Harry's always had rather bad luck. It's not that nothing good ever happened to him—he'd consider Dudley waking up covered in burning boils after a bit too violent bout of 'rough-housing' pretty lucky—he was just . . . accident prone.

At first it was things like slipping in the shower or tripping over shoelaces and almost impaling himself on garden shears or gas leaks when he was the only one home. But every time something like that happened, Harry just brushed it off and counted his lucky stars that he remained intact. Eventually, they became more violent and much closer calls as he grew older: almost being hit by a van he didn't even see, catching himself before he fell on something sharp and pointy after tripping or slipping on air, or unexpected and violent sicknesses that only affected him that disappeared just when his relatives were—begrudgingly—on the verge of bringing him to the hospital so that they don't have a very dead nephew on their hands.

When Harry mentioned the suspicious incidents to his frequent dream companion, he shared how he was worried that some of the events were actually his relatives trying to hurt him or get rid of him. His companion had chuckled heartily at the suggestion and dismissed it with the wave of his charred bony hand. 'Nonsense!' He'd said, 'We both know that your relatives fear you far too much to try anything so . . . extreme.' He dismissed in the strangely echoing baritone that had an oddly hushed quality to it, like everything in the world would listen without him ever having to raise his voice, ancient and inhuman. And so he continued. 'What's happening is just balance, Harry.'

"I don't understand, 'balance?'" His companion had always been cryptic beyond coherency, so Harry wasn't surprised to get another vague and confusing answer.

'Last stitch effort of the universe to balance what is being willfully played with. However, it won't be enough to cut things short. There isn't much that I can say about this, explanations will come in a few years' time when you turn eleven. Just be sure to keep safe and be careful.' He ended in a serious tone that Harry used often enough when talking to adults so that he would be taken more seriously. Before Harry could attempt to break down those words and try to bleed some sort of understanding out of them, his companion was already moving on.

'I was going to wait a while longer to start preparing you . . . but it cannot wait if you are already experiencing so much accidental magic. You will need to have control over it before you start school. It will be difficult communicating with you while you are awake so far from the original date I had set, but with a bit more effort, I can guide you enough to get you where you need to be without actually crossing the veil myself. I'll need to prepare you for that world as much as possible, otherwise you will be chewed up and spit out the moment you get there.' The cloaked figure mused, more to himself than to Harry. Harry felt like he was only hearing the dialog from only one person while so many other key parts were missing.

"I don't understand—" a phrase Harry was starting to loath at that moment, "What are you on about?!" What world? Accidental what!? His dreams sure were strange!

Harry could feel the other's amusement as it seemed to echo around them and quake the black nothingness surrounding them as if they were settled in someone's lungs while they laughed heartily, rather than Harry's nightmare dream.

'Magic, Harry! You have been a wizard since your birth and there are quite a few things that have been kept from you up until this point. There is a whole secret world out there, and I will teach you the best that I can so that you do not have to rely on those who do not have your best interest in mind once you get there. I will teach you about wizarding etiquette, spells and magic before you get your wand, what to expect in the years to come, who you are and where you came from.' And he did just that.

That night, the being occupying Harry's dreams went on to explain how wizards and witches came to be and how both of his parents were magic. Unlike the other times that Harry had dreamt, time moved extremely slow here, rather than too fast. Harry sat there on a wooden stool—that was surprisingly comfortable—for what felt like hours and hours, listening to a tale that seemed more complex and amazing than any he'd ever read before.

At some point, the being had paused in his explanation of the first wizarding war and the sudden silence shocked Harry out of the awed trance he'd been put under while listening. His companion seemed to be looking at something off to the left over Harry's shoulder. Before Harry could turn to see what had caught his attention, the figure spoke.

'It is almost dawn; you will be waking soon. I will not be able to converse with you while awake for at least a few more days, but we will continue this chat when you fall asleep again tonight.' He said with a small twinge of regret in his tone for not being able to continue, but apparently not completely perturbed. Before Harry awoke, which he indeed felt himself doing soon, he had a burning question that he'd been waiting for a pause in the discussion to voice.

"Wait!" Harry held up his hand, even though the being wasn't physically moving away Harry still felt like there was a greater distance between them now that he was close to consciousness. "Tell me who you are. If you want me to listen, if you insist on visiting me so often in my dreams then it is only polite to identify yourself." Harry stated in a pleasant yet firm tone. The being let out unrestrained laughter and its shoulders shook and body rocked back with the force of it. Harry didn't feel like he was being laughed at, he just patiently waited for him to settle before giving him a pointed look that said he was still waiting for an answer.

'I'm glad I chose you, child.' He said offhandedly before straightening and returning to his composed demeanor. 'Are you sure you want to know? If I tell you, you'll be . . . frightened.' He asked, amusement still lilting in his voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. Unimpressed by the underlying implications of those words.

"You must not know me well, then. Because if you did, you'd know that there isn't much in this world that scares me anymore. I am not naïve enough to think that I'm stronger than anything that comes after me and can, therefore, not hurt me. I simply understand that there are many bad things that happen in this world and we barely have control over the good things, so why waste time pretending that we can control the bad?" Harry stared into the black abyss of shadows that seemed to thrive under the hood of the figure's cloak to the face he knew to be there but could not see.

'How cynical for someone so young.' Was all the other said, not sounding disappointed nor amused by that statement. Harry frowned slightly at his words being misunderstood.

"Not cynical. I'm not saying that there isn't good in this world or that you should give up on happiness. It's just that, fear is wasted on what we don't understand." Harry wasn't cynical, he just knew from experience that letting the fear in would only make the shadows seem darker, turn ordinary men into monsters, and keep him from opening his eyes and living his life, doing what needs to be done. Harry wasn't fearless, only an idiot would claim such a thing. Fear helps keep you sharp and safe, but too much fear can have the opposite effect. It can be debilitating.

His companion had been scrutinizing Harry's face while he had his own little debacle inside his head about the word 'cynical.' Now that Harry was focused again, he felt the tug of consciousness dragging him away from the figure once again, whether either of them wanted to be dragged away from the conversation or not. Just as Harry thought he wasn't going to get an answer, the being spoke up with an amused lit to his echoing and chilling voice.

'I am Death, Harry Potter. The Reaper of Souls and the conclusion to all that exists.' The finality of the words echoed through Harry's mind as he bolted upright on his little cot in the cupboard. His heart puttered like a hummingbird's in his chest and for once, the details of the dream stayed painfully vivid and clear in his waking mind. His head pounded achingly so, as if the dream had been carved and tattooed onto the inside of his skull.

Harry knew it was ridiculous, but every time he told himself that it was just a dream and the figure in his mind had been lying, it sounded like a lie even to his own brain.

After dreaming about the being who called himself Death, Harry had woken up ready to dismiss the ridiculous notion and write it off as the over active imagination of a child unable to act like a child in real life. What Harry hadn't counted on, though, was the familiar voice that spoke from just behind his ear.

The first time it happened, two days later, Harry had been making breakfast and startled well enough to drop the frying pan in his hand and managed to splash his legs with hot grease. The burns were painful, but not severe and he only got a thump on the head, a right ribbing, and a few days without meals from his aunt for the mess he'd made. It could have been much worse, had the pan melted or warped the linoleum of the kitchen floor, Harry would have been in for a far worse punishment. Getting more severe punishments than that was not common for Harry—not because his relatives were reluctant to punish him, Harry had just learned quickly not to screw up if at all avoidable.

The familiar voice hadn't said much, just that he'd be talking with Harry again later about his magic and how to loosen his tight grip on it so that they could start practicing. As Harry sat in his cupboard for all the days of his punishment he continued to hear the voice throughout the day. By his fourth day stuck in the cupboard instead of at school, his companion had gotten considerably clearer and could talk for much longer periods of time.

Harry had resigned himself to the fact that he'd gone mad. Only mad people hear voices in the silence, only mad people listened to the voices in the silence.

It was another week before anything else happened. By 'else' he of course meant 'crazy'. Harry had been tending to the garden when he noticed that every bright purple petunia he'd watered just yesterday had shriveled into brown and ugly husks. For a shocked and bewildered moment, Harry could help but feel like some divine metaphor had taken place right before his eyes, but he quickly snapped out of it and felt a mounting dread as he looked at the floral graveyard.

Harry panicked and turned around to grab for the spray bottle in a desperate hope to spray the flowers back to life before his aunt noticed. When Harry turned back around with the bottle, however, each and every petunia was flashing their bright and vibrant—and very much alive—heads at him.

Harry frowned and stared at the flowers suspiciously, like he could catch them in the act of playing dead if he waited long enough. Huffing out a weighted breath, Harry went back to the job at hand, though he never completely shoved the incident out of his mind.

Harry was usually able to easily push aside the weird and unusual things that tended to happen around him, but he was still a child and ever since his friend had shoved the thought into his head that he might be more than just Harry, he hadn't been able to dismiss the events as easily as before. Harry wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was rather eager to give in to the delusions. He didn't really mind if that made him batty, he didn't feel mad.

After a few weeks of 'familiarizing himself with his magical core' (as Death had explained it, though, to Harry it just felt like some weird form of meditation) Harry finally did something.

Death—Harry had been disgruntled about calling his companion by that title, but the other had insisted—had taught him his first 'spell' once he felt that Harry was ready. Harry had rolled his eyes so many times over the past week, he feared that he would strain the muscle in his eyes. As it turns out, Harry was blown away when he managed to cast alohomora on his cupboard door and heard the soft sliding of metal against metal before the door swung open.

"I can't believe it worked. . ." Harry said under his breath, still gaping at the slightly ajar door.

'Of course it worked! It is one of the simpler spells you will learn in your first year of study. I would have done an even simpler one, but I assumed that you'd appreciate this one more.' Death's smug tone became a bit more serious and Harry caught on to what was silently being said. His companion had given him a way out! And Harry did appreciate it.

It meant that Harry had a way out of the cupboard at night in order to get food if he was being punished. It meant that his relatives couldn't lock him away anymore if he needed to get out. It meant that magic is real!

That final realization had Harry's head spinning and the hope that had been stubbornly popping up all over inside him too quickly for him to weed out now had a reason to be there. It's real! It's real and that means that I can leave!I'll able to go to that wonderful school of magic and learn so much! Harry was so giddy, he felt the insane urge to pack all of his things now and wait by the mail slot for his letter even though it was still years away.

'Oh my, has the cold and stoic child finally warmed up?' Death's tone practically dripped with amusement. Harry's expression dropped into blank tolerance as he snapped at the being.

'Enough of that!' He hissed mentally, knowing his companion would hear the projection loud and clear. Harry was annoyed for a few more moments, before a thought popped into his head and he asked Death about it.

'If magic comes from your core and we can cast spells without wands, then why do I need a wand? Do they do anything special?' Harry asked, feeling more comfortable the longer he stared at the open door, the door that he opened.

'Wands work as a focus or funnel for your magic instead of just throwing as much magic as you can at a spell until it works. Not only does it take an enormous amount of energy if you're not used to wandless magic, but it's essentially near impossible for many witches and wizards because they either don't have enough power or concentration to wield wandless magic. Wandless magic is much more difficult, but in time it is certainly possible to learn how to control the flow of magic so that spells aren't overpowered and you don't exhaust your magic. It also means that you won't be defenseless without a wand.

'On top of all of that, when you turn eleven, the Trace will be put on you so that you cannot perform any underage magic outside of the magical school of witchcraft and wizardry, Hogwarts. The Trace sends a message to the Ministry of Magic anytime a person under the legal age uses magic or magic is used around them and that person will be given a warning, and then punished for any later offenses. There are loopholes, though. If you are in the presence of a magical adult, it won't distinguish who the spell came from. The Trace has to do with using a wand for any sort of spell work, so wandless magic isn't reported. The Trace is nullified while on school grounds, and the Trace isn't placed until you arrive at Hogwarts—which means that we will have a short period of time to acquaint you with using a wand before you leave.' Death explained.

'So, in all; not using or having a wand will draw too much attention to you, and using one will make all of your spell casting more precise and powerful. There is also an enormous benefit to continuing to practice wandless magic, as it keeps your magical core sharp and under control seeing as you have an abundance of magic, letting yourself be lazy and only use a wand will make your magic even harder to control and could hurt you. Also, spells cast with a wand are recorded on said wand and can therefore be seen by others if checked while wandless magic cannot, and it doesn't leave you defenseless when you're without a wand. When you get your wand, use it around others and in classes, but if you're by yourself do try to practice it with here and there.' Death concluded smartly.

One of the things Harry admired about his acquaintance was the fact that aside from a few stray allusions to some huge event to take place on his eleventh birthday, he was always extremely honest and open about the information he gave Harry. If Harry asked a question, even if he didn't want to know the truth, he always got the answer without any nitpicking or omissions.