Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, and anything else that is affiliated with the franchise, nor do I own anything related to Harry Potter; both series is something I grew up with though, so there's that
"If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down? Or speed up?"
The truth of it was, he didn't want to die. In reality, what person did? Death was so...final. After all, the deceased didn't return to life to tell their loved ones how beautiful and peaceful Heaven was, and criminals or truly heinous individuals didn't regal others with tales of fire and brimstone from Hell. Did either place truly exist? And if they did, where was he going?
For so long, Harry had a dim view on himself. He was scrawny, with messy hair, too pale skin and glasses that were too big on his face, making his eyes stand out all the more, wearing cast-offs of Dudley's just made him look all the more pitiful.
No, the Dursley's never abused him, not in the physical sense but the emotional abuse was harsher than any hand and cut twice as deep. At least if they beat him, the wounds would be visible to others, maybe people wouldn't just think he was an impulsive fool who rushed into things without thinking anything through, maybe the adults would understand that he talked the loudest, fought the longest and the hardest just because he wanted to be heard.
He wanted to be understood.
Accepted.
As Harry accepted Voldemort's Avada Kedavra without even a bat of an eyelash, the young boy realized that it was never going to happen. There might be peace for a time, people might get on with their lives after grieving for their loved ones, but once the wizarding world recovered from what Voldemort subjected it to and backwater policies, politics, etc. there was no guarantee that the populace wouldn't call him to duty once again.
He did not want to follow in his father's footsteps, he did not want to be an Auror. He was tired of fighting. Tired of surviving. Tired of playing the role of hero. Of being a scapegoat. Of being the martyr. Of being the villain. He was just tired.
Wasn't that the definition of suicidal? He didn't feel that way. But he'd given up. So maybe he was just a coward instead, a quitter?
The last thought he had as his viridian gaze became eternally empty was:
'Will anyone remember me as I am? As I truly am...'
When he opened his eyes next, he found that he was flat on his back and all around him was white. Not fog, not wisps of smoke, but white, blinding, stark white. Sitting up gingerly, running his hands over his torso in a cursory once-over, Harry decided to stand. He didn't seem injured, but one could never be too sure...
"Hello?" Calling out with what he thought to be a tentative voice seemed loud, reverberating in his ears over and over. His voice. But others as well. Someone – many someone(s) – answered back, all at once, by themselves, together, individually? None of it made sense.
{The living are loud. Here at the Crossroads, all should be silent, if anything need be said at all.}
Hands were lightly placed on his shoulder and the voice, husky and undoubtedly feminine, a slight purr to the words, giving the tone a seductive edge, simply was in his mind. When turned around, Harry saw not a person, exactly. An entity, perhaps? Like the surroundings, the entity was purely white but around the edges were black, making an outline.
"The Cross-" A finger was placed against his lips. Or at least, he hoped it was a finger.
{Yes, the Crossroads. In every culture, there is a place of peace for those who are good, a place for the damned, for those who are lost. Very few manage to find the place that exists in the between of between.}
Harry's brow furrowed and he didn't try to speak again when the finger was removed from his lips, instead he tried to think at the entity. Since technically the thoughts popped in his head...
[The between of between? That makes no sense. I know of Heaven and Hell, Purgatory, but.]
Cocking its head in "approval", letting him know wordlessly that the message had been received so to speak, the being responded.
{Here is a place where Death has decided to reward those who entertained it.}
The pit of his stomach felt like it'd fell out. And then his heart sped up. Could he still die, even though technically he was already dead? Because if he could, truly, it was not looking good for him. Although he didn't really want to ask, he did so, reluctantly.
[Reward, how?]
A hand was placed on his shoulder, "squeezing" in reassurance and despite the fear and uncertainty, he found himself calming at the touch.
{I suppose I should start at the beginning. Technically, some of us are not dead. We are on the verge of dying. We can choose to let go indefinitely and move on through the Gate, being reborn as another person or even take the place of someone else and live a different life as that individual. For example, someone who was once male can become female and vice versa, a human could become what others label as an 'alien' and live on a totally different planet. Truthfully, that is where our ancestors come into play, I think, the soul is reborn over and over into a new body without memories of a past life, to make the transition easier. Though there are instances when Death leaves memories behind for a reason, for amusement or something of that ilk, most likely.}
The information overload was hurting his head and he held up a hand, a tell-tale gesture to 'stop', and with a "shrug", the being let him be for a time. As he slowly processed what had been said, Harry sat on the "floor" again, barely glancing at the entity as it mimicked him. To die and reborn again didn't sound all that great, but Death didn't seem to care about choices or free will, since his soul had been recycled over and over...
It was as if a light bulb went off over his head as he got it. Slowly, he turned to look at the entity. And he got the distinct impression the thing was looking back at him.
[You're me. Everything here...technically is me.]
Cocking it's head once again, the entity gave him a "thumbs-up" and would probably be grinning if it could.
{That's correct. I am you, you are me. We are one and nothing. Nothing but a soul that has existed since the Beginning. A Beginning no one remembers except for the Creator, the Father of all Fathers. To Remember is to bring pain, thus why He did the kind thing and we forgot, like everyone in the world, and the worlds beyond that.}
Harry's lips pulled into a frown and his brow furrowed with displeasure. None of this was making sense again.
[Just tell me plainly. Is there a way I can die, and permanently stay dead?]
At that moment, the entity was very clearly upset, angry almost. Or on the verge of anger. For a second he regretted asking.
{There is no way to truly say. I am what I think is your last life. If we both were to remain here long enough without going into the Gate, it'd end for both of us in our realities.}
It was so simple, matter of fact. Yet angry in its own way, bitter. If he could taste it in the air, it'd probably be similar to biting a coin to test it's genuineness, metallic and sharp, a shock to the senses. Harry ran a weary hand down his face. To doom someone else to death just because he was tired of life wasn't the way he'd expected dying for the entire wizarding world to be.
[Tell me about yourself. Tell me about your race. I'm not saying that I'm going to retract my decision, but if I weren't...what would I have to expect?]
A half-hearted shrug was given.
{If it is not clear enough to you yet, I am female. A female Saiya-jin to be correct; my people are a naturally aggressive warrior race. Since ancient times, we've lived a violent and 'inhumane' lifestyle to one such as you, attacking planets for wealth and goods. Our behavior and skill in battle eventually caught the eye of Lord Frieza, and he more or less contracted us into his employ, little more than mercenaries, we completely purge planets of life for him in order for them to be sold.
My species as a whole is divided into "Elite-class", "Middle-class" and "Lower-class" warriors, there are mainly "Low-class" warriors, about ten mid-class warriors, and even less Elites. The royal family, King Vegeta and Prince Vegeta are Elite. Nappa is the General of the Saiya-jin Army, as was his father before him and so on, so forth. I'm mid-class, but that is to be expected, since Elite warriors do not wish to be treated by Low-class Healers, and Low-class warriors often look down on how Elites carry themselves when they don't dare challenge Frieza for our permanent freedom of his tyranny. So at best, you could say it is a flawed society and system.}
Harry had listened without interruption and concluded that it was like, or possibly worse than the wizarding world, with Voldemort 2.0 waiting in the wings and in charge already. If he hadn't been, the society would not be a democracy but a monarchy, with the seat of power changing from son to son for generations amongst the Vegeta family and Saiya-jin would be sent out to purge planets.
It was a good thing he was already sitting down.
[What about love? Families?]
The entity cocked its head. Seemed hesitant. And then dropped what might have been the biggest shock of the day there was.
{I have a son, Turles. He is my greatest accomplishment in this...my world. Although the Saiya-jin philosophy frowns upon such a sentiment, if it were acceptable, if I could see him just one more time, if I could...There are many things I would say. I would apologize, for not being there, for not saying that word to him, not once. Why must it...}
Harry's hands dug into his knees. This was just like he and his parents. He never knew them, had no recollection of them, this is how Turles would grow up and that was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone. So that's why...that's why...
[...I'll do it. Tell me...I don't know...]
To her credit, the entity did not try to persuade him otherwise with false words of discouragement. Instead, only a single hand was outstretched towards his and as if guided by an unworldly force (which wouldn't be too surprising, he mused bitterly), Harry's hand followed suit, when their palms connected, a tingling sensation swept through him, from the elbow to his wrist, spreading rapidly.
Stark whiteness was replaced with color and for the first time since he arrived, he caught a glimpse of his other self? The female version of him? Thinking of the technical name made his head hurt so he gave up on that; still, he could admit that the woman in front of him was beautiful, strange and beautiful.
Black, shoulder length hair, wild and uncontrolled as his own locks possibly, thin eyebrows, mocha brown complexion, full pink lips, and cold gray eyes, eyes that assessed him just as much in return so he felt no shame as he really took her in. She was dressed in a revealing outfit that looked quite a lot like armor of some sort, a red tattoo, or birthmark, perhaps, was right above the valley of her breasts, a black choker around her throat, matching arm guards with gold outlining, and a brown...tail swishing behind her, similar to a feline's in some way, but more like a monkey's upon closer observation. The last thing he noticed was that she had two small tattoos underneath her right eye, tribal perhaps?
Harry had no time to ponder further as a door opened directly behind her. He could see her body, and boy wasn't that like deja vu, when she was right in front of him... Unable to stop himself, still guided by that otherworldly force, he took a step forward.
And another.
This repeated until he was an inch from entering.
{Thank you...Harry.}
Closing his eyes briefly, he pushed down the rising panic as he realized that this was happening. It was really happening. But when he opened them, suddenly, he just knew what to say. What he had to say. As if he'd said it before. Another time. Another place.
[I'll make sure to say that word to Turles when I see him...Ringo.]
And then, unbeknownst to each other, the two stepped through their respective doors at exactly the same time. Once they did so, the doors sealed up as if they'd never been and that world was bathed in darkness.
And that's a wrap. I decided to do a revamped version of my original Bardock/Harry story, only with fem!Harry. Normally, I don't do that. But I did. Because, I hear a lot that Turles looks exactly like Goku and after watching him, I've gotta admit, this is true. So my insane brain jumped on the bandwagon that they are actually half brothers...and fem!Harry, or Ringo, as she will be called from now on, is his mother, so yes, Bardock and Ringo had a torrid affair before he got with Goku's mom, Gine. I won't give away everything as that'd be majorly spoilery, but I think this has the potential to shock many people...and make them happy, hopefully.
Read and review please *hugs and kisses*
Ringo: Japanese name for the fruit, apple.
The cover image, Azuki, belong to SChan on DeviantArt. In no way, shape or form, do I own said image, but I have her permission to use her for this story.
Next time on Reborn for You!:
'Where am I...? Who...is that? Why can't I speak? ...The world is blue...No...that's not right...' Eyes opened and shut weakly. Someone was watching...Observing really. But the exact gender was hard to distinguish while feeling so weak.