Author's Notes:
Hi! This is my first fanfiction. That being said, here's a rundown of what to expect: The basic premise here is that Harry can't die (reasons for that will become clear as you read through). Goal is pretty typical - kill Voldemort - but in this story that process will be quite a bit more complicated than normal. If you happen to have read Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time by joe6991, you'll probably notice some obvious parallels; namely the immortality thing and the Harry/Fleur pairing. I took some inspiration from that incredible story for my own, but this will not be a rewrite of his work. The plot will be very different after the first few chapters. Speaking of which, I have a few chapters written already, and plan to release a new one roughly once per week. Rated M for language and violence. Enjoy!
"Fuck."
He'd failed.
"Fuuuuck."
He'd failed, and died, yet again.
"FUCK!"
He stood up from the soft ground of the forest he found himself in, looking around for that infernal demon-bitch.
"WHERE ARE YOU? I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY!"
"But you have all the time in the world." She giggled.
Harry whirled around to face her. "Shut up, and get me back in there." He growled.
"Ooh, but it's been so long since we've been able to talk. I was starting to think you just might win this time."
The girl standing before him was, for lack of a more fitting term, beautiful. She had blood red hair that fell in curly tangles to just below her shoulders. It framed her pale face, which was thin and tall, with a set of solid red eyes, of exactly the same shade as her hair. She was shorter than him, but only just, and wore a tantalizingly short, deathly black dress.
"Put me back." He repeated.
She sighed. "I will, if that's what you really want, but remember how much it hurts? It's not just you, you know, I feel that pain too, though I doubt you care about my feelings. Anyway, don't you think it's time to give up now? It's been so very long, and you've barely made any progress. I mean, how old are you supposed to be? Fifteen? Hmph, you're easily a thousand by now, but who's keeping track, eh?"
"One-thousand and ninety-two. And I have made quite a bit of progress, or haven't you noticed? I actually cut him this time. And, once you send me back, I'll finally get everything right, and I'll rip his fucking soul out."
"Ooh, so confident," She purred, "but you have no idea how strong Lord Voldemort truly is. Even after all this time fighting him, you still haven't seen every card he has to play. Even if every part of your plan goes perfectly, he'll still kill you. And then what? You'll make another plan? Oh, I don't doubt you will, but there's nothing you could do to defeat him, so why don't we just speed up the process, and make things easier for everyone, hmm? It's time for you to give up."
Harry advanced towards her. "I don't give up. You should have realized that by now, so send. Me. Back."
She sighed. "I suppose I can't convince you, then. Get ready, it'll be a hell of a ride this time around." She said with a wink.
"What does that-" She pressed her fingertip to the scar on his forehead, and he instantly felt like it was going to explode. His skin crawled as his stomach plummeted, and he had the distinct sensation of being squeezed through a stiff tube made of sandpaper. When the pain ended, he was left with a skull-splitting headache, worse than he had ever experienced.
Dragging himself from his bed with a groan, he looked around his room at Number Four. It was barren, except for his bed and the desk, which had an open bird-cage resting atop it. Standing up, he walked over to the closet, and pulled out his trunk, tossing in everything he would need for the trip ahead, before shrinking it with a tap of his wand, pocketing it, and exiting the bedroom.
Upon entering the hallway, he came face to face with his uncle. An unwelcome sight, to be sure, and one he usually managed to avoid. Had he really taken that long to pack?
"You're up. Good, get breakfast started." Vernon commanded, walking by, "I've a big meeting today, and I want to get in early."
"Piss off, Vernon, I'm busy."
Vernon spluttered and turned around from his place near the top of the staircase, only for Harry to brush past him and descend the stairs.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU SAY TO ME?" Vernon roared, lumbering down after him.
"I said 'piss off', and I meant it, you great buffoon. I have a lot of work to do, most of it related to saving the world, so I'll be out of your hair in a few moments. Now stop yelling, I've got a headache."
"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT WORK YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO DO, BOY! I'LL TEACH YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT RESPECT IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!" With that, Vernon lunged at Harry, having finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and was quickly overwhelmed by a series of baffling events. First, the boy he had grabbed at had disappeared. Then, he had felt quite a painful impact on his back, and was propelled towards the front door to impact it face-first, with an ear-splitting crack. As he recovered his momentarily stunned senses, he gazed up at an alarming sight: His nephew, standing over him, wand pointed directly between his eyes, looking positively furious.
"Th-They'll expel you for that!" Vernon managed to grind out clutching a hand over his bleeding forehead.
"They'll try." Harry replied, "But they won't find me. Like I said, I'll be out of your hair in a few moments, now get up, and get the hell out of my way." To the man's credit, Vernon obeyed, albeit with quite a bit of disgruntled grumbling, and Harry was finally able to step outside of that dreadful house. With a final parting wave to his 'family', the rest of which had now gathered around his uncle, Harry closed the door to Number Four, and turned around to face the day. Now was when things would start to get fun. He set off along the road, heading east, and waiting for the inevitable interruption. About fifteen solid minutes of walking later, his interruption came in the form of a very large, very concerned auror. Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared next to him, removing his invisibility cloak and walking alongside him. Harry looked at him and grinned.
"Kingsley, good to see you! Stuck with guard duty huh? Seems a bit below your pay grade. Anyway, I was just heading out, I'll be leaving the country for a few days. Visiting an old friend, and no, before you ask, I'm not going after Voldemort, or Pettigrew, or anyone else we don't like. It's purely a social call, no business to be had whatsoever. Any questions?"
By the end of his rant, Harry had drawn to a stop, and was being held at wand-point by a very alarmed-looking auror. Still grinning, he cocked an eyebrow and waited expectantly.
"You're not Harry Potter. Who are you?"
"How do you figure- Oh, right, we haven't met yet. Damn, I always forget. Anyway, yes, I am Harry Potter. I've met you, but you haven't me, because, well, magic, and, I'll reiterate: Any questions?"
"What's your godfather's name?" He asked, stepping forward, and extending his wand forcefully into Harry's chest.
"Sirius Black." Harry answered, "He's innocent of all the crimes he's been accused of, and he lives at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, where he plays host to the Order of the Phoenix." Harry had to bite back a laugh at the expression Kingsley leveled at him then.
"Dumbledore told you…?"
"Not exactly, but you'll know all the details in due time, as will everyone else, and for now I really must get going. Anything else?" Harry asked.
"Where are you going?"
"I told you - abroad. No more details for now, but I assure you, I'll be perfectly safe. Let Dumbledore know that I'll be under the Fidelius, if it'll make him happy." Harry lied, "What time is it, by the way?"
"Dumbledore won't be happy if he doesn't know where you are. I can't let you out of my sight, Harry." Kingsley replied.
"Well, Dumbledore can shove it. He's not done a very good job keeping me safe so far. Tell him I'll swing by as soon as I get back. Now, time?"
Kingsley sighed, finally pocketing his wand. "If you insist on leaving the country, at least give me some time to notify the Order. That way we can have someone accompany you. How do you plan on travelling, anyway?"
"No can do, Kingsley, I've got a very tight schedule to keep, which I think I'm behind on, but you don't seem to want to tell me what time it is." Harry replied.
Sighing again, Kingsley pulled his wand back out.
"Tempus." he muttered. Numbers appeared in the air over his wand: 10:24.
"Finally, thank you." Harry said, "As for how I'll be traveling…" With a sharp crack, Harry disappeared from the spot where he had been standing, leaving Kingsley looking thoroughly confused. He remained in place for a few moments, before he too disapparated.
~Scene Break~
Harry appeared atop a grassy hill overlooking a beach to one side, and a vast stretch of green fields to the other. About a mile away from the hill, he knew, there sat a hidden manor. His destination set, Harry began walking in the house's general direction.
As he walked, Harry tried to remember things about his past lives. They were hazy, as they always were for the first few days, but he could remember enough to get himself through the next week at least. Firstly, he was immortal, as long as he wanted to be. Any death on his part would bring him to that forest where the annoying demon lived. He would then only have to request that she send him back, and he would appear, back in his fifteen year-old body, on the first of August, 1995. The day after his birthday in the summer after his fourth year at Hogwarts. He had tried to negotiate the time frame in the past, to give himself a better opportunity to prepare, but the magic was very rigid. It would always send him to this exact date.
As far as he knew, there were only two possible endings to his eternal loop: He could defeat Voldemort, or he could give up, and tell the demon to let him die, damning the world to Voldemort's immortal reign. But if there was one thing that could be said about Harry Potter, it was that he did not give up. Ever. So he would use as many lives as he needed in order to defeat Voldemort. Once he finally accomplished that goal, he would live the rest of his final life in peace, and retire to death when there was nothing left for him in the world of the living.
That was the goal anyway. It was very possible that Harry would end up in a never-ending cycle of resurrection, war, and death. Harry occasionally regretted making the deal that ensured his immortality when he thought about that possibility. He had not counted on taking over a thousand years to best Voldemort. It seemed that, whenever Harry made an advancement or executed a carefully crafted plan, Voldemort had some new trick to show off, which invariably resulted in Harry's death, usually in some brutally painful fashion. He had been roasted alive more times than he cared to admit. Harry suspected that the demon he had made the deal with knew enough about Voldemort to help Harry win. But the bitch would never tell him anything useful, and so he had given up on gleaning any information from her.
In his first life, Harry had come across a bit of magic in a very ancient place, that he couldn't yet remember this time around. It had sent him to that forest between worlds, where he had met that infernal demon. She had warned him of the consequences, but Harry, being young and full of foolish optimism, had insisted that the deal be made. Now, over one thousand years later, Harry stood, at the edge of a set of wards in the French countryside, and drew his wand. The process was not a difficult one, at least not for him, but it left very little room for error. He had to be focused. Shaking his head to clear it of the past few minutes' worth of thoughts, Harry prepared to bypass the wards in front of him. Closing his eyes, he gently pushed his wand out until he felt the magical resistance that represented the first set of protections. Muttering under his breath, he unwove the magic, leaving enough of a gap for him to step through. Once inside, he allowed the wards to fall closed behind him.
Now standing inside the boundary, he was able to move around freely without alerting the owner of the wards. However, he was still unable to see the cloaked manor that he knew lay at the center of the ward system. Again raising his wand, Harry attached his magic to the spell scheme he could feel emanating from within the wards, and, with a downward flick, tore the charms down from around the house. Luckily, those weren't tied into the wards, or it would have notified the home's owner. As it stood however, Harry had completely bypassed all of the protections on the place, and was left gazing up at a wondrously large home. It was four stories high, with lofty windows and an incredibly intricate door. The front porch was small, relative to the rest of the house, but seemed incredibly spacious by any other metric. The stairs alone were half as wide as the Dursleys' home, and flared out at the base, adding a very welcoming effect to the wooden mansion.
Even now, after seeing it so many times over so many years, the sight still gave Harry pause. It wasn't nearly as big as Hogwarts, of course, but it was so much more intricate. It seemed that every minute detail had been planned and crafted with immense care. Snapping out of his reverie, Harry ascended the stairs, and clacked the knocker against the door three times. When it was opened, his greeter was understandably shocked.
"Hello Fleur." Harry smiled.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading, any and all feedback is welcome!