Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. 'Nuff said.
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Fortuna Fatale
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Harry Potter was dead.
Again.
He sat on the bench of the White King's Cross. He wasn't alone though, but it was hard to decide if that was a good thing or not. An old man that looked disturbingly like Dumbledore was arguing with what looked like a talking dementor.
"It isn't his time yet!"
"Is this a face that cares?"
"You don't have a face!"
… and it went on. Harry thought the whole thing would be hilarious if he hadn't just died five minutes ago.
"You're not supposed to reap his soul yet!"
"He died you twat."
"Because of you!"
"Because you can't keep track of your schedule!"
Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Why? Why him? Why the hell—"You're nothing but a greedy sack of bones!"
"Says the wrinkled old man with a clock shoved up his—"
"Okay!" he yelled. He did not need that image stuck in his head. "Can I just… move on now or something?"
The talking dementor stepped forward eagerly, but the old man grabbed him by the back of his cloak and hauled him back.
"On no you don't!" he snapped. He turned to Harry and pointed. "And you! Dying all of a sudden. You're barely out of diapers—"
"Hey!"
"—and now you go and get yourself killed," He threw up his hands. "Again!"
"I thought it was a rather entertaining way to die," The talking dementor said casually. He looked at his hand like someone examining their nails. "Very brutal."
"Yes," the old man scowled. "And it wasn't supposed to happen!"
They started arguing again and Harry's shoulders slumped. Why, why did this happen to him? Did dying really have to be this complicated?
"They can be a bit much, can't they?" A whimsical voice said in his ears. Harry turned in his seat and blinked.
"Luna?"
"Oh. That's you're friend isn't it? The ravenclaw one? I quite like her." The blonde next to him smiled. "I'm Fate by the way."
Harry didn't know what to think of the girl that looked like his friend. "Er. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
"I know. I made that prophecy about you," She patted his hand consolingly. "It was quite dreadful, but Time and Death rarely agree, you know. Especially about people dying. Tom was very persistent, splitting his soul like that. It makes knowing things difficult for them."
"Uh…"
"You really weren't supposed to die." She tilted her head and blinked owlishly. "Would you like to try again?"
The arguing cut off, and Harry got the impression he wasn't the only one gaping at the blonde.
"He died Fortuna." Death sounded annoyed. "I gave him full pardon once. Twice if you count the first time. I am not stitching his body back together for you."
Fate hummed.
"We can just give him new parents," She decided. "Then it's okay right?"
"I don't want new parents!" Harry blurted. "I liked my old ones, and my Godfather too. I don't want a new anything!"
"Oh." She looked disappointed and Harry wanted to kick himself. He hated making girls sad, but he loved his parents and his Godfather and Remus and all his friends. He didn't want to be separated from them or forget them. Being dead was one thing, getting reincarnated was another.
The thought had no sooner been in his head when the blonde suddenly perked up.
"That is a wonderful idea Harry!" Fate said happily. "Don't worry. I'll make all the arrangements."
Harry suddenly had a weird feeling.
Death looked resigned and Time was massaging his temples like he had a headache. Fate smiled brightly at them.
"Fine." Death pointed at her. "You can have him. But if he dies again he is staying dead."
"I hate rewriting things." Time grumbled.
Fate didn't seem bothered by their reluctance. She turned to Harry and brightened. "It's decided then. Lets get started."
Harry wondered if maybe he shouldn't have gotten out of bed today.
—
Nothing in the world could have prepared Harry for his new life.
Or his new mother.
The sight of Bellatrix Lestrange cooing down at him had been absolutely horrifying. Harry had never been so relieved when he got dumped with Narcissa Malfoy as his babysitter. Although he probably missed vomiting on Bellatrix a little too much.
It was surreal though, to be surrounded by relatives that didn't hate him. Narcissa made a much better aunt than Petunia Dursley, and that was why a three year old Harry sat outside the drawing room door, listening to Snape and a frantic Narcissa talk in hushed whispers.
"Lucius is loyal. The Dark Lord knows this. You have nothing to fear."
"But my family. And Draco. What of Draco?"
Harry had never liked the Malfoys in his first life. But they were his family in this one, and he recognized the fear in Narcissa's voice. The fear for her son.
Tom had to go.
Harry pursed his lips and got to his feet, walking as quietly as he could down the grand hall. Things were different this time, but maybe, just maybe, he could make them better too.
He just had to write a letter first.
—
So I started a new story that I shouldn't be working on but wrote anyway. Mostly just an exercise for my writing muscles because I've been on holiday too long. No idea how many chapters this will be except for a lot. Like... more than fifty. I've already mapped out twenty-ish of them and I swear I didn't plan for it to be that long BUT IT JUST HAPPENED! And I'm barely halfway through Harry's first year but maybe if I'm not OCD about everything this might actually get done?