Next best adventure

It was considered impossible for a person to attend one's own funeral.

But hey, as his best mate had once said, he was Harry bloody Potter.

It was considered impossible for an infant to vanquish a Dark Lord.

It was considered impossible to survive the Killing Curse. Twice.

Impossible was his middle name, Harry had resigned himself to that. (He imagined how Hermione would have snorted and said that, no Harry, trouble is your middle name and his heart clenched.)

He stood under the shade of one of the huge trees that lined the cemetery, his form visible to no one except the being on his right. The whole cemetery was visible from there and he was surprised at the number of people that had showed up. They had actually managed to keep his funeral a family affair, Harry mused. Still, it was a lot of people - Weasleys, as his blond arch-nemesis turned tentative friend liked to say.

He smiled when he spied the blond heads at a respectable distance away from the gaggle - all somber and uptight. Harry snorted, the Malfoy pompousness was certainly a sight to behold. He was thankful that they couldn't see him, he was definitely in for a tongue lashing for dying stupidly, your "saving-people-disease" was terminal Mr. Potter - as Scorpius would say.

He didn't regret dying, not really. Not when Auror Jones would have died from the curse - he had a baby on the way and was already such a proud father - there was no time to erect a shield and Harry was the closest anyway. He remembered his partner's frantic actions; the usually mild man going as far to permanently incapacitate their suspect (well, he wasn't just a suspect anymore, having used the same curse he had used on his other victims) for serial killing to get Harry to a healer quickly, how he had sobbed as he sent a message to the Ministry and how he had promised that their child would be named after him - Harry could only laugh through the pain at that time.

"You are one of the rare few who were relieved to die," Death mused, his deep timbre sending shivers down Harry's metaphorical spine. He could feel the Primordial Being looking at him but he ignored it. "You are also one of the rare few who don't think twice before ignoring me."

Was that amusement in his voice?

Who cared.

He was Harry bloody Potter.

Death was not wrong though. Though he could vehemently try to deny it, the fact remained that apart from the pain at that time, the only other emotion he had felt was relief.

He was tired. Just so, so exhausted. Of all the expectations, of all the fame, of all the responsibilities - everything. He had been fighting ever since he could remember - against his magic hating caretakers (if they even could be called that), against his destiny, against the expectations, against his peers, against Voldemort. After the war it somehow became harder - as the number of people he had to protect increased but the enemies never decreased.

The coffin containing his body was lowered and he could hear the choked gasps of Albus, his youngest and the sobs of Lily. Ginny stood strong, her eyes puffy but not crying (yet) and so did James. His best mates were not holding up too well. Hermione stared with a vacant expression and Ron looked like he had aged ten years in the last couple of days.

His heart sank at the anguished cries of Molly. Arthur held her tightly - as if to keep her from breaking at the death of another son in everything but blood. It had been a great task to break her from the stupor after Fred's death - but this time -

Harry hoped that she would be alright.

Finally his eyes landed on Teddy. His Teddy, his eldest, who looked dumbfounded as the grave started to fill - like he had never ever remotely entertained the thought of Harry dying - like he wasn't even sure he was awake and not in a nightmare. His hair was black and his whole complexion shallow - he had never resembled their much hated Potions Professor so much.

Harry's heart twinged with guilt at being relieved with his death but he knew they would recover. They were strong. Hurt, they definitely would, but they would heal and come back stronger.

His job was done in that world - his presence was needed no more.

His eyes passed over the faces of his long time friends and comrades, his brothers and sisters-in-arms - all looking desolate and defeated. George, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Cho, Lavender, Parvati, Padma and so many more - he sighed. Honestly, they didn't need to look that sad.

It was a surprise that he lived that long, honestly.

But hey, he was Harry bloody Potter.

He stood there for who knew how long, with Death as his silent companion till people started to leave one by one. He waited till everyone was gone and then waited some more. He was brought out from his musings by footsteps.

He blinked, the action totally unnecessary but habit was habit.

Luna.

He hadn't noticed her in the crowd and had reasoned that she must have been somewhere where his family couldn't contact her. He broke into a big smile as he saw her place a bunch of red spider lilies on his grave - a stark contrast to the heaps of white flowers. She kneeled down in front of the grave and patted it then smiled happily.

His mind stuttered as she directly looked at the place he was standing.

He could feel Death's intrigue at her stare. "Not her," Harry whispered, "please, not her, not yet."

Death just radiated amusement, that wanker. For a supposedly grim Being, he was pretty cheery.

Their staring contest broke at Luna's wispy voice. "Harry, I bet you were relieved. Good luck on your next adventure," she said happily. Harry was once again reminded of what a stark contrast her reaction was from the rest of the people. "Don't worry, I'll meet you there."

Harry's non-existent heart stopped as she nodded in their direction and skipped away from the cemetery, humming a little tune.

Harry would say Death snorted, but someone like Death didn't snort right? (His worldview would change shortly.)

"Life's minions were always a colorful bunch," Harry's companion muttered.

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

He was once again on the receiving end of a long suffering stare which he was getting pretty used to. "It is time for your next job."

"Can't I get a rest?" Harry whined. "I just died, mate."

"You are the Master of Death, it is your duty to fulfill," Death said snootily. "And you didn't die, your mortal coil did."

"Whatever man," Harry said. "You said something about finding a successor, right? How do I do that?"

"It is nigh impossible since you destroyed the Elder Wand - with your own hands if I may add," Death deadpanned.

"Can't you make another one?"

His expression reminded Harry of Hermione's patent are-you-stupid-oh-wait-you-are face. Right, of course it was impossible to forge another Deathly Hallow.

Of course.

"So, what's my mission?" Harry asked as he started to walk away from his own grave.

"You have to go to this world - they are based on mercenary dictatorship and their death rates are unnecessarily high. It's causing a lot of problems in the Far Shore."

Harry frowned as Death stopped him, fingers raised to touch his forehead.

"And what do I have to do there?" He asked, dreading the answer.

He saw Death's sadistic smile before he fell.

"The impossible, of course."

Right.

He was Harry bloody Potter and he couldn't catch a break.

A/N: I absolutely love love love Luna. Did I mention I love Luna?

THC/The Houses Competition.

House: Slytherin

Class: DADA

Prompts: [Event] Funeral.

Standard.

Word Count. (Total 1324)

Beta. charlotteredmond99