Title? No clue
Genre? Also no clue. Some humor though, if only because of the "wth is this" aspect.
Characters: Harry P. & Death

Harry woke all at once, eyes blinking open to stare at a white expanse.

He blinked some more. He could have sworn that his ceiling was a dark blue.

Harry sat up, palms flat against the floor as he looked around. He wasn't in his bed. Hell, he wasn't even in his house anymore. He was pretty sure he wasn't anywhere.

The white expanse he thought had replaced his ceiling had replaced everything else as well. There were no walls or floors or shadows. Just... white.

"Where am I?" Harry wondered, voice quiet and also not echoing as he'd half hoped it would.

"I can answer that," another voice that wasn't his responded from behind him. Harry lurched to his feet, spinning and backing away from whoever it was who'd snuck up on him.

The tall, darkly clothed figure chuckled at him, leaning precariously against the giant scythe in his grip. His cowl covered the majority of his face, except for his jaw, which was shadowed enough that Harry couldn't tell what color his skin was, but suspected it was darker than his own. The cloak the man wore hid him completely and was rather shocking against the white backdrop.

After letting Harry observed him, the man straightened, scythe shrinking until it wasn't any more than a meter long. Then he said, with a flourish: "Congratulations, you have died!"

Harry blinked.

"I'm pretty sure those two phrases don't go together," he said dryly. The man chuckled, sounding remarkably like healthier Dementor. Harry shivered.

"Oh, they don't?" he asked. "Well, I must have missed the memo."

"Uh-huh," Harry muttered. He looked around again, but the surroundings were just as white and blank as they were three minutes ago. He looked back at his companion, raising an eyebrow.

The figure chuckled and mimed hitting his forehead. "That's right; you had a question. And I never introduced myself, did I?

"This," the man spread his arms to encompass the white void, "is Limbo. And I," a sharp toothed smile blossomed under a hint of glowing red eyes and Harry took another step back, "am Death."

Harry had expected that, really. It was still hard to correlate this being's personality with what he'd thought an embodiment of Death acted like.

He had the creepiness factor down though, Harry mused as he watched Death grin and twirl his baton-like scythe. His cloak was swirling around his ankles in a breeze that only existed next to the fabric.

"As you can guess," Death spoke up again and Harry twitched, "and as I shall reiterate, you have died. It was a good life you had, I'm sure. Lovely wife, cute kids, pleasant enough job. But that has all come to an end, and now you're here," Death sighed dramatically. His lips quirked into a mocking smile, "Here, in Limbo, because of something you don't even recall doing, isn't that right Mr Potter?"

Harry didn't respond. Death sighed again.

"You recall, in the forest when you were killed for the second time?" Death asked rhetorically. "The reason you survived was not, in fact, because the Horcrux died in your place. Don't get me wrong," he hastened to add, even though Harry hadn't tried to interrupt, "it did, but that wasn't why you woke up again. You lived because, at that moment in time, you were the Master of Death. You owned all my little trinkets, didn't you? Even if you didn't have my Wand in your possession, it was still yours.

"It still is yours," Death said, almost to himself. Harry tensed, eyes widening. Death grinned again. "Oh yes, you own my Wand as you do the Stone and the Cloak. My little trinity, my Hallows. And that makes you my Master."

Harry was frozen, hardly daring to breathe. Master of Death? Oh yeah, he could work with that. He wasn't nearly old enough to be dead, right? Only in his fifties – that was pretty young for a Wizard. He could go back, like he had when he was seventeen; just wake up like this never happened and continue. Right?

"You have a few options on how to proceed, since you died my Master," Death said, twirling his scythe from one hand to the other. Harry jerked at that and opened his mouth to suggest something but Death spoke before he could: "Unfortunately, you can't go back in time or anything like that. Time runs in a straight line and all that jazz."

Harry slumped. But he could still–

"You have three options," the being stated, lifting three fingers. "One, you can go on to whatever place you'll go after Judgement." He curled down one finger. "Two, you can stay on Earth as a ghost, free to haunt whatever you wish." Only one finger remained, and Death pointed it at Harry. "Or, three, you can be reincarnated."

A strange look crossed Harry's face, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. "Could I be reincarnated with my memories?" he wondered. Death shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, if only because you're my Master and I'd have to give you some leeway. But your first few years would be hella tedious."

Harry scrunched up his face, wondering if he'd heard right. "Hella tedious"? Maybe I'm not dead, I'm just high. Maybe George slipped me one of his new products.

"You could... lock them until I was older," Harry suggested. "Like, maybe four? Four sounds like a good year."

"I could..." Death considered it, tilting his head to the side, tapping his lips with the scythe. Harry winced. "Would you like them all at once, or over time?"

Harry considered. Over time would let him get used to them and integrate his new personality – what little a four year old would have – into his past life. But that would be confusing as all Hell.

"All at once," Harry decided. At least that way he'd know why he wanted to have all his memories, if only for selfish personal reasons. He didn't know what type of life he'd have, what kind of family he'd grow up with this time. But he never wanted to forget the Weasleys, even if he grew up happy in his next life.

Death nodded. "Alrighty then. Past life memories at age four. I can work that. Anything else you want to know before I kick you out?"

"Um." Harry blinked. "Do you know where I'll be born?"

"Anywhere on the damn planet," Death said flatly. Harry really didn't know how to respond to this. "You'll probably be in a first world country though. You'll still have black hair and green eyes – those are locked into your spiritual code. It's likely that you'll keep your scar too. Sowilo is a rune that doesn't give up its hold once its got one. And you'll always be magical, with all the little things that entails.

"You'll be cycled through quickly too, since you have a say in your reincarnation," Death continued with a shrug. "So if you wanted to go bug your kids once you're old enough, you could. Go to school with your grandkids or something. It'd be crazy."

Harry nodded, seeing the humor in that. Especially if he had his memories. It would also get old pretty quick, so maybe he'd 'coincidentally' spend only his summers in Britain.

Death clapped his hands, an action that both brought Harry's attention back to him and opened a swirling, black portal that looked way too ominous for whatever its purpose was. "Enough of this. You've got a timestream to reenter. Best be going." And just like that, Death vanished into thin air, the dark portal rapidly expanding to fill the space around him.

Thank Merlin, Harry thought. It was his last thought as himself for four more years.

(What the hell is this? Oops, I wrote something? Just a thought, that apparently is worth 12 hundred words. And, as my catchphrase seems to be: here, have a thing. I might continue it. But probably not.)