Disclaimer: Imitation is the best form of flattery - This story is a fanfiction based on characters and situations created and owned by J., various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., Inc.
Author's Note: I promised myself I would never rant about wanting to update, but not being able to. So. On another note, this could be constructed as slash. I'm not ready to see myself as a slasher, though. This whole soul-mate thing is not sexual. No. Just No.
Also, for some reason, the chapters don't want to grow. They're tiny. Decided to put all three together into one.
And I suck at first chapters.
Enjoy.
The Nine Deaths of Harry Potter
[...]
Mysteries of Death
.
Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, nee Evans, was a probably the most well-known and famous living human being next to pope and the president of the galaxy. Commonly, he was known by the moniker the Boy-Who-Lived, and although that title had once been telling, now it was not necessarily spot on.
Harry Potter, defeater of the greatest magical terror since Morgana le Fay, so the Wizard Press put it (but that disregarded Rasputin, Wizard Nixon, Grindelwald, and the Third Earl of China in the 20th century alone), and defender of the good, kind, and sane, was no longer a boy. However, the glory of his youth continued to persist all throughout his life, despite all other challenges life threw at the man (and despite the fact he abhorred the title, seeing as it reminded him about the event that his parents did not live through), those which have defined his character more.
During his numerous years on this side of the Jordan river, he stayed the Boy-Who-Lived.
Historians later decided the name was given due to his rather short stature (5'8'') and his very boyish grin, combined with hair that never grew out of behaving like a teenager, since one day, he - like all humans before and after him - ultimately did not live anymore. But later more about that.
He was called "Vanquisher of the Dark Lord" (though some Weasleys coined the phrase "Scavenger of the Moldy Shorts"). He was the Saviour, and the Chosen One, the Hero and "Wizard-Man". He turned into the symbol for heroism of the century, if he had not been one already.
And then, one fine day in May, he vanished without a trace from the public eye.
[...]
Of course, all the important people kept their tabs on him – most of them all uninteresting in the grand scheme of things, with the foremost exception of the Ministry of Magic in Britain (maybe because of their natural proximity); and was that not very, very unusual.
His nickname in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, in fact, reflected in an unexpected act of competency much more of his personality than all his other titles. That may have had roots in their long history of special services, or the fact that someone created them a budget solely used to unravel the mysteries of the Boy-Who-Lived (of which he had many). Hence, Harry Potter became the only object of study on a person in the history of the unspeakable department who never worked within its political or scientific sphere of influence.
Harry Potter was a many of many exceptions.
The "Panther" supposedly had an inhuman deadly grace, contradictory since Harry Potter never killed his "prey" – war-mongers, conquerors, assassins, the like who thought him an easy target with instant world-wide promotion.
He seemingly survived every encounter with death, cat-like and mysterious enough that the Unspeakables, whose job it was to be mysterious, were dumbfounded.
The panther represented among other less accurate characteristics divinity and the mastery of fate (apparently because they did not need herdsmen) – ancient Egyptian symbolism. On armours, it was mainly used to portray the good side of nature as the natural enemy of dragons (and everyone knew this little titbit with Potter and his affinity for the big, bad, dangerous beasts).
Still, the panther rumours about him were not as preposterous and inconceivable as the all-time count for near death-experience he supposedly survived: By the end of his still rather extraordinary long life it counted over two hundred forty three occasions. However, the official ministry count was, like most special things, a little evolved due to rumours, contradictory witnesses and the fact that although Harry Potter was a civilian, a lot of people would have been happier where he to spend the rest of his time "down under" (and not in Australia). We will simply leave it at the fact, that Harry Potter was an extraordinary wizard, be it talent, luck, magic, or something completely different.
But not to digress, since the life of Harry Potter was a truly eventful and extraordinary one, and not many would doubt that. Yet, those lively years are presented in various other sources, be they fact or fancy (cross-reference to the books by J. , Rita Skeeter, Audrey Swan and Phineas Morgan-Fletchley).
The really interesting circumstances are known for all intents and purposes to no one – the titular character of all the books continued to be an intensely private citizen with wards surrounding his home rivalling those around the gold reserves of Gringotts.
Harry Potter was not a panther. He did not have the nine lives of a cat – but: He had to die nine times, before the death would finally stick. (Some people would have tried to experiment with a being that could be both alive and dead at the same time – not unlike experimenting with a time-turner; other people would make silly jokes, pertaining to one French meaning of "little death"; in turn people would fear what they do not know – but since this is not relevant and had never happened, speculation is quite futile.)
[...]
The keen and astute reader may now draw parallels to another man –being– who died nine times. That person also thought himself godlike and was rather mad, so comparison falls short.
The differences between the two, of course, are from a scientific view-point pertaining only their deaths still rather severe. There are differences between the deaths of every person, and Harry Potter may have many faults (his reluctance to learn, for instance; his mistrust of adults and authority figures; his stubbornness, and many, many more), but creating the abomination of Horcruxes are not among them.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, in his persona as Lord Voldemort, never warranted his own researcher in the DOM (Department of Mysteries), due to the fact that nobody ever doubted his nine deaths were caused by some dubious and obscure dark ritual. Dark Arts could explain Horcruxes; they could not explain why they went out of fashion: Experience showed, they would not allow the holder (or victim, procurer, the maker) to extend his life-span beyond the natural, since they contained a limited amount of life force.
They were useful to the teenage Voldemort, because they were the easiest way to counter his biggest fear – obliterated by Muggles into the unknown: Tom Riddle split his soul into his diary, so that in the event of his encounter with bombs (we shall never forget the terror of the London bombings in WWII he must have experienced first hand).
Splitting his soul turned out to be very damaging to his already fragile mind, he grew obsessed with death and insane with hate, because he was – let's call it lucky – to survive the bombing of London: Trapped inside a destroyed building, hanging to life on the thread of his soul pieces, not being able to move and subjected to all the screams of burning people, his own screams, the thirst and hunger before and after... The Insanity festered and produced more soul pieces, giving way to more madness – it was a vicious circle.
[...]
For some reason, Tom Marvolo Riddle died nine times, too.
The first time was on October 31st , 1981. A killing curse rebounded, whatever the cause, and obliterated his body. He died, leaving his soul forcing it to split between six different objects, one of them the then one-year-old Harry Potter.
The second time happened approximately twelve years later in Slytherin's Secret Chamber, where he lost the soul piece resting in his journal. It was his own fault, really – leaving the diary mostly unprotected and with the Malfoys of all people.
The third death is neither his own fault, nor is Harry Potter in any way involved. The Gaunt Ring is destroyed by Albus Dumbledore whose arm will rot because of his foolishness in retrieving the cursed ring. The stone embedded into the ring happens to be the famed Resurrection Stone, a hallow of Death.
Fourth time dying was caused by the demolition of the locket by Ron Weasley in the Forest of Dean. As deaths go, this was rather unspectacular and did not turn around for all of the participants.
The fifth and sixth deaths were caused by the annihilation of Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Diary in the midst of the Siege on Hogwarts in 1998. The former with a basilisk tooth, claimed in the Chamber of Secrets by a non-parselmouth (!) and the latter with fiendfyre – friendly fire actually – in the Come-and-Go Room.
The seventh death was in-turn special. The discreation of his human horcrux in Harry Potter was caused by a combination of willing sacrifice, survival instincts of magic, shared blood bonds and very rotten luck. It was also the only death-experience in the history of man-kind for a broken soul piece. Apparently the soul was so disintegrated, it could only communicate with distressed squeaks and feelings.
Demise number 8 destroyed both the familiar of Lord Voldemort and another soul-piece. Both got stabbed by a very heroic Neville Longbottom with Gryffindor's sword while on fire (Please insert here a dramatic pause.) Stabbed. While on fire.
The last death was boring in the grand scheme of events, but sensational regarding dramaturgy. There was the big show-down, the why-you-suck speech, the frozen minions...
[...]
The deaths of Lord Voldemort are far more insignificant than those of HJ Potter, since Voldemort as a whole soul could not exist in the afterlife, while parts of him were alive – until he perished for good. Therefore, he never met the dead (He also never had the desire to meet dead people. But that was his loss.)
While you now are privy to the differences in Tom Riddle's death-experiences to yours, those of Harry Potter gain further heights.
[...]
The Boy-Who-Lived died the first time when he acquired the same nickname, incidentally the same place and time Lord Voldemort died first. It occurred in the Potter's home at Godric Hollows, caused by a green light and the ominous words of the Abracadabra – used in it's archaic form out of a phoenix wand. While modern people normally condone simple, even gentle deaths, whereas the Bone-flaying Curse, or Madame Flux's Special Potion which was designed to slowly rot your innards, were used in history not only by so called Dark Lords, but also the Governments. (Kings were not local authorities if they could not keep their scum in line and justified means have always been the most cruel.)
Do not let yourself get sidetracked however, since Harry Potter's trip to the after-life was a very bitter-sweet occasion and should in no way be overshadowed by past dark events. It is highly probable that he did not realize his destination and in all likelihood he would not have remembered it anyway.
His mother and his father cradled him a little more than they could have had, kissed him, and sang him songs; and sometimes, when life got too bad and the pressure made him sick, Harry remembered little glimpses of songs no living soul would have heard.
[...]
The second time Death came to call in and say hello, was also due to Tom Marvolo Riddle, caused by the same curse, by the Elder Wand (appropriately called the Death Stick) the most famous wand in magical history.
It did not hurt, not at all, and Harry went on the boot (in this case, the train) and went over for a ride on the Jordan. He met Albus Dumbledore, chatted for a bit which was fairly enlightening, got instructed and lectured in a very subtle way, met briefly the sixth part of Voldemort's spirit and went back.
After that experience, he dealt with the rest of Tom Riddle's tortured soul, and in consequence defeated the most insane wizard Britannia ever had the misfortune to met (except perhaps Norman the Notorious Nutter, but even he was never out for world domination) and ended the war.
[...]
One might expect that this astonishing feat for a seventeen-year-old would arouse the interest of the most secret secreting organization of Magical Britannia. That was not the case.
A part of Magical Law Enforcement kept their records about the coming and goings of the world most famous living wizard of course, but the Department of Mysteries had never been interest in the political affairs and dangers of powerful wizards. They were more interested in the strange and peculiar; not in the straight and narrow, but those occurrences on the edge of possibility, the crooked and bent.
Back then, nothing seemed foul or off about the Saviour.
Harry Potter continued his life different than most magical folk would have predicted, because they simply did not know him. In fact, he would not join the Auror Department out of mainly two reasons: It was part of the same Ministry that had been active in his teenage years; and he did not fancy chasing dark Lords for the rest of his then probably short life (mind you, he did not know about his uncanny ability to keep death at bay).
He did not join any Quidditch team, be it friendly or professional, except that of the annual Orphan Society – founded by a clever witch as soon as the Prophet ran their reportage on the similarities between Harry and his charge, the orphaned Teddy Lupin – mostly because she wanted her 15 minutes of glamour.
He did not marry his childhood sweet-heart, nor his Yule-ball date, nor Romilda Vane, the self-declared "Queen of his heart". He did not marry his best-friend Hermione, he was not caught in compromising situations with the "Golden Trio", and when Rita Skeeter tried to write about a possible not quite platonic liaison between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, the latter sued, ending with a substancial win to the Malfoy family – they now owned the biggest British newspaper. The gossip about him and the recently retired teacher of divination at Hogwarts, a centaur, ended up with a diplomatic incident that was never again brought up.
Instead, he apprenticed with Ollivander (the owner of Diagon Alley's wand shop) who thought the whole affair to be "splendid" and "terrific". That did not necessarily ease Harry's nerves, but the job was interesting and did not involve that much people.
The latter soon proved false, when dozen of people who had nothing better to do, began flocking the store. However, with the help of Ollivander, Harry began coping with the constant clutter. It helped that Harry was the one who collected the necessary materials (and toured jungles and deserts nine months out of the year) since Ollivander trusted few to bring him pristine components for fine wands (since 382 B.C.).
On one of those trips abroad, he happened to another meeting with Death. It was actually a bit embarrassing for the now experienced traveller. He was searching the desert for sand dragons and other magical creatures that thrived in this hot and dry climate.
However, because luck was looking the other way and fate decided to pick a bone with the Chosen One, Harry soon found himself in a sand cave with no food, no equipment and surrounded by very strong wards designed to keep magic out. Why the ceiling of the hole decided to take especially this day to crumble into dust, we might never know, but Harry was at the moment too occupied with the sand in his lungs to appreciate the irony.
He suffocated.
[...]
Everything was black.
Harry felt like he was floating, except there was the distinct feeling that he was also pressed against a flat surface.
It was like being in a bubble, but it was also being in a wide open space.
He had the distinct impression of having much the same experience somewhen in the past, sort of the feeling of a deja-vu.
When he realized what had happened, he could not suppress a groan.
[...]
Harry stood up, and – check, he was naked.
His surroundings had not yet cleared out from the mist that concealed everything.
"Professor Dumbledore?", he questioned, while he willed himself clothes – maybe that would speed up the events a bit. This time it did not remind him of a train station. He could not pin-point what exactly had changed, but something definitely had.
He squinted a bit, because he heard mumbling decidedly not from someone like Dumbledore – if he thought about it... "– searching up and above, but no! Idiot Potter has to stumble over it with his rotten luck – while doing something completely unrelated!" … that did sound more like his most favourite Potions Professor. Who was also dead.
Someone chuckled, and then another person, again decidedly not Dumbledore, emerged out of the nothing.
"No, I do not think he is going to show up today.", said the smooth voice of someone who knew things were going to end up his way. Harry stared into red-brown eyes. "You have to … live with my presence here." Involuntarily Harry took a step back.
He knew this person. In fact, one could almost call this person the one he knew best.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, for he did not look like Lord Voldemort, stood before him. It was difficult to estimate his age, he may have had little crow's-feet, but over-all he looked barely 30. (Maybe the nose did it. Or the hair. You would not believe what a full tuft could make a difference.)
Harry stared a little longer before he found back his countenance. Even more surprising than the apperance of his enemy was the other other person skulking around in his death. Maybe shock was cumulative? As a matter of fact, it really happened to be Professor Snape who walked around the... apparently a desert cave, full of stalactites and stalacmites, big empty halls filled with some sort of tombs. Where those amphorae?
"So I'm in hell?", Harry actually did not want to sound like an imbecilic dunderhead (seeing Professor Snape in all of his sneering, sarcastic glory brought back a lot of memories), but disconcerting events always stunted his wittiness. Funny how he seemed to fear his old Potion's Master more than a dark Lord. Although, to be fair, Snape's robes did billow more threateningly.
Snape sneered and glowered at him, but did not deem the question essential enough to answer. The glower was also mightily impressive.
Instead, the dark Lord answered. "That is incorrect.", he smirked. "Although some do say that hell is other people, this is not necessarily true. For that matter you also have to be dead, which – right now – you are not. So to say. You aren't alive either."
Harry sighed with resignation. "So it's another one of this half-dead thingies?" Unconsciously he rubbed the back of his head.
"Half-dead thingies. Right, Potter.", Snape cut into the conversation between the two enemies. "If there was only the slightest doubt you still had a bit of brain left, it is now all cleared. You simply survive on the biggest dump of luck I ever encountered. Congratulations."
Voldemort winked at Harry. Startled, Harry blinked. "Don't you worry. Snape's just prickly because you happened to die in a long lost part of the Alexandrian Library. It's the potion's department, and he simply could not wait to stick his big fat nose in things nobody has seen since forever."
Harry gaped; he could not help it, this was just so out of character for someone who tried to kill him with a vengeance and most regularly. "Are you sure this is not a dream? Might you maybe not be Voldemort?" The Bibliotheca Alexandria? How did he get there?
Lord Voldemort out-rightly laughed which did not help Harry's state of mind in the slightest. "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle.", he finally conceded. "I am Lord Voldemort. And you might see people differently if you encounter them out of their normal milieu. You have to remember that the Me you met was just a diminutive part of my soul; I may also have been mad with power and fear – the most dangerous combination there is. The last time you spoke with me, we were on different sides of a war – their leaders in fact, and a contortion of our views from each other is entirely natural."
They looked at each other in silence.
Finally Harry found it in himself to answer. "Sounds abnormally consequential." He paused, looking over to where Snape poked... something with a walking stick. The stick had not been there the last time Harry looked. "That doesn't explain why my two favourite enemies decided to meet me at the half-way." That name was at least better than limbo, or any other label.
"So you won't believe me if I tell you I just missed you?", Riddle's voice (it was inconceivable to match this sentence to the name "Voldemort") was as earnest as one could believe, but in his eyes shone mirth. He also seemed to have a problem with the desert dust.
Harry rolled his eyes, wondering how the heck he found himself with the former dark Lord having this kind of conversation, and blamed it all on Dumbledore and Ollivander. Dumbledore had always been going on about second chances, the power of love and choices; and Ollivander dubbed Nundu breath as something fascinating and terribly interesting. (On second thought: Harry could blame them for everything he ever encountered. Did there lectures sound that weird, when he was actually experiencing them?) Having lost himself shortly, while wallowing in self-pity, he gave the former dark Lord a look. It was the one Hermione used whenever he came back half-dead from some ordeal Ollivander set him up to, or if he dumped another one of the birds Hermione set him up with, and it was very, very effective. "I'd think you found out the way to cheat death from behind the scenes and need me to follow through."
"I had not thought of that.", Riddle pondered, "But it sounds... promising. In some way– I have to reflect over this little titbit. However,"- and here he continued to look his former enemy in the eyes– "The Beyond – Transcendence or the Interim – depends on the visitor. Which is, in this instance, you. It can only be influenced by certain... debts. Or bonds. Sometimes the place of death, the state of mind, but mostly familiar bonds."
Harry's eyebrow snapped up to the fringe of his still very boyish hair. "Bonds.", he repeated. That sounded omnious.
"Yep.", the Dark Lord smiled wickedly. "We are quite famous here, you know. Well, there. Down-under. Beyond. Nether world. Kingdom come." He cleared his throat. "Well. Only place were they worship the different– it brings a change in routine."
"The different.", Harry stated incredulously.
"You know, you really could put a lot more effort into this conversation. I feel like talking with a parrot."
Harry could not stop from echoing: "A parrot."
The soul of Lord Voldemort giggled.
Harry felt faint.
[...]
"So, let me get this straight." After a while of listening to Tom Riddle's soul, Harry picked up both his vocabulary and the ability to sound almost sincere when sarcastic from the gutter they had been trapped in. "People go into the 'Beyond' when they die, People who die while having kept a hallow safe when they died get 8 trial deaths and meet the people in the intermediate who have influenced them the most." He paused and scrutinized the figure now sitting in front of him, wondering who he pissed off in a former life to have Snape and Voldemort as the people who have influenced him most. "You didn't get that, because you had Horcruxes and died while being alive." Did this mean he would have eight, no, wait– seven (Did he die when he was one year old? But he hadn't had a hallow then, had he?) more times before it would finally stick? "But to top it all of, the fucking topping on the universe, cream with a cherry on top – apparently having shared a body, with your soul stuck in me, makes us to be 'soul-mates' which is why you are currently perched on the bench. Was that the gist of what you were trying to tell me?"
Soulmates? Really? Lord Voldemort!
"Yes.", acknowledged the ex-Dark Lord. Harry had the sneaking suspicion he was actually gloating. "However, the cherry on top has chocolate coating, and white crumbs sprinkled – well, you get the idea."
Harry groaned. When Riddle's face still held that tiny little smirk, he gave up on life as he knew it. "Well, go on.", he gestured. "Rub in some more salt."
"Soul-mates.", the man decidedly not born as Lord Voldemort caressed the word like a dear pet, "cannot be on different planes of existence." He paused, probably to make Harry figure it – whatever that was – out alone, but short after continued, obviously waiting for a reaction. "That means the yada-yada-yada... 'Neither can live, while the other survives'-schmuck comes into play. Although, the prophecy is of course as vague as always: While you survive here, I cannot live elsewhere and vice versa."
Harry stared at his – let's keep calling him his nemesis, and wasn't quite able to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. The stunned –on Harry's side– and smug –Riddle's– silence was only interrupted when Snape smashed one of the container amphorae on Harry's head.
"Machaon's De Cacoethibus et Luibus!", Harry could not believe his ears, that the anguished cry came from Professor Snape. He sounded a bit like someone had kicked his favourite puppy (although Harry suspected Snape did not have a favourite puppy, if one at all. "This was thought lost after the Barbarian Invasions! This is priceless! It's the most complete compedium of maladies and their healing process! They say Machaon could heal the dead!"
Harry and his Dark Lord looked at each other in sympathy: They may each have been completely flummoxed by their... connection, but at least they had the standard to not salivate over books. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
Harry then decided that this dream (?) was very weird and even if it was reality (stranger things have happened to him), he would stop now: "While this was very lovely, I am expected at my lodging in Alexandria. Therefore...", he made a gesture with his hand to symbolise getting away.
Riddle smiled. "Ah.", he sighed happily. "But, you see, you are currently suffocating."
"But I'm not dead.", countered Harry, who was suddenly very glad that his counterpart was.
"But you will be, if you go back and die again, and again, and again." The former Dark Lord could not stop grinning smugly. "But you won't be, if you just stay awhile." He paused for dramatic effect. "And listen." Again. "And do what I say. Exactl as I say."
Author's Note: (1) Machaon was a Greek healer, supposedly the son of Asclepius, god of healing. He died after the Siege of Troja, and was buried in Messania. His work (invented by yours truly) is translated to Latin and means: "Of malignant and infectious maladies" (2) I think Dumbledore "borrowed" the Invisibility Cloak after James and Lily died, because he did not want such a priceless artifact among muggles (that doesn't make my Dumbledore malicious – if you had an original of Picasso would you give it to your great-aunt who'd use the linen to clean the toilet?) (3) The keen and astute reader might have noticed that I haven't updated Heroes of Another Story. I am writing it though. This plot bunny happened to bug me. It's not top priority. (4) Anyone notice the shout-outs? ;)