiar voice. He tensed as it awoke every bad memory he had had in his life. "Death." He said, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. "Why do you look like Bellatrix Lestrange?" Death was silent for a while before answering. "Because," she said at last, "She was the only person whom you hated with all your heart." She held out a hand to him. "We need to talk."
They sat on a grassy hillock, both of them brooding over the same issue. "So basically," Harry said carefully. "I can't be immortal, but I can't die either, so I have to be reborn." Death nodded. "You are the master of Death. I cannot harm you in any way." Harry considered thoughtfully, his forty year old body muscled and lithe. "Can I choose which life I go to?" he asked carefully. It sounded like a business deal, and he hated such things. Long years and hard battles had made him wary of all things good and bad. Death shook her head empathetically, her curly hair tickling Harry's neck. He twitched in annoyance. "I choose that, but you get to keep all your memories and your present power. And I swear to only send you to places which will benefit you." She promised. She bowed her head. "I will even give you this; you will find love in each of your lives." She sounded immeasurably sad.. Then her lips quirked. "I'll even make you male in most of your lives." She regarded him carefully. "So, do you accept?" Harry smiled the smile that reminded people that he was the last marauder, son of one, godson of another and murderer of a third. "Do I have a choice?"
Lestrange led him to a clearing with runes of death, rebirth, and mastership on them; runes every other person used to try and become immortal. There was just one difference: in the center was inscribed the sign of the Deathly Hallows. Harry and Death took up positions facing each other, and Harry was acutely aware of the intimacy of the position. He placed the Hallows in their designated positions, and nearly stumbled when the whole rune series lit up like a lamp. Death curtsied to him. "Fare well, milord." She said, before kissing him on the lips. And then he was gone.
When he awoke, he was alone in a slightly cramped space in a most uncomfortable position. I'm in the womb. He didn't know why, but he had always thought that he would regain his memories upon his birth. Perhaps it was just as well. Now he could try and figure out where he was and what kind of family he had. Straightening out with difficulty, he pressed his ear against the wall. He waited for over an hour, but he had the patience of a predator. Finally he heard what he had been waiting for: the sound of footsteps. "What are you doing?" he heard a voice practically scream in rage. He was shocked to hear that it sounded vaguely middle-eastern. The next sound was the sharp crack of a slap, and Harry felt rage building within him. The voice continued, half-mad with anger. "Do you want to get the child killed? The heir to the line of Slytherin?" The voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper. "Listen, slave." He said contemptuously and Harry's rage increased further. "You should be grateful that you're my concubine and not dead. It is an honor," he hissed with clenched teeth. "To be chosen to be the first fresh blood injected into Slytherin's line for millennia!" The woman spoke up for the first time. "Yes master." And Harry was shocked not just by her servility, but her clearly English accent. "I'm sorry master." She was flung across the room, and something cracked inside her. Harry watched, seething, as a bone pierced her womb, missed his head by a millimeter and pierced her skin. "Bear me a male heir," The voice said softly. "And you will be kept alive to bear a spare. Fail, and then…" his words hung menacingly in the air after he left.
Shocked at his abrupt departure, Harry realized that the voice did not know that her rib had broken. He placed his one hand on the bone and let his power flow into it. "Heal." He whispered, not knowing any charm to heal bones. His mother gave a gasp as her bone slid inside in perfect place and clicked into position. Then he placed his hand on the edge of the gaping tear in the womb and the skin. Just enough that his mother could see the tips of his fingers, and he silently healed all her hurts. He joined her skin and sucked up all her pain; the pain from the slap, the slavery and the constant abuse. He took all her humiliation, all her despair, and gave her joy and contentment as he made her a physical manifestation of a Patronus, something he had theorized was possible, but had never done before. But she had endured so much for him; he decided he might as well take some of the burden, if only for a short while. Then he absorbed the pain.
It took all of Harry's considerable will power and equally considerable magic to not scream aloud at the pain that had entered him at that point. Over a lifetime of a hundred and eleven years he had been held under the Cruciatus more times than any other single person and had built up a resistance to it similar to that of the Imperius. The pain that came to him now however, was the physical, mental and emotional pain of too many years of rape, slavery and humiliation combined. More important than that to Harry, however, was that he had also got her memories; all the humiliating and bad memories of her life. He saw how she was the youngest of four sisters, how she had been captured at the age of seven and used as a fuck toy, and how she could escape but didn't want to because of her child. And with each passing memory Harry's rage grew, until only his mother's steady, calm breathing kept him in control. He also learnt that his father wanted to name him Salazar.
Four months passed by quickly, and though his sorry excuse for a father restrained himself on account of the baby, Harry still used Legilimency to soothe his mother's spirit every time she was insulted or hit by him. He realized the day of his birth had come when the muscle walls began to contract and his mother began to whimper and shriek. Not wanting to cause his mother any further pain, he hastily used a charm he had learnt during his travels - engorgio revelion – literally, engorge without showing. It increased the size of an object from the inside. That done, he quickly slid out into the open air, and was immediately picked up. He looked up and saw his father for the first time and took an immediate dislike to him. He was not particularly ugly, but there was a measure of meanness in his eyes that Harry didn't like. His mother, on the other hand… she was beautiful. Sure, he had seen her in her own memories, but she had appeared at her worst at those points. Another thing that surprised Harry was her age. She looked like she could be at oldest, ten. That should have made sense, considering that she was captured very young, but it still shocked him. At that moment, she looked probably the happiest she had been since the age of seven. She was sweaty, pale, tired and her ribs were clearly outlined through the flimsy rags; in a way she reminded Harry of himself when he was with the Dursley's. And she looked radiant.
It was at that moment that he realized that he had no idea what to do. He had a general plan, sure, but he hadn't really worked on the finer details. After a deliberation of about a millisecond, he decided to come in with a bang. After all, go big or go home, right?
He placed a small hand on his mother's forehead and sent out the magical equivalent of a calming draught and healing potion. He might have overpowered the spells a bit, because next thing he knew, not only were her injuries healed, her hair was glossier, her ribs filled out about a centimeter and she grew an inch in height. Then she promptly fell asleep, but not the nightmare filled sleep she usually had. It was likely the best sleep she had had in her life.
Harry tried to swear as his father promptly dropped him in surprise, only to find an annoying limitation of having no teeth. He cast a cushioning charm on the floor, knowing that even if he hit it from four feet, it would be an ignoble end to the first rebirth of Harry Potter. He pushed the man's slack hand aside and walked forward on his own, before realizing that he shouldn't know how to walk.
Then the man - that was what he had decided to call him – laughed heartily. "Proud and powerful, as befits a son of mine! You are the stag of the family – you are Orein Slytherin, heir to the houses of Slytherin and Peverell!"