Thank you for all the Favs and Fallows! Its lovely to see. Now, I hope this lives up to expectations. This story has many details, and while I work on it daily, updates may be once or twice a month.

What is dying anyway?

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." Albus Dumbledore once said, a long time ago. It was a silly thing to think about right now but still, Harry wondered about the truth in it. After all, Harry knew he died. However, he'd expected it would go more or less the same way as it did the last time he died. Die, have a chat with a loved one and grab the beautiful red train to his final destination. With the quote fresh in his mind, he thought who would be the one to greet him.

Maybe Dumbledore. A soft smile on his old face, a twinkle in his eye. He would clap his wrinkled hands together once, and hold them open. "Harry, my boy," He'd say. "You've done wonderful." He'd say and beckon him for a hug, long deserved. Harry could see the scenario play out in the front of his mind. Dumbledore would extend an arm, and talk nonsense like only he could do. They would go together, arm in arm and make a slow way towards the train; their canes tapping in rhythm on the smooth station tiles. It would mimic a sunny Sunday afternoon walk. Harry could swear he heard the serene voice. It was almost real in his ears as Dumbledore told him how proud he was.

Maybe Ron. He would run towards him as fast as his old body allowed him, and hug him close, strong and never ending. "Long time no see, brother, I have missed you," He'd say and go on about how great the afterlife was, every detail and then let him go, finally, only to hold him at an arm's length and laugh. The giddy laugh Harry missed the most, so bright and full.

"You've gone old, brother," He'd say after catching his breath and another hug. "Then again, took you long 'nough. Let's go." He'd tease and pull Harry along towards the train. Content to have his brother and he'd say so, many a time but also airing his grief about Hermione. How much he'd missed her, unable to hold his wish silent for the three of them to finally be together once more. Just Ron being Ron, finally passed the range of a teaspoon when it mattered. He'd say he loved him and Harry would cherish those words, for he probably would never hear them spoken out loud by the red head ever again. Always a full on Gryffindor, more show than tell.

Maybe Sirius. Harry mused. Pouncing him in his Snuffles form and slobbering his face wet. He'd turn and apologise. "I'm sorry I left you all on your own," He'd say and kiss the top of his head. "I love you." Three words he'd repeat over and over again, patting Harry, to map out his features and grin brightly, just to comment he always wondered what James would look like, if he ever gone old. He'd laugh it off as a joke, even if it held some truth. He'd go on to tell him, his eyes were still bright, still as beautiful as his mothers. He'd express his fondness and guilt again, he'd say how glad he was, to finally have him close again.

Sirius would hug him, apologise again and kiss his crown once more. Snuffles would reappear, and circle his feet as he shuffled to the train. Barking loud and stopping Harry every few steps for a slobber over his hand.

Maybe someone else, it didn't really matter which of his loved ones would appear to greet him and guide him to the afterlife. Anyone would be fine, as long as it went how he thought it would. Because it didn't, and he didn't really like where he was right now.

Not like this, not lying on a brick floor in total darkness. Harry felt as if he had fallen from a great height. Every bone in his body, even a few he never knew the existence of hurt. Especially his head. Harry groaned as he grabbed his pounding head with two hands. He knew his glasses had gone missing and it effectively left him blind. Not that it mattered. There was no speck of light.

He felt around for his cane, his old body was not able to get into a position to get up without it but the attempt was futile. The cane was nowhere to be found. For all the idyllic thoughts he'd had, the full realisation hit. He died. He remembered the last moment of being alive. He had sat down, somewhere reminiscing about times long gone and he groaned, still sprawled on the floor. "Bless the poor soul who finds me."

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the head ache left. The injuries hurt more. He became cold. All of that wasn't the worst. He died in peace, felt relatively at ease upon waking, but with every minute that slipped by, he became more unsettled. Fear. Harry knew fear when he was just a young man and never after, having had a secure and calm life. He still recognized the emotion, and it almost overflowed. He was afraid of having to spend an eternity lying on the floor, in darkness, cold and alone. Harry blinked tears away while his heart beat rapidly. "Calm down," He tried to encourage himself. "Calm the bleeding hell down. Not gone happen. You got this."

For a while, Harry kept whispering. He tried to turn around but his bad leg wouldn't let him. He tried to sit up, but he didn't have the grip. He searched for his cane again, but it really wasn't within an arms reach and neither were his glasses. He tried to shuffle on his back, in hopes to get anywhere, but he simply didn't have the strength. It was hopeless. He knew he was on the verge of a panic attack.

A door swung open, light flitted in and someone cursed. The voice gravelly and rattling. "I swear, I thought I left the light on!"

With a snap, torches along the circular round came burning, Harry could distinguish as much. He rapidly blinked, as the lights were too bright, his eyes had adjusted to the dark, even if they weren't of much use. Everything was blurry, but he saw a shape that represented a tall person in a cloak. They came close, Harry found it odd they seemed to float instead of walking but maybe that was because of his impaired sight.

"Sorry 'bout that,'' The cheery voice excused and glided closer, taking a good look. "Oh gheez, you're a whole lot older, and a whole lot battered and bruised than I expected you to be."

A hand came close, Harry saw the blurry shape nearing. He extended his hand, even if he didn't know who it was or where he was, anything better than lying helpless on the ground.

"Let me fix that."

One snap. A simple click of the fingers and Harry felt so much better. He hadn't felt this great in years. If he had to use one word to describe the feeling, it would be younger. He felt young again. No aches, no pain, no restrictions on movement. He thought he could jump.

"Right, glasses!" The voice hummed. Harry blinked, he swore he had them on, he was seeing as well as he did these days, blurry shapes and fuzzy lights. "Hand out, please!"

Harry did as he was asked, and there materialised his glasses. He put them on, took one look at himself and yelped. The way he felt had become truth.

He was back, in a body that hadn't been his for centuries. He'd been back in the body he once owned, when he was roughly seventeen years old. A strong body with no wear and tear beside the few scars he'd collected throughout those years and the war he miraculously survived. No wrinkles nor near blind, just smooth skin, a slight stubble and perfect sight with glasses.

More shocking than his transformed body was who the hand that helped him belonged to. After he examined himself, his head snapped up to say something; Whether he was to thank them, out his confusion or demand to turn back, he couldn't remember. Whatever he was about to blurt out died on the tip of his tongue. There, right in front of him stood a figure of grimm stories, a fantasy. A myth. The one they called Death. It had to be, for the black robes and scythe were tell tale attributes. Nevermind the bones, just bones.

Unbelievable.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Begging for it all to be a dream, an illusion he made up, gloomy as it was. Surely, Death wasn't that cheery, it simply couldn't be true. He took a deep breath, blinked a few times and peered through his lids, hoping to clear, what he thought, was the figment of imagination. Death didn't disappear. Realizing this was reality, Harry screamed. He promptly passed out.

Death sighed. "They always do that."

"Dying was supposed to be easy." Harry lamented. The words were spoken moments after he'd woken up. He was old again. He heard it in his brittle voice, and saw the wrinkles on his hands when he smoothed the white blanket that lay up to his waist. He looked around and found that he was clearly in a small hospital room. The room a blinding white and when he sniffed, there was the heavy disinfectant smell.

"You never died." Death said surprised. Harry's head snapped to the heavy cloaked figure he'd overlooked when he glanced around.

Harry vehemently denied the statement. He went on, explaining in great detail when, and how it happened. Death listened, let him softly rage as the words rushed out. Death was impressed, for the old man lying in the hospital bed managed to recall events that had occurred over a hundred and fifty years ago as if it was just yesterday they took place.

The moment Harry fell silent, Death repeated his words, no matter Harry's obvious denial. He reminded Harry of the prophecy who in turn, repeated its wording in whole. Death's memory was just as sharp as the other, only encompassed many more centuries.

Harry sighed, he leaned back in the fluffed up pillows of the bed. "I could never forget, it has been the bane of my existence for far too long."

"Then you must understand, you could've never died, for Mr. Riddle killed himself." Death answered. He put emphasis on the third line. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. "That, that was never about you."

"One soul, broken. The same, yet different. You were only the vessel," Death said slowly to assure his words were being heard. "Mr. Riddle could never live, for he was just a shard of a man. The piece you carried could never live, for it was within you. To live, he needed to the only shard, or bound the pieces back. A man can't live if he exists twice or more."

"I've never-" Harry blinked.

"He could never kill you, but he could kill himself," Death dropped plainly. "And you couldn't kill him until there was only one of him. The power you held wasn't love. It was the ability to have him cause his own demise."

"So.." Harry started after a few minutes of silence. He needed a moment to process. "Any more bombs you want to drop on me?"

"Yes," Death answered. He made Harry stand and clicked his fingers. The old body morphed to the young one. It took everything Harry had to stop from yelping. It was truly disconcerting to change just like that. Death either didn't or pretended not to notice his unsettled state and made Harry follow him. "Just the one. It'll be a large one, but nonetheless, just one."

Harry never replied. He gripped his cane tight, even if he didn't need the help anymore, he clicked it on the dark tiles from dungeon-esque hallways as he followed. The steady sounds an odd comfort to calm him for what was to come.