AN: I intend for this story to be porn with plot, and with a lot of different fetishes. There aren't very many fem!harry fics, really, and even less with fetish material so I thought I'd whip this out. I'll try to make the fetish scenes into individual chapters that are separate from the story so that they can be skipped without missing too much. Base is femslash, haven't really decided if I want to include het, probably not. As I add different fetishes, I'll post them in that chapter's AN as I don't really know what all I want to include as of now. Going to post this on ao3 too, in case it gets removed from here. Okay, anyways that's it. Hope you enjoy the story, if not the fetish content.

Harry shot up from his sleeping position with a gasp and was nearly petrified to recognize the cupboard in which he had called his room for the first decade of his life before he gathered his thoughts and remembered that he was right where he was supposed to be.

He was on his second life now, after having died a rather boring death just into his early thirties. Well - it was boring in the sense that he didn't go out in spectacular fashion, but being stabbed through the heart by a several thousand year old spear-wielding mummy was fairly unique, he supposed. Eh, there could have been worse ways to go, even if it was his own ignorance that had gotten him killed rather than lack of talent. Fucking mummies.

Being killed did it have its upsides though, considering it ushered him into a conversation with Death herself, who had explained to the disturbingly calm and accepting Harry, that by dying he had come into powers in which the truly living could never possess even though she was quite vague o what those powers were. Honestly considering that according to Her, Harry was the first to be in his position, he was pretty sure she didn't actually know either. Which was fine. Surprises were good and Harry had been so bored with his old life that he could use some.

Laying there in the cramped cupboard under the stairs, Harry realized that he was already in for a surprise as he realized that he no longer had a penis...which he was ambivalent about. I mean, he had plenty of fun with his todger in his old life, and maybe having a vagina could be fun too but was he supposed to like boys now, or was it okay that he still preferred women? Though he wasn't totally against penises, he could see the appeal even, but men just did not do it for him.

Ah well. All worries for another time considering he had to deal with the Dursleys again, and since he was definitely not in the spare bedroom then that meant he still hadn't gotten his letter which meant he was still ten years old. Bummer, really - not much for a ten-year-old to get up too...except maybe take his new body for a spin? He resisted a shudder and asked himself if that was okay? Is he a pedophile for wanting to touch a preteen body, or was it okay since it was his now? Fuck. Was it immoral? He couldn't exactly ask the Dursleys so he did the next best thing and sat up before stuffing himself into a corner of the small space.

"Death," he, or she rather, whispered.

She appeared with his call, sitting cross-legged across from him and peering at him fondly. She was perhaps the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen, even in her simple black dress and shoeless. and nothing could convince him otherwise. She was perhaps taller than average though not by much, with the blackest hair and bluest eyes that he had ever seen, and her skin was porcelain white without looking unhealthy. Her eyebrows had an immaculate arch, her lips were just puffy and pouty enough to make you daydream about them and were ruby red, and her jaw was soft without looking chubby. And she was all his.

"Come to me, Mistress," she called with a smile, holding her arms out towards him.

There was no hesitation in Harry entering Death's embrace - he had done it before, after all - and curling up in her lap, arms around her and face buried in her neck. It was incredible. He had yearned for this his whole life, to be the one being protected rather than the protector role he had always taken upon himself. And it did feel so safe and so comfy in Death's arms that he wanted to spend his whole life here just wrapped up in her affections.

"As much as I am content to remain this way Mistress, I do believe you must have called me for a reason," she whispered in Harry's ear, hands rubbing circles on Harry's back, under the threadbare and overlarge shirt.

"Mhm," Harry mumbled. "Is this okay? I mean really okay? Maybe it's dumb for me to be so conflicted over something like this, but should I feel wrong about it?"

Death didn't answer Harry immediately, instead choosing to card her fingers through the wavy black mass that lay atop Harry's head. "You're asking about whether it is okay for you to take liberties with your new body, but that is not what you're truly conflicted about, is it?"

"I don't-"

"Mistress."

"...no. No it's not."

"The girl who's body you now inhabit, she wasn't really here anymore," Death told Harry, pulling her more securely into her arms. "She wasn't dead, but neither was she alive. I would not have passed her along had she no desire to go, my love. She was strong, but sometimes even the strongest crumble."

"So it is okay, then. I didn't steal her life?" Harry couldn't stop the tears from running down his, her, cheeks at the thought of a mere child being so ready to just give up.

Death merely tilted Harry's head up to look at her before she leaned down and placed a gentle kiss upon her brow. Harry could have sworn he saw a flash of a young girl with green eyes and black hair waving to him with a happy smile and warm eyes. Harry took a deep breath, gave Death a nod, and relaxed into her arms for a nice safe nap. It was his body, his life, and he was going to live it up for the girl who gave it up.

This second life was already looking to be a thousand times better than her first, Harry thought. Where in her first life, she was left to defend herself until her first year at Hogwarts began, Death was able to come to her aid here. And so when her Hogwarts letter came on her eleventh birthday, which happened to be the day after she awoke in this world, Death showed herself and cowed the Dursleys sufficiently. Now she had her letter, a real bedroom, and a companion that actually cared for her, and Harry found that those feeling were returned.

They were currently on a walk through Little Whinging, hand in hand when Death broke their comfortable silence.

"Mistress? Have you thought of any plans to deal with this life? Voldemort is as alive here as he was in your last life."

"You don't have to call me that, you know," Harry said, looking up at his companion. And then she added on shyly, "I kind of wish you wouldn't. It-it doesn't really...um...well it's just that-"

"Harry," Death interrupted, giving Harry's hand a light squeeze as a show of support. "You needn't be scared, or shy, or ashamed to tell me whatever is on your mind. You cannot and will not scare me away for it."

Harry gave her a small smile and looked down at her feet as they continued on at a sedate pace. "It's just, 'mistress' is like a person in power, right? You wouldn't call somebody mistress unless they were on top of you in some way, and I don't feel like that. I'm not entirely sure I want to feel that way, either. I think now that I've already experienced what that's like in my old life, I'd almost prefer the opposite...if that makes sense?"

"You wish to not be the one in charge; you wish to be cared for, rather," Death clarified, getting a nod from her young 'not mistress'. "I understand, my love. I will care for you always and I shall do so happily, though should anything change I expect to hear it, yes? Good."

And that was that. Harry really was somewhat embarrassed to had admitted such, even if he knew that Death wouldn't judge him for his feelings on the matter; it was just, for all of his previous life, it was expected that he be the take-charge sort, that would throw himself in front of other at the drop of a hat and he was tired. So yes, he was embarrassed, but he was so happy. He had somebody reliable and strong and protective, and best of all she loved her.

Going to the bathroom as a girl was a pain in the ass, Harry had learned. Not that it was hard or anything like that, but it took longer and it was just so much more inconvenient, having to drop your pants and sit down just to pee. And showering caught her off guard too; she had no idea that such a young body could be so sensitive.

She was going about her business in the shower, running the bar of soap over her body and she nearly jumped when she passed over her flat chest and caught her nipple and felt the jolt of pleasure that shot down between her skinny thighs. With her earlier conviction that this was now her body and it would be okay, she did it again to her other nipple and got another jolt, though it was less extreme now that she was ready for it. The thought of was she was doing heated her cheeks up, even as she thought about cleaning herself down there.

Her arm moved slowly, the soap leaving a sudsy trail from her chest down to her far too skinny stomach, and finally stopping just under her bellybutton. She couldn't do it - she didn't know why, didn't know what was stopping her, but she was almost afraid. With a sigh, she placed the soap back on the shower rack, rinsed herself off, and stepped out of the shower. A shame really, because it really did feel great. Maybe she just needed a little more time to settle into her new reality.

Death, Harry learned, was incorrigible. A pervert of the highest degree, really. It had been two weeks since they had come to this reality and Harry had taken over for the poor girl who had once inhabited the same body that he did now, and he still couldn't make himself experience the pleasures of his body. Death, Harry learned, really wanted him to become a pervert too, and consistently hinted that maybe Harry should give it a go and see how much pleasure could be gleaned from womanhood. To be honest, he wanted to, too.

As to why he hadn't? Maybe it was morals, even though he'd already decided that they shouldn't matter in this case and he was subconsciously holding himself back, or maybe it was fear of the unknown? She had been a guy for over thirty years and maybe he was afraid that he'd like being a girl too much. That by embracing being a girl, he'd lose sight of who he used to be. But would that be so bad? The fact of the matter is that he isn't who he used to be, no matter how much he might cling on to the idea that he was.

On that vein, Harry realized that she was still referring to herself as 'he' every now and then, so really she supposed that maybe the problem truly was that she was trying to cling too tightly onto her past masculinity. Something to work on, Harry supposed; after all, there were only two weeks until September first, and referring to herself with male pronouns would probably get her some strange looks at Hogwarts.

Speaking of Hogwarts, it had been decided that they'd likely let things go the way they did in Harry's first go-round, at least until the end of her fourth year. Harry had wanted to round up all of the Horcruxes now and be done with it but even Death stayed her hand.

"Harry, while seven horcruxes may be the maximum number a wizard can make, I cannot guarantee that he cannot make more if the existing ones are destroyed. Death I am, but all-knowing I am not. In the end, it is your choice, but I would recommend leaving everything be until the tournament. Gather the items during the school year, take them to the graveyard with you during the third task, and destroy them and Voldemort in one fell swoop."

And so it was decided. Nothing would change really, except Harry would be better prepared to face the challenges to come in the interim. She knew that in her first year she had but to lay her hands on Quirrel, and gather roosters for her second year (sorry Ginny, but your possession needs to happen), she could already cast a patronus for her third year, and then she could end everything on her fourth. Of course, there were finer details that had been hashed out, but she was as ready as she could be.

"My love, you have held this body for three weeks now and you've yet to touch yourself." Death looked almost offended, as she once again gave Harry her daily reminder. "Mayhap I should have done so sooner to help you be at ease, but I offer you my assistance."

Harry gave the immortal being a look of trepidation. "What do you mean by 'assistance'?"

Death, who was sitting up on Harry's bed, pulled Harry to her and laid her head in her lap and delicately played with the young girl's hair. "I can do a couple of things, my love. I can take away your shame if you'd like, or I could personally pleasure your body."

Harry gave Death a strange look in reply, clearly intrigued but also worried about the implication of having her shame taken away. Death merely smiled and took her time, still playing with Harry's, hair which felt so much better than it had any right to and always nearly put Harry to sleep, before clarifying.

"To have your shame taken away can be either a blessing or a curse, of course. To those of weak will, they'd likely be consumed by their lust. One such as you, however, my love, you'd have all of your sensibilities in tact, you merely would not be scared to experiment with yourself. Really nothing would change besides getting you over your inability to experience your own body. You'd never not have the option to say no to anything."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Harry murmured. "And you'd be with me, to stop me from going to far? Just in case?"

Death smiled and leaned down to Harry, and placed her lips gently upon those of her lover before drawing back. "Always, my love. I'll never leave you."