–Chapter Two Begin–

Albus didn't know what to do. For several long minutes, he could do nothing but stare at the piles of dust on his desk and bemoan the cause of their destruction. Surely, it couldn't be. Surely, there was some other explanation. But as much as he wished, he could not deny the truth.

Harry Potter... was dead.

Albus buried his head in his hands, and silently despaired.

Later, when the despair was no longer as crushing, Albus left to investigate. What followed was lots of yelling and shocking revelations. To Albus, Love was the most powerful thing in the world, be it good or bad. Family was sacred, and supposed to be treasured.

The Dursleys, unfortunately, disagreed.

"You know we never wanted him," Petunia hissed at him. "I hated my freak of a sister, and I don't care if the boy is dead. Good riddance, I say! Now get out! Get out!"

Albus left, shaken by her words and the knowledge in her mind. All the things she'd done to Harry, a mere child... Acts that Albus was partially responsible for. He had placed the boy here, he was the one who ignored Minerva's warning, he was the most at fault.

Albus was thankful it was still summer, because not even Fawkes song could shake his melancholy.

His gaze drifted to his pensive and Albus wondered what would happen now. Unwilling as he was to believe it, Harry Potter was dead. But there was still another who could fill the role the prophecy outlined. As unlikely as it seemed, it must be true – Neville Longbottom was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Albus briefly informed Minerva that he would be going away again, and Apparated to the gates of Longbottom Manor. He spent a moment critically inspecting the wards humming around him, and grudgingly admitted that they were some of the best he'd ever seen. Goblin wards, no doubt.

Keyed to keep him out, as well. Albus sighed, and tapped a short sequence on the gate with his wand. An elf popped into appearance inside of the wards, stared at him with wide eyes, and disappeared again. About twenty minutes later, Augusta Longbottom marched down the walk, a dark look in her eyes. Albus smiled cheerfully at her.

"Good afternoon, Madam," he greeted.

Augusta narrowed her eyes and return the greeting curtly, before asking, "Why are you here?"

"Something has happened, I'm afraid," he said gravely. "Harry Potter has..." his throat constricted around the words he needed to say, and he settled on an easier to say white lie, "gone missing."

Her eyes narrowed further. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"The prophecy referred to two boys. With Harry gone, the subject has to be–"

"Neville?" Augusta sneered. She scoffed. "Impossible. If Harry Potter is missing, or dead, the prophecy is complete. I have never put any merit to that prophecy of yours in any case, and this only highlights its uselessness."

Albus hid a grimace with a bow of his head. "Even so," he appealed, "I must ask that you allow me to add to your wards."

"Absolutely not!" Augusta Longbottom immediately snarled. Albus sighed, and tried to give her a soothing smile.

"I must insist, madam. Surely you know the importance–"

"My wards are perfectly fine, I do not require any help from you to improve them. Besides that, Neville is in no danger whatsoever from your blasted prophecy. The boy is most likely a Squib, he is no use to you."

Augusta sniffed at him and quickly marched back to her home.

And Albus was left, once more, with nothing.

The Department of Mysteries was his next stop, and they let him into the Hall of Prophecy easily. He had an Unspeakable following him, of course, but Albus expected nothing less. Ignoring his guide, or guard, as best he could, he made his way to row 97 with careful steps.

The specific orb he was looking for was right where he remembered it being, the last time he was here. He couldn't touch it, since he wasn't a subject, but he could read the slip of paper underneath it well enough.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord

and (?)

Beside the question mark was the name Harry Potter written in a different hand. Albus reached to touch the tag but stop just short of contact. "Who edited this?" he asked the Unspeakable beside him. His guide tilted their head slightly.

"One of us did," she said, her voice quiet and airy. "The Dark Lord targeted that child over Neville Longbottom, and so he was chosen as the subject."

Albus nodded and dropped his hand. He noticed that the orb still glowed as it had the first time he saw it. "Is it still in progress?"

The Unspeakable tilted her head the other way. "Yes. On 13 August, the light turned black for a brief moment. However, it has since returned to white, thus is still active."

Albus released a relief breath. So Harry was still alive? That fact alone lifted the weight on his heart, but it didn't explain why his monitors had crumbled, nor why the wards had fallen, nor why the orb had changed color. Even so, he thanked his guide and left the Hall with the same measured steps as before.

This trip had answered one question at least. But it had also given him a whole new host of problems. Problems he still had no idea how to solve.

The realm Death, Fate and Time shared was strange. Since the beings were not alive by human standards, they didn't need to eat, didn't need to sleep, didn't need the breathe. Their realm, every Aspect's realm, reflected this. They could manipulate its appearance, could mold the swirling colors of the time and space to fit their needs as required, but it would never be more than a pocket realm. Never before had any Aspect tried to make something as elaborate as what they had planned.

Because Harry Potter was human, even if they were not, and they would have to accommodate that. Lady Fate designed the building the boy would be calling home, and when Death left to collect him, she and Mistress Time made that design a reality. They twisted the matter that make up their life, and added in the essentials the boy would more certainly need – namely oxygen.

The house wasn't anything near normal, even by Wizarding definition. The building and the grounds, stretching to edge of their allotted space, were still in essence nothing more than the energy around them, solidified into shapes desired. The rooms in the house appeared as they were needed, and only the few necessities remained fixed. Harry's room, the sitting room, and the kitchens were those fixed features, with blank doors making up anything else.

It had been built around the viewing room from those considerably few years ago, now shifted to resemble a regular den.

The women of the trio were rather proud of what they had managed. They could only hope Harry would like it as well.

Harry opened his eyes to find his surroundings had changed. Gone was the garden of Number Four, replaced with the inside of the nicest house Harry had ever been in. Tod stood beside him, hand still holding his, and he was eyeing the foyer in amusement. Everything was white, and very clean, and this room held very little. Harry saw a pale blue rug, and a small table beside him, but that was it. There was a door directly in front of them, and a quick glance showed a double door behind him.

Tod made a tiny noise of amusement, and started towards the single door. Harry had little choice but to follow, though, he couldn't deny that he was curious to see the rest of house. He clutched his blanket closer to his chest, soaking in its comfort to overcome his nerves.

The door led into a sitting room bigger than the one in the Dursley's house, but filled with much of the same things. There was another pale blue rug under a rectangular coffee table, set between a white couch and two white armchairs. A large fireplace faced it all.

Harry was beginning to suspect a color scheme.

There were no windows, but the walls held countless picture frames. All of them were different scenes, cities or wilderness, but what really caught his attention was that they were moving. Harry was sure he was gaping, and not even Tod laughing at him made him stop.

An additional female laugh did cause him to turn. Opposite the fireplace was another doorway, with a woman lounging against the edge of the opening. She was dressed in a long flowing gown, the fabric shimmering with every color possible, scenes appearing and fading as she moved. Harry watched, entranced, as she pushed away from the wall and approached him. Her hair was a shade Harry had never seen before, a pale blond that seemed like the perfect combination of sunshine and moonlight, and fell over her shoulders like a silken waterfall.

She smiled at him with obvious amusement, and Harry blushed, ducking behind Tod's leg. Thankfully for him, she turned her gaze to his human shield. "We were starting to worry," she said, her voice quiet yet loud enough for them to hear clearly. "What took so long, Death?"

Harry felt something in him freeze. Death?

Tod let out a long suffering sigh. "My Lady," he groaned, "was that really necessary? He didn't know about that."

The woman frowned at him, but looked amused. "Then what name did you use? That is, if you gave him your name at all," she added wryly.

"I told him a name," the man mumbled, squeezing the hand in his grip lightly, trying to reassure Harry. He wasn't sure how successful it was. "I told him my name was Tod."

"Tod," the Lady replied dryly. "How original."

"Oh, be quiet," he shot back.

"What?" Harry finally voiced, eyes wide and flickering between the two of them. The woman smiled and crouched down in front of him.

"Harry Potter," she murmured, reaching to lightly brush his hair away from the mark on his forehead. Harry fidgeted under her gaze, shuffling a bit closer to Death. The woman leaned away with a quiet laugh. "No need to worry; you will be incredibly safe with us." She spared an amused glance at Death and, when Harry glanced up, he saw that the man had a sheepish expression on his face.

Harry looked back at the woman as she stood, then sketched a small curtsy. "I am known as Lady Fate," she announced, giving him a soft smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Harry replied reflexively in a quiet tone. He relaxed seeing her nod in response, then glanced at his rescuer.

"You can continue calling me Tod, if you like," the man began with a shrug. "My other title, as my Lady has already said, is Death."

Harry swallowed heavily. "Like... the Grim Reaper?" When Tod shrugged and then nodded, Harry shrunk a little. "Does that mean I died?" he whispered, not sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he didn't want to die. He was too young, hadn't lived properly by any means. But on the other... he could see his parents again if he was dead. He so desperately wanted to see his parents again.

"Oh Harry," Fate breathed, then swept forward to grab him in a hug, for all that he couldn't hug back. He settled for resting his head on her shoulder, and hoped she didn't mind.

Death shook his head with an odd look. "You haven't," he reassured. "To anyone monitoring you, it looked like you did, but you're still alive. You're just... here, now."

"Okay," Harry mumbled into Lady Fate's shoulder. That was okay, even if it meant that he couldn't see his parents. But, Tod was Death, so surely...? Maybe he could see them. If he was good.

When Lady Fate pulled away, Harry risked a glance at Death and saw him tilt his head. Then, a slow smile appeared on his face and Harry felt something like hope grow in him.

"How about I show you to your room," Tod said, tugging their still conjoined hands. Harry perked up again, stepping closer to the man with a bounce.

"I get a room?" he wondered, something like awe in his voice. Death glared into the distance, then forcibly cleared his expression and nodded.

"Yeah, kid. You do," he said. "Last night, all three of us made something up for you."

"Three of you?" Harry echoed with a frown. He glanced at Lady Fate, then back to Death and jumped. Standing at Death's shoulder was another woman, younger in appearance than Fate, but with that same ageless quality each of the beings had.

"He means me," she said cheerfully, looking at Harry with sparkling eyes. Her sleek black hair was pulled up in an elegant twirl, a pair of lacquered hair sticks holding it together. Her features were Asian, or what Harry thought was Asian, since he'd never actually seen anyone from outside of Britain.

Death glanced at her and sighed heavily.

"Still?" he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. The new woman huffed at him.

"The Japanese are fascinating," she said sharply, "and they age so well! Of course I'm going to emulate them!"

Death just sighed again while Lady Fate laughed quietly. Harry looked between them all, immensely confused. The new woman took pity on him, kneeling before him like Fate had.

"Sorry for not introducing myself," she said. "My name is Mistress Time. Or Tokemi, if you prefer."

Harry's mouth moved faster than his brain and he blurted, "But what about Father Time?" Then he flushed, "I mean, um, I just thought–"

Tokemi laughed, ruffling his hair.

"Many do," she told him. "That's my predecessor. He still keeps track of time, but he focuses on the distance and forgotten past. I took over a couple centuries ago, for the recent past and the present."

Lady Fate sent her a somewhat icy smile. "The present and near future often overlap, but I handle predictions."

Mistress Time waved a hand at her. "We all know that, my Lady. I don't know why you insist on mentioning it all the time." She smirked slightly, "Maybe you feel... insecure?"

Harry watched as Fate's smile grew even colder, and leaned further into Tod's side. Death sighed and steered Harry away from them, entering a different room. "Ignore them," he advised, "they're always trying to provoke the other." His voice was weary and resigned and Harry giggled. Death smiled at him. "Come on, let me show you your room."

Harry wondered if the reality of having his own room would ever really set in. This all seemed like some grand dream and, if it was, Harry never wanted to wake up.

The room they passed through held a large table and everything needed for a good kitchen. Harry's eyes lingered on the appliances, and wondered if he would have to cook here too. But, then again, he didn't think Death and Time and Fate would have to eat, so maybe he didn't? Or maybe he would just have to cook for himself – and then, Harry thought with a strange smile, he would get to eat the food he made. Wasn't that a marvel idea?

Death glanced down at him, then followed his gaze. "Mistress Time likes cooking," he said in a tone bordering on bewilderment. "She likes seeing how the recipes change as humanity evolves, so you'll probably get to taste plenty of new and strange things."

"I won't have to cook?" Harry wondered. He was oddly disappointed, but tried to hide that. He'd never like the fact that he got nothing but leftovers and scraps, but he liked the act of cooking. He liked working in the garden, too, even if it was mostly because he was after from his relatives.

Death gave him an odd look that Harry missed. He gently tugged the boy's hand, leading them into a short hallway. "You can if you wish," he allowed. Harry hid a tiny smile.

The hallway was undecorated, white like every other room. There were no windows, but light was coming from somewhere. Harry found no bulbs, something he only then realized he'd never seen in either room. Then he looked up and gasped.

The whole ceiling was clear, made of glass that hid nothing of the sky, which was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Colors swirled together, pastel shades of blue and green and white – hints of every other color imaginable lingering in the edges and the seams between patches of color. Harry had to look away after an awed moment, his head aching from the sight. Death chuckled beside him.

Harry resolutely ignored him, and looked around the hall instead. There were several doors, most faded so much that Harry barely noticed them, but three were solid – the one they had just come through from the kitchen, another that led to the sitting room, and a closed one that Death headed towards. A series of strange symbols were carved into the wood, and they glinted in the strange light. Harry had no idea what language it might be, but could guess it said something along the lines of "Harry's Room".

Harry vowed to study up on that language, if he could. Maybe they had a library here? (Out of sight, one the doors solidified, given form from his unconscious desire.)

The door opened with a light touch from Death, who quietly explained it would do the same for Harry. He directed Harry to enter first, and followed as the boy cautiously edged his way inside.

His steps took him to the center of the room, and he stared with wide eyes and bated breath. The room was bigger than he'd ever hoped, nearly as large as Dudley's room, and he wasn't surprised that it was colored the same as every other room. The walls and furniture was all white, though the floor was covered with a light blue rug, and the bed had blankets that matched. The ceiling was solid, with tiny floating orbs providing him light, as well as a large window covered by thin white curtains. There was a window seat there, too, with cushions and pillows and a blanket folded on one end.

All in all, Harry was in awe. "This is mine?" he asked in a tiny voice. He bit his lip and turned wide eyes to his rescuer. Death smiled back.

"It is," he confirmed. "And if you truly wish, this can be your home."

Harry hugged his blanket closer to him, burrowing his nose in it as he thought. Then, with a resolute nod, he laid it carefully on the chest at the end of his bed. "Home," he whispered, smiling down at it. The concept filled his chest with warmth, and Harry wished that feeling could stay with him forever.

The next morning, Harry woke disorientated. For a long, immeasurable time, he just lay in the warmth of his sheets, marveling at that. This definitely wasn't his cupboard, and in his sleep-fogged mind, he was sure this was just a dream. A very, very nice dream, but just another fantasy to be crushed when he woke.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. Nothing had changed.

Oddly colored sunlight streamed through his window, painting pale shades of blue and green and pink across his floor and bed. His glasses were on the bedside table to his right, and he slipped them on. There was a chest at the end of the bed, and a wardrobe and bookshelf bordering a closed door directly across from him. The floor was covered in the same pale blue rug that appeared everywhere else, and the blankets matched it.

Harry stared at it all for several minutes. It was both unreal and nothing but real at the same time, and if he was entirely honest, it was overwhelming. Overwhelming and definitely not a dream.

Harry laid back with a small smile, his eyesight blurring as tears welled up. They were happy tears, though, something that he hadn't thought possible before Tod – Death – had taken him in.

It was two weeks late, but Harry thought this was the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.

A/N: Tokemi is Japanese for "Time embodied" so I figured I go with that.

The (much awaited?) second chapter! And it only took me thirteen months to write! Sorry. I do have plans for further chapters, but this won't be updated very often. Don't be surprised if it takes me another year to update this. Also, how do you write young children? I think I failed.