HP/ Sandman/ RWBY Crossover
You Get a Lifetime
Rating: M
This story is a Harry Potter / Sandman crossover (Ch 1-3) and HP / RWBY crossover (Ch 4-9). Harry Potter's universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman. RWBY belongs to Monty Oum. There are several other shout-outs and most are listed after the epilogue.
Content rating is between T and M.
Feel free to use my ideas, but do drop me a message so I can read your story too. Comments on errors are welcome.
Harry leaves Britain to work for Death, before retiring to Remnant where he meets and lives with Blake.
Chapter 1: Not in Kansas
Harry James Potter-Black, Boy-Who-Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, billionaire, avid broom flier, husband, father, Head Auror, and holder of a dozen more titles, paced in his study and reflected.
Our protagonist had inherited the titles and Galleons from two Very Old Families, and donated substantial sums towards charitable causes. On occasion, he flew around his estate with skill that made Quidditch head-hunters salivate. He was married to a beautiful redheaded witch who did England proud in international Quidditch games and charmed magazines with her impeccable taste in clothes. Two children with his trademark unruly hair were the de facto leaders of the schoolyard, and showed signs of being powerfully magical. Soon after graduation, Harry was accepted into the Auror Academy. His training camp, career and subsequent meteoric rise to become Head Auror were covered in great detail by hungry journalists.
A Galleon weaved and danced between the young man's fingers.
Moments ago, Luna had popped by unannounced and launched into yet another spiel on various fantastical flora and fauna. Both of them knew it was absolute tosh but she loved to share her imaginary world, and he never tired of listening about it. Abruptly stopping mid-sentence, Luna circled her best friend widdershins, eyed every square inch of his clothes and placed a few pieces of lint on his shoulder, before giving him a gentle and wistful hug.
"To thine own self be true. I will miss you, Harry Potter," she had whispered tearfully, before vanishing with a soft 'pop'.
In contrast to the unmarred obverse, the reverse had vicious, deliberate gouges which would have driven a Gringotts goblin purple with rage. Ignoring the felony of defacing Wizarding currency, Harry pondered the blonde's parting words, and flipped the coin. Narrowing his eyes at the marked surface which now faced up, he reflected once more, truthfully.
Harry Potter lived an empty, almost robotic life. He donated money to the rash of charities which had cropped up after his first philanthropic attempt, because he had few needs or wants to spend it on. He drifted randomly on his broom as an excuse to be away from family and the public. His wife was shameless and he had heard rumours of foreign Quidditch stars confirming that her carpets matched her drapes. Despite his efforts to discipline his children, they were pampered by the public and paparazzi that stalked them, and they bullied other children using their fists and bouts of not-quite-accidental magic.
Auror work had been enjoyable. During boot camp, the drill sergeants had treated him no differently from the other recruits. His amused superiors had turned a blind eye when he interacted with the public under a glamour spell, because he still got the job done, without getting the office inundated with post owls bringing a hundred congratulatory notes per incident. Yet despite his protests, his excellent track record and an adoring public only conspired to speed up his promotion through the ranks. He became Head Auror, was hounded even more by ravenous reporters, was not allowed to hide under glamour spells during press conferences, and had close to no interaction with the lay people who needed help.
That's enough, he told himself sharply. My life isn't perfect, but brooding will solve nothing.
His gaze fell on a nondescript drawer, where he knew the Resurrection Ring and Elder Wand sat on a neatly folded Invisibility Cloak. In the months following the Final Battle, he had noticed several odd phenomena.
Ghosts would panic and speed away the moment he entered their vicinity. Even the Hogwarts ghosts, who had been on speaking terms with him previously, refused to be near him.
Spells cast using the Elder Wand or his own wand of holly and phoenix feather would randomly take on the unmistakable Avada Kedavra green, although thankfully, the spell effects were unaffected.
The Resurrection Ring would, at times, mimic the effect of a Dementor and severely frighten the people nearby, while having no noticeable effect on Harry.
Most of the other abnormalities were subtle enough to escape public notice yet made Harry no less cross. Out of sheer frustration, and on Luna's suggestion, he had chastised the three tools of unimaginable power, given them a thorough washing and ordered them to keep their opinions to themselves until he was ready to take up his destiny. The abnormalities became less frequent.
Harry felt his heart pound as he flipped the coin once more.
Within a minute, he was striding purposefully out the door, clad in the Hallows as they were meant to be worn.
He stood before a Veil, in the Veil Room, in the Department of Mysteries, in the British Ministry of Magic.
The Elder Wand swished once, and the mortal-made Holly wand and goblin-minted Galleon ceased to exist.
He stepped into the Veil.
Harry emerged in an unfamiliar, rectangular room. It was the size, he estimated, of an average Hogwarts classroom. It had two unremarkable wooden doors, one through which Harry had entered and another on the wall diametrically opposite. On a third wall hung seven paintings and the final wall was blank. A few beanbags were haphazardly strewn over the floor, but there was otherwise no furniture.
Sinking comfortably onto a dark blue beanbag, he studied the eclectic paintings.
A reddish jewel in the shape of a heart…
A helmet which resembled a skull…
A ring with a viciously-shaped hook…
An aged-looking book several times as thick as Hogwarts a His…
"Here I am, brain the size of a planet and they tell me to babysit yet another dunderhead who managed to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death…"
Snape? Harry thought as he turned to face the grumbling voice.
Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts, terror of the dungeons was tall, black-haired, greasy, hook-nosed and resembled an overgrown bat. The being which had entered the room was short, had a spotless, spherical white head, no nose, and looked like a cross between a panda and a popsicle.
Their voices were uncannily similar and Harry prayed that in his infinitely poor luck, he had not entered Heaven - or Hell - as the plaything of a dysmorphic Severus Snape.
Several uncomfortable moments passed as Harry's green eyes stared at the being's triangular, pupil-less green eyes, and he lost the impromptu staring contest.
"Who are you? What are you?"
The being continued to stare.
"I'm Harry Potter. You must be…?"
"My name is Marvin. I am an android."
Silence ensured.
"Are you… uh… here to show me around?"
"I suppose I could show you your quarters, if you insist," was the morose reply.
A door opened with a cheerful chime, at which the android winced before walking out the door, dragging its feet all the way. Harry shook his head and followed.
"So where are we?"
The android halted in its tracks and slowly turned to face the exasperated young man, before palming his face with a half-hearted 'clunk'.
"Oh no… You are one of those toddlers who became a Master of Death knowing absolutely nothing, are you not? And here I thought the Boss sent me, hoping that the sight of someone more wretched than yourself would fix your self-pity…"
Harry felt a massive headache beginning to build.
It took several days before Harry wheedled enough information out of the thrice-damned majorly depressed hunk of metal to form a clear picture of his situation, and Marvin grudgingly declared that he was ready to meet the Boss.
Marvin had been manufactured by Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, fitted with Genuine People Personalities (GPP) technology, and was currently over five hundred and seventy six billion years old. Harry privately thought that if he had been manufactured by his godfather's namesake, with a chronically pessimistic disposition, as a nigh-immortal bowling ball with Snape's drawl, he would be very, very upset too.
Harry learnt of the Endless, personifications of reality that governed their own Realms.
Despair had been enamoured of the sulky android since their first meeting and periodically tried to coax him into her Realm of mirrors and rodents. She had once sent him a rat which, after tolerating several days of his regular diatribe, had crawled into a cavity in his right ankle and died.
Delirium, Harry decided, was Luna Lovegood raised to the power of Luna Lovegood and divided by zero. For a brief period, Delirium had dated the number Pi, but found out that he was two-timing her with a rational number. Highly displeased, she had challenged Pi to the Pocky game, won convincingly, and branded the ASCII code for her name onto Pi's numerical makeup.
Destiny, Destruction, Desire and Dream also had duties that accurately reflected their names.
Death had marked Harry Potter as her property the moment he had gathered the three Hallows, and waited patiently until he would enter her Realm to carry out his responsibilities. She was the second eldest of the Endless after Destiny and was a considerably Big Cheese in the grand scheme of things. As Marvin led Harry down the last corridor, he stated with surprising pride that Death was a Very Nice Lady and a more than adequate Boss, and that he would be rather upset if Harry made her upset.
Chapter 1 End