Ramblings of a Cynical Brat
Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. Goddamn.
Summary: Harry Potter dies, aged 203. Quite willingly so, too. But then he meets Death, who makes him do it all over again - not that he wants to. Second chance story with a twist. Humor, loads of non-graphic slash, sarcastic!powerful!Harry.
AN: First multi-chapter story, don't blame me if it's a bit shit. Wait, do blame me. I wrote it.
Chapter One – A is for Affections and Assumptions
There I was, lying on my lovely squishy death bead, about to fall into blissful oblivion for the last time. Severus (he had dropped 'Albus' at the age of twenty, when we discovered exactly what Albus had been) and his husband Scorpius had their arms wrapped around their two adopted children Lucan and Nerissa, who were both about forty and still unmarried.
Lily Luna and her husband Felix were wiping tears out of Daniel and Fred's eyes – the twins were only seven - while their son Harold and his boyfriend Fabian were smiling sadly on the other side of the bed.
James and his fourth wife Lilac were at the head of my bed with James' daughter Eileen and her husband Cormac, and their son Romulus. My great-great-grandson. Wow.
Hermione – as old as me, but still kicking - was gripping Rose's hand while Hugo and his wife Maria were clutching each other tightly. The recent discovery of Ronald's betrayal had left Hermione and the children, even Maria, very emotional.
Anyway, the large group of, what, nineteen, were all crowded round little old me, crying or smiling or not saying anything at all really. Rather boring. But hey, I was dying. What do you expect?
"Harry…" Hermione whispered, grabbing my hand. Well, I couldn't really see that she took my hand, but I felt it. Blackness surrounding my vision, you know. I couldn't help but notice that the ceiling needed repainting. Bloody brilliant.
"Someone paint… the fucking… ceiling…" I said slowly. Hermione let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh and nodded, smiling through tears.
"Before you die, would… would you like to say anything?" Severus said, hiccupping lightly.
"I could try, I guess… but I'm not pa- particularly witty… and if I try to… to say anything…" I paused for a breath. "… anything sentimental, I'll fuck it- it up… So, no, no- not really." The blackness was getting thicker now, and I thought with a mental grin how peaceful it would be to sleep for forever. People never really see the goodness in death – it's an end to the brief fling that is life, an endless break after the tiring whirlwind of non-stop action and movement. I was welcoming it with open arms, no matter the people I would leave behind.
"Oh, I… I got something. James – James, settle down. You're too much like… like my dogfather… except straight-er…" James chuckled and nodded.
"Harold, Fabian… Lily Luna… Felix… look after the twins, love them, raise them well… raise them like I was… never raised."
"Hermione… find a guy, get re-married, but make sure he isn't… another Weasley…" Tears dripped down her face as she nodded shakily.
"Sev… Scorpius… Luke and 'Rissa… I love you, all of you… You're the family I… I wish I had when I was… was a child. Keep… keep this family. Love eachother… all of you… Fuck, I am so shit at this affectionate crap!" I blew out in a breath. The next one came, haggard and shallow. Dying of old age is slow, and tiring, and boring. The twenty or so people let out a shaky laugh.
The blackness was nearly encompassing my vision. I needed to say my last, proper farewells in this world.
"My family… I must leave now… Onto the next great adventure." I chuckled weakly, mind wandering briefly onto thoughts of senile, manipulative bastards.
"Live. Live well, live fast, live happily. Do not let trivial things, like hate, fear, or anger, govern your life. Live as you would want to live, not as others dictate you should. But, most of all, do not forget one, small thing. Do not forget…" I sighed and closed my eyes, the smallest of smiles gracing my features. I took my final, weak breath and spoke my final words. Faint, ever so faint, I whispered,
"Do not forget to love."
And I was gone.
I awoke seconds, maybe centuries later, to see a pretty pervy-looking guy with mousey brown hair, brown eyes and a boring, easily forgotten face hanging above me. Huh.
"So, are you Jesus or something? You don't look like a Buddha. Merlin? Erm, God? Which one?" I asked him.
I'd assumed the person I met on the 'other side' would look like one of the deities depicted back down (or up?) on earth, but, then again, I assumed Ginevra was as good a person as any other before she did a Merope Gaunt and stopped dosing me with Amortentia. Bitch. Anyway, I was dead, so I didn't have to worry about that shit, just endless relaxation…
"If you'll stop your reminiscing, I'll answer you." The guy, still nameless, said, amusement coloring his voice.
"Alrighty then, go ahead." I nodded to him.
"I'm Death, basically." He replied nonchalantly, shrugging.
"Oh. Great." Not particularly surprising. "Well, can I go to heaven now?"
"Nope."
"What? I'm dead, I need to go to heaven. Oh – hell, maybe? Don't remember doing much wrong, but hey."
"So accepting of death, Mister Potter?"
"What can I say? Two hundred and three years old, most interesting thing that's ever happened to me was when I was eighteen. Killed a Dark Lord, but you'd know that, wouldn't you? You being Death and all." Death – who really didn't look like someone called Death – chuckled. Yes, Death, Mr Grim Reaper, Wielder of that Swordy Thing, chuckled. My life's fucked up.
"Ah, yes, little old Tommy. Poor guy." I choked on – air? Erm, I wasn't sure if I was breathing or not. Well, I choked.
"Poor – poor? Lord Bloody Voldemort, poor?"
"Yeah. Not his fault he was born with MMPD."
"MMPD?"
"Magical Multiple Personality Disorder. He had a disorder, in which he had two personalities – Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort. Problem is, every time Tom Riddle tried to tell someone about the disorder, rawr, out came Voldemort. When you killed him he came to me – being an owner, well, wielder, of a Hallow, as Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort, Riddle. We talked for ages, ages and ages, and you know what? He cried, Potter. He cried. Cried for all the lost souls, all the tortured men, all the orphaned children. Harry Potter, you have to help him."
"Help- what? I'm dead, he's dead, it doesn't matter now. We can sit back, relax and have a Mojito in heaven. Right?" Death rolled his eyes. An odd sight, considering he was Death.
"How many Hallows have you owned?" He said slowly, as if talking to a child.
"Well, all of them, at one point."
"Which makes you…"
"Which makes me..."
"Master of Death, you twat. Harry Potter, Master of Death."
"And?"
"Well, as Master of Death, you win a big prize!" I wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic.
"I win..." I was resorted to answering wearily.
"You win… one free pass! Woo!" He clapped.
"A free pass to…"
"Life. You can start again. Second chance." I was not too excited about the idea. Unsurprisingly.
"Can't I… not? I'm happy being dead. I can hang out with mum, dad, Padfoot, Moony, the twins, hell, Draco, Severus and even Tom if I want!"
"You could 'hang out' with all of those, bar your parents, by doing it again." Death pointed out reasonably.
"Ah, Death's a bitch." I said, flashing him a cocky grin. It didn't work. I was two hundred years old, what did I expect? "But, still no. I just want to retire. Lie down, do fuck all for the rest of forever. Come on, please?"
"It's compulsory."
"I'm the Master of Death. Surely it's not compulsory." I said evenly. I'd lived too long to have anger issues. Any more.
"Well, there's one loophole, but I'm entirely too self-sacrificing to tell you it."
"Tell me."
"Well, alright. You can either do it all again or replace me." He said simply. See? Bloody knew there was a fucking catch.
"Replace you? So, like, become Death? How does that work?"
"Yeah. I go on to heaven, and you become me. Wouldn't advise it. Damn good lot of paperwork. If you're enough of a fanboy you can stop when a famous person dies and meet them, but other than that it's just paperwork and forms. This is the most interesting thing that's happened to me in about half a millennia."
"Oh. No. I don't want that. I don't want the other thing but I definitely don't want that. Yep, I'll do it again. Maybe I can fix everything. Made my decision, beam me down, Scotty." Death sighed.
"I know. My wife and kids live in this place, aptly named 'Mortem Mansion'. So it's not all bad. Oh, and I get to visit heaven whenever I like." I glared at him.
"Bastard! I already made my decision!"
"Yes, yes you did. Well, see ya!" Death flashed me the cockiest grin I have ever seen a supernatural being… well, flash would be the appropriate term, I guess. But I'm rambling. Do dead people ramble? I guess they do.
Anyway, Death waved lazily at me and, like when I died for the second or third time (the most recent one, I die too much) blackness encompassed my vision and I felt like I was falling backwards.
Damn! Forgot to ask the bastard what time I'd get back. He did that on purpose. Go figure I'd be presented with a pillock who just likes to fuck with my mind. Would he give me any super powers or something? Would someone odd like Luna remember my past life? Death really wasn't very informative.
All I remember thinking after that was that the situation was terribly clichéd.
AN: So? Is it worth continuing? I need reviews otherwise I'll drop it.