Harry sat in a very odd looking room. The chair seemed nice, kind of a faux leather done in cream with straight U shaped arms. Very comfy actually.
Looking around the room, he noted what appeared to be a fern or maybe some bizarre miniature palm in a basket in one corner, several other chairs, all empty, and one door. Nothing out of the ordinary in any one of thousands of waiting rooms anywhere in the world. Except for that window.
Through the window Harry saw a vast expanse of "something." It wasn't so much that he couldn't identify what the something was, like blurry glass or dirty screens, but more like the something kept changing and refused to be identified. Colors shifted, shapes altered, and perspective seemed to not matter. Even stranger, this didn't bother him and he couldn't think why.
The door opened and a tall… person, he supposed, walked in covered head to toe in white, non-descript robes that hid any features. A gloved hand waved him through the door. Standing, Harry walked over, through and into a hallway lined with many more similar doors. Gesturing to the left, the figure led him down the hall for a while. Distance was difficult to judge due to the sameness all around him. With no warning, the figure stopped at another door, opened it and gestured him in.
Thoughts about where he was and why he was there intruded briefly, but for some reason never really took hold. So Harry shrugged and walked into the next room. This one was a little different.
Stepping through the plain door, Harry found himself in a sea of reds. The carpet was a rich burgundy, the chair in front of him a kind of cherry wood with dark red leather cushioning, the walls done in a shade of unidentifiable rose. Along the right wall was a floor to ceiling bookcase with tomes all done in, you guessed it, various red leathers. Centered in the room was a desk of some kind of wood that looked like it was stained in old blood. On the other side was another chair, high backed and turned away.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter," came a deep male voice from the other side of the chair, "we have much to discuss."
Not knowing what else to do, Harry sat in the chair. He idly wondered why he wasn't more disturbed by all the theatrics. The large chair swiveled around to face him. Then Harry started to worry for the first time.
Seated in the chair before him was a large figure, not of a man, but of a classical devil figure. Manlike in most appearances, the face was angular, sharp, with a black goatee that was impossible to actually create with hair, a curling set of horns on either side of the bald head, and eyes of deep violet. The creature's skin was a deep maroon in color and (Its? His?) hands ended in short, sharp and by all appearances, manicured nails of black. In short, Mephisto right out of Hollywood.
"Mr. Potter," the man? said with a sigh, "why do you insist on bothering me with all of this paperwork? Do you know what kind of trouble you are causing me with your stupidity and blatant disregard for common sense?"
The (Harry decided on man for now, the alternative causing him a little more anxiety than he wanted to deal with at the moment) picked up a previously unnoticed file folder and opened it, shuffled through some papers, and pulled one out to read over.
"You have been in my office more times than any mortal in recent memory. The last person to give me this kind of headache was a fellow named… never mind. Just tell me why you are here this time."
"Um…" Harry started, eloquent as always. "Where is here? Who are you? How…"
The man lifted his hand to forestall any further questions.
"Yes, I momentarily forgot about the memory loss often attributed to dying."
"DYING!" squeaked Harry, sitting up very straight. "I'm dead?"
Harry's concern factor just shot up about tenfold.
"Well, yes. What did you think this was?" the man asked. "You have died, let's see, seventeen times counting this one. This first…"
"Seventeen!" Harry squeaked again.
Sighing, the man realized this was going to be one of THOSE times.
"Yes, seventeen times. If I may continue? Good. The first time was simple enough. Your death was our first real warning about something being wrong with your plane. We don't generally pay a lot of attention to the lives of mortals, free will and all that, but when you died at the age of fifteen months and there was no one to handle your case, some of the higher ups took notice."
Harry was trying to take this all in. He really was. Some trickles of memory began to form as the man mentioned his death as a baby. What was it? Something about…
"Voldemort! He killed my parents!" Harry exclaimed.
"Yes, him. According to records, one self-styled Lord Voldemort, a.k.a. Tom Riddle, killed a Lilly Potter nee Evans and James Potter on Halloween night, and then killed you. You were not supposed to die. Lilly Potter had performed a ritual of contact and protection, contracted her own death to save you. In essence, she traded her destiny for yours. When that contract was violated, several very important, well… for lack of better terms, deities, took notice and demanded answers. So things were altered and you were made to survive. A couple more deaths and you were assigned to an overseer. A few more deaths and that overseer was fed to Yug-Soloth and you were assigned to another overseer. A couple more deaths and the overseer refused to have any more to do with you, probably in fear of his continued existence, and you were assigned to me. Now you are starting to piss me off."
"Sorry," Harry said, looking dejected.
The man looked at the boy in front of him and wondered for the hundredth time why he was dealing with this. After all, he hadn't had to actually deal with any humans directly in three millennia.
"Your life was supposed to be relatively simple, until Mr. Riddle's decisions cause a bit of a ruckus. So someone made the questionable choice of turning you into some kind of chosen savior, if you went for that kind of thing. I don't usually get involved in this sort of nonsense, but I don't make the big decisions. Now, what are we going to do with you this time?"
"Um…" started Harry. His verbal skills left much to be desired the man thought.
Sighing again, the man said, "Look, let's go over the basic outline of what your life is supposed to be like according to Lachesis. According to her list here," the man pulled a different piece of paper out, "you are supposed to be tempered in trials, whatever she means by that no one ever knows, meet and fall in love with your destined mate, end the disturbance that is Tom Riddle by whatever means you decide upon, grow old having a number of children and grandchildren and then come back to my office at the ripe age of one hundred thirty-two. Instead, you have been a continuous headache with your suicidal tendencies and brash idiocy."
Pulling out yet another list, the man proceeded to read.
"First death, the one we forgave as it brought certain matters to our attention, killing curse at fifteen months. Second death, also forgiven as this was just stupid and not under your control, eaten by a stray dog when left on your relatives' doorstep. Seriously, who leaves an infant on a doorstep? Third death, you were escaping your loving cousin's attention and teleported yourself to the roof of your school… you missed. Also rated as accidental, but not forgiven this time. Fourth death, a bus. You just walked in front of it, on purpose, at the age of nine."
Harry was looking a little shaken that he had committed suicide. But then again, he was starting to remember details of his relatives and wondered if maybe the bus might have been nicer. Still, suicide at the age of nine was a bit… much.
"Fifth death, beaten to death by your uncle on the arrival of your letter the first time around. You pushed your cousin away and he fell, causing your uncle to lose it. Not pretty. Sixth death, Hagrid buys you a venomous tree frog for your pet. That one was actually forgiven since your friend and his… pets, even scare some of us. Seventh death, falling down a flight of stairs at Hogwarts when you attempted to jump to a moving set. Eighth death, the basilisk. What you were thinking at that point I have no idea. Ninth death, again the basilisk? Is this right? Oh, yes, first time bitten by it, second time crushed after killing it when it falls on you. Tsk, tsk."
Harry's memories of these incidents were coming on in full force now, along with the previous overseers, one a rather nice fellow, bit like Slughorn. The second a very nice looking lady, well, except for the tail. Kind of missed her actually, even if she did have a tendency to hit him with that whip of hers.
"Tenth death, eleventh death, and twelfth death all by dementor. Ghastly creatures. I suggest when we send you back this time, you find a way to kill them. Save us all some issues."
Harry looked up from his recollections at this. "Back?"
"Yes, back. You haven't fulfilled your contractual obligations yet. Now, where was I? Ah, thirteenth death, you fell from the stands at the World Cup finals when the vela were dancing. Hah! Good one! Fourteenth death, your friend Ron shoves you down a flight of stairs at Hogwarts in a fit of rage over the whole Tri-Wizard thing. What do you see in that boy? Fifteenth death, Umbridge overdoses you with Veritaserum. That woman is creepy."
Harry smiled at this, the devil calling Umbridge creepy.
"Sixteenth death, Lucius Malfoy, killing curse, Department of Mysteries. Might make you feel better that Lucius died rather nastily when your friends all hit him with a concoction of spells never intended to mix. Took the guys over in restructuring a while to figure out what actually happened to him. And finally, seventeenth death, again your own idiocy shines through and you challenged the Death Eaters who attacked the school while on the top of a narrow, very tall, no way out tower, just after Dumbledore was killed. I think Vernon hit you a few too many times there, Mr. Potter."
Harry paled at the memory now surfacing. Dumbledore dying, his own struggle against the spells the headmaster had put on him, breaking free, shouting, spells, Snape looking really pissed, then something hit him and knocked him right off the tower wall. He could still see the ground rushing up to meet him. Oddly, he couldn't recall being afraid. More relieved than anything. Of course, that feeling was starting to make sense now.
"So, Mr. Potter, just how shall we handle things this time?"
"Umm… could I ask some questions?"
The devil sighed again before waving what seemed to be an affirmative. At least Harry hoped it was.
"Well, um… first I guess, who are you?"
The figure seated in front of him stared for a moment. Just as Harry was starting to feel like he might soon be consigned to the deepest pits of Hell, the devil spoke.
"I guess it might make some things easier. Mankind calls me Morail. It's not my true name, so don't get any kind of funny ideas about using it to command me. I will however, answer your call if I'm not too busy and I think you really need my help. Just don't get too comfortable about it."
"Oh! No, never! Thank you, Morail," Harry stammered out, shocked. "Ok, uh… well, I guess, who's my destined, uh, mate?"
"Oh, that," Morail said casually. "Yes, I suppose everyone wants to know that. It's not like it's a secret or anything. Your mate is Severus Snape."
"WHAT?!" Harry screamed, standing straight out of the chair.
"Problem?" said Morail looking amused and confused at the same time.
"I'm… I… that is…"
"Spit it out, Mr. Potter."
"I'm not gay."