Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything Harry Potter-y
Chapter 1: The Day Harry Potter Died
Harry Potter never wanted to be anything more than the normal that the Dursleys aspired so much to become. Not that he had any choice whatsoever in this matter, he was anything but normal. He found himself sitting on top of the school chimney. The last thing he remembered was Dudley and his gang chasing him through the corridor, and here he was, on the terrace of the four-storeyed building with single roof access that seemed to be locked from the other side. The recess was supposed to end in eight minutes. Well, how did he know that? He wondered. He was never given a watch. His only possessions were hand-me-downs from Dudley. That too only clothes. He had the luxury of sneaking into his room some broken toys he was sure Dudley wouldn't remember enough to miss. For all the faults Dudley had, Harry was glad that the plump boy's attention span would put a fish to shame. Now back to the problem at hand, how was he supposed to get down and go home? Even though the prospect of the said home terrified him more than being alone on a rooftop on a cold winter night, he knew it would create even more problems for him. Spending the whole Christmas in his room, where he couldn't even move without hitting his head half the time didn't seem an appealing option.
It took the authorities an hour and a half before they found him. Dudley got off scot-free because nobody saw him chase Harry up the roof. Also, there was the fact that he himself couldn't explain how he got there in the first place. He was duly presented before the Headmistress who gave him detention for the rest of the day. Harry knew it wouldn't be long before the news reached Aunt Petunia. Once Aunt Petunia knew, she wouldn't let this humiliation slip. She hated to be associated with him. Harry had learnt that lesson the hard way when the first school they sent him to, wanted to let him skip grades because he was gifted enough to attend a special school. He was locked in the cupboard for a week. They took extra care of him after that. They pulled him from that school and enrolled him where Dudley went so that Diddykins could "put him in his place".
Harry was sure this incident warranted an even worse punishment. Harry had made it a habit to stay away from Vernon Dursley ever since he could walk and feel pain. He had no qualms in beating his precious Diddykins to hammer into him proper manners, so why would the freeloader be spared?
The letter informing his guardians of his latest infraction came two days later. Petunia read it, her lean face red with the purest loathing, turned to find Harry in the kitchen, doing the dishes.
'Get back to your cupboard, boy!', she snarled
Harry knew better than to talk back to the raging woman. He promptly ran back to the relative safety of his dingy and dark room.
'No meals for the rest of the day' she banged on the door with what Harry assumed, the all too familiar frying pan.
All he could do was wait for the inevitable. He would be getting beaten again. He was sure of it. Harry wanted to run, but he was a helpless little eight-year-old, who was all but visible. Half the class ignored him and the rest of them didn't even know that he existed. No teachers paid him enough attention to notice the obvious signs of abuse on him. He was a ghost for all intents and purposes, not that it would help him out of his current predicament.
Hours of waiting kept Harry on the edge. He had butterflies in his stomach. All he could do was mentally prepare himself for what came next. He heard his uncle's car pull into the driveway. He had to wait for another hour before his cupboard door was thrown open by a plump man swelling purple from anger.
'Out boy!', he yelled.
Harry tried his best to stay in the limited safety his cupboard offered him. Despite his efforts, he was yanked out of the cupboard by a painful tug on his makeshift belt.
Harry was shoved on to the living room floor, while Petunia took Dudley up to the upstairs bedroom. Uncle Vernon stood with his back to Harry, facing the fireplace. Once Dudley's bedroom door closed, he turned to Harry, his voice menacing.
'I had enough of this freakishness in my house boy. Either you will behave or you will stay in your room forever. No one will miss you. You are nothing more than a waste of space. A good-for-nothing. Just like your parents' he said.
'Looks like the lesson should be beaten into you', said Vernon, as he untied his belt and started twisting it.
'Turn around boy', yelled Vernon.
Harry clenched his jaws tight when he felt the first lash on his back. He didn't cry out or scream. Uncle Vernon didn't like screaming. He wanted this to be over soon and screaming would only increase the punishment.
Or so Harry thought.
'Looks like flaying has lost its effect on you boy', declared Vernon. 'We should move on to something new'.
Harry didn't turn back. But he could hear Vernon taking the poker out of the fireplace. Fear gripped Harry. 'Run' was the only thought Harry had as he felt the heat seeping in through his over-sized shirt. He waited for the agony to begin, but it never came. The next thing he knew, Vernon was being thrown away from him into the fireplace. He managed to clamber back up, he looked terrified for a moment. He started towards Harry and yelled 'YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, YOU FREAK!'
And so Harry ran. The door was dead-bolted. He wanted it open so badly and it did. He ran out of the door, through the driveway onto the streets.
'STOP BOY! STOP OR ELSE!'
He heard Vernon yelling behind him. He didn't care anymore. He just ran. He knew he didn't have any place to go. But anywhere would be better than Number 4 Privet Drive. He was tired, yes. But the farther he got away from the hellhole that was his Aunt's place, the more elated he felt. He was free. He would live.
The last memory Harry Potter had before passing out was two bright lights, a loud blaring sound and a screech of brakes.
Derek Creevey was driving home after a long day of deliveries. He was a milkman, the sole provider for a family of four. Today was his youngest son's fifth birthday. He had a small surprise for him. It was late but he knew his boys would be up waiting for their dad to reach home. The roads would generally be void of any traffic at this time of the night and he was a little too distracted in his eagerness, to see something or someone running across the road. He braked and swerved, but all his efforts were proven futile. He felt it when the figure hit his truck. The vehicle came to a skidding halt. He got out to see a mangled mess of a boy by the side of a road. He swooped the crushed figure up and rushed him to the nearest hospital. After 2 hours of nerve-wracking wait, the boy was pronounced dead.
And thus Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived had died, unknown to the world that awaited his return.
Harry found himself lying face down on the floor. The silence was all that greeted him. He was alone. Silence and solitude were always his greatest companions in life. He was in his element here. He didn't know how much time had passed since he came here. He stood up and looked around. He was naked. He didn't find the slightest signs of abuse on his body. He started to walk. He felt that the floor was neither warm nor cold, it simply was.
Was this heaven? He wondered. The whole place was white and extended in all directions, like a very vast playground. He sauntered for a while and wished to sit. A long line of park benches appeared, extending to who-knows-where. He heard a pitiful whine coming from somewhere. It felt like the wail of a baby but carried with it a hint of malevolence he couldn't just place.
He wished to be not naked. Lo and behold he was clothed. Still in the hand-me-down rags from Dudley's discarded clothes pile. He wished he had something better for once, some fancy clothes like Dudley had for his last birthday and there it was. He was attired in the finest dress he could think of. Never had he thought, he would be able to wear something like this in his life.
He started to walk again. He didn't have to walk far to find something that looked like a small naked child. Its appearance was extremely eerie and unsettling. Its skin looked scaly, broken, and it lay under one of the numerous park benches that outlined the infinite white space. He instinctively loathed it. The feeling came from deep inside him. He couldn't explain why he felt so much disgust and hate towards the unsightly thing he was seeing for the first time in his life.
'It can't hurt you.'
He turned to see a boy. No, he turned around to see himself, dressed in flamboyant robes he had never seen before, that oddly seem to suit the boy. His doppelganger was more or less an exact mirror image of his, though he looked more elegant in that attire of his, Harry thought.
'Hi Harry', said the faux-Harry
Harry couldn't help but be stunned speechless. Of all the weird things going around him, he had thought nothing could beat the demon baby in the realm of all-things-weird-and-creepy.
'Hi?', somehow, he managed to reply. 'Who are you? Where am I? Am I dead? And why do you look like me?'
'Wow, that's a lot of questions to answer. Anyway, let's take a walk shall we?', the faux-Harry said.
'Now, let's see. To answer your first question about myself. You could call me anything. Most prefer to call me Death, Grim Reaper, Yama, Fourth Horseman, and whatnot. Suitable synonyms, I must admit. But in all its supposed grimness, I am nothing but a conductor, a janitor or a ferryman. I help people pass through. I help people move on, beyond', he said with a flourish.
All of a sudden, the surrounding flickered and changed to a railway station.
Harry looked around astounded by the sudden shift in the environment.
'So I am dead?', asked Harry
Faux-Harry stopped for a moment and looked at him with a bemused expression on his face. 'I guess not' he replied before pacing again.
'I felt dying, I felt getting hit by a truck. How come I am not dead, why am I here?', Harry questioned.
'Yes. You were technically dead, you know? But you are here now. Do you know why?', Faux-Harry or Death asked with a glimmer in his eyes. His eyes, Harry was noticing for the first time were black, unlike his green. They had a strange depth to them. Death for some reason radiated exceptional warmth and friendliness. He couldn't bring himself to fear him. It seemed Death had noticed him staring. He looked very amused.
'You don't look very afraid. In fact, it looks like you have already accepted the fact that you are dead, Not an easy feat Harry. Not many people can accept me for what I am. Not many people could afford to leave everything behind and move on. Many have evaded me through various means through the course of time. Eventually, they all come back and meet me here at the crossroads. You, my friend, are one of the few who actually accepted me for what I am. Yet you are so young. It saddens me to the core that your life was so bitter that you would rather choose me than live to see another day' said Death.
Harry turned his face away from his doppelganger. He did feel bitter inside. How could he not? This was the first real conversation he ever had in his life. And that with Death itself no less. He had no real friends in life. Maybe he could make one now?
'Hey, Death? Can I stay here?', Harry asked.
'Why Harry? Why would you want to stay here of all places? Time has no meaning here and you will be stuck with me. Forever', said Death.
'I can have whatever I want here. Everything I ever wanted in life, I could have it here. Food, good clothes and I would have someone to talk to. I would have you, will you be my friend?', Harry whimpered.
Death looked taken aback. No one had ever tried to forge a friendship with him in a long time. Not even children in all their innocence. Not that he entertained many at his dwelling here at the crossroads. Cases like Harry Potter were very rare. Two souls in one mortal vessel. One silently leeching off the other. Humans had developed many atrocious ways of escaping him. Of them all, the Horcrux was the nastiest piece of work. Eventually, everyone would still turn up for roll call. It was amusing nonetheless to see them struggle. He was obligated to send Harry back. In the simplest words, it was not Harry's time yet. He had got the payment for his latest reaping, albeit a partial one. One piece of Tom Riddle's soul was worth the price though. The man had tried his best to escape his chase. Only to be made into a shade by the hands of an intelligent muggle-born whom he so despised and her baby. Humans and their frivolities, he inwardly chuckled.
'Harry, dear. I would very much like to be your friend. I will always be here. But it's not your time yet. You have to go back. I know it's not easy out there. But weavings of fate are such', said Death. 'Come', he beckoned 'I have something to show you'
Harry followed him. Death opened a door in the station. He was lead out into a place he never imagined he would see. He saw a world, quite like his own, but old. A world with people flying on broomsticks. He saw people casting spells at each other using wooden twigs. He saw dragons, unicorns, and flying horses. He saw witches and wizard in training, fighting, living their lives as though things going around them were anything but strange. He saw a world of magic.
'Where is this place? Why are you showing me all this?', Harry asked
'This my friend, is the world that would have been yours if you weren't taken away from it by the untimely death of your parents. Yes, Harry, this is the world where you truly belong. You, my friend, are a wizard', Death announced with a flourish.
'You mean to say, my Mom and Dad, were wizards? That they were not killed in a car accident?', he had tears in his eyes now. 'They were not jobless drunkards?'
'Lies Harry, all lies. Your parents sacrificed their lives to save you. They were ready to give up everything to keep you safe. They loved you more than anything in this world. They were killed by a mad man in his quest to escape me. Immortality is a lie, Harry. Even I, Death, do not claim to be immortal. Everything should move on when their time comes'
'My parents, are they here?', asked Harry still in tears.
'No Harry, they have moved on. They are elsewhere now. But you will see them. In due time, of course' said Death.
'So this is not heaven?', Harry asked.
'No Harry, these are the crossroads. People call this place by many names. Most of them prefer to call it Limbo. This is where you pay your price for your soul to pass through, to move on elsewhere' Death said.
'Can I move on? Can I see my mom and dad yet?' asked Harry
'Not yet my friend. You have to go back. There is a destiny that awaits you in the world that you left behind. I cannot let you pass yet. Fate won't allow me to do so. But tell me this, would you rather stay here with me for eternity stuck between worlds, with only me as a company or would you rather go back, live your life in the world that I showed you, make friends, fall in love, win some battles, lose some, live till contentment and then come back? I will always be here to greet you, my friend. And yes I do accept your friendship. But it's not time yet. So what shall you decide?' asked Death after his long monologue.
Harry didn't reply for a minute.
'I don't want to be in pain. I don't want to go back to live with the Dursleys again', cried Harry.
Death was taken aback. He hugged Harry.
'No, you won't have to go back there, ever again. You will be having a new home. This I promise' said Death turning silent as if thinking something.
'But I am not supposed to interfere with other domains of deep magic, you know. I will need to bargain with the custodians of Fate and Time to achieve what you said. Their price won't come cheap, Harry. I can only send you back, but to do the even most subtle of all changes, my powers won't be enough' said Death
'I will pay any price to not go back to that hell' said Harry in a determined voice
'Don't be too eager' said Death. 'You don't even know what the price is yet. It might not be as trivial as you think. Are you sure you want to do this Harry?'
Harry thought for a moment and said, 'Yes I am ready.'
Death looked withdrawn for a moment and told him, 'They want what is most precious to wizards. They want your voice'
'They have asked for your spoken tongue, friend. You will not be able to speak any of the human languages in a human form' said Death
Harry looked taken aback, ' I can't cast spells without my voice, right? How will I survive in that world without my voice?'
'There are ways around that', smirked Death. 'But that will be my gift to you should you choose to accept this bargain. But you can't tell them that. Souls are my domain after all' quipped Death
'So you are saying, I should take it?', asked Harry.
'It would be an added advantage hidden as a disadvantage Harry. I am a very pragmatic person. People will underestimate you for being mute. Trust me, Harry, it is a lot better to be underestimated. I am, after all speaking from centuries of experience', said Death
Harry took a long time before replying, 'Fine, I accept'.
'Ok, hold my hand and think about what you want and the price you are ready to pay for it' said Death.
Harry felt a heat radiate through him as he thought of a sheltered home where he would be happy and of the price he would have to pay for it.
'Is it done?' he asked Death.
'Yes', Death replied.
'I can still talk though', Harry asked surprised
'Human tongues were the deal, Harry. You won't be able to cast a verbal spell or speak in a language devised by humans. But I promised you a gift didn't I? Come with me if you will, my friend', Death beckoned.
Harry followed his alter-ego. Finally, they reached the place where Harry had first encountered the demon-baby.
'See this Harry? This is a fragment of the soul of a mad man who killed your parents. The soul of the one who sought to outwit me in my domain', Death gave out a burst of amused laughter.
'Why is it here?', Harry asked.
'This used to be in you, Harry. Voldemort was hell-bent on killing you when you were a child, Harry before you became a threat to his reign of terror. His reasoning was based on a half-heard prophecy from the mouth of a waylaid man', said Death shaking his head.
'Prophecy?', Harry asked.
'Yes. Do you want to hear it?', asked Death.
Harry shook his head affirmatively.
Death snapped his fingers and a disembodied voice began chanting:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…."
'That was about me? Is any of that real?'
'Prophecies are tricky business, Harry. They belong to the realm of Fate. As such, I won't comment any further regarding the matter ', saying this Death beckoned again. 'Come along Harry.'
'I will now strip him of his greatest advantage and give you a gift. Watch' Death said.
He pointed his hand at the demon baby and yanked something out of its head. The baby wailed an unholy scream that sent chills to the depth of one's soul. But Harry felt no pity. He actually felt relieved to see the end of someone, whose very existence was a mockery of nature.
'See this here Harry, this contains the vast swathes of knowledge acquired by the man who called himself Lord Voldemort, the fool who thought to escape my clutches. This will serve you well', said Death, extending his hand out.
'Are these his memories? I-I don't want to see my parents die', said Harry
'Do you think I am that cruel Harry? No, this contains knowledge. Pure unadulterated knowledge that aided Tom Riddle in his quest of power. But that man was incapable of love, Harry. You are different in that regard, my friend. You will know what Tom Riddle knew in his life as facts, not as memories. You will know when you must. You will not be peering into the memories of that wretched fool. It will not do well to expose you to such corruption', said Death.
Harry felt the green glow dissolve into his hands as he felt many things that were previously unknown to him. Magic was real, spells were real and he was a wizard. And then he asked Death.
'I can talk to snakes?'
Death grinned, 'Human tongues my friend, human tongues. Now off you go. I will be seeing you in due time.'
The mist started descending and Harry saw faux-Harry dissolving into the mist, waving him goodbye.
Derek himself felt a hole starting to form inside his heart. Here was a boy, his eldest son's age, dead and that too by his hand. He didn't know what drove the boy out of his home at that ungodly hour. He swore to find out. He knew it was not his fault deep inside, but he felt obligated to see it through. He felt the need to find his parents and tell them how sorry he was. He needed atonement.
Derek waited outside the ER for a very long time. He had been cleared to go home hours ago. But he waited he needed to see this through. The doctors had informed him that they found severe signs of abuse on the boy even before the post-mortem. He couldn't justify the need for vengeance he felt in the boy's stead, but he felt the need to see the people responsible for the torture that had been inflicted on such a young boy, not any older than his own son. He may not be able to do much but he would ensure that they were brought to justice.
After half an hour, the ER was in a panic. The boy's body was missing. And no one had a clue where it went.
Not everything went as planned for the Dursleys the following morning. They had half-expected to find the boy on their doorstep the next morning. The boy had vanished to who knows where. He vowed to never let the boy out of his room ever again. In case the boy didn't return by the end of the day, he would have to go to the police the following morning. The boy would pay, dearly this time.
But for all the waiting the Dursleys did, Harry never turned up. For a time they were worried about the trouble the boy might bring when he inevitably turned up. But he never did. And soon they eased into their new routine, without the trouble and freakishness the boy brought along with him, wherever he went. They were relieved to be free of the boy. He would never trouble them ever again. Or so they thought.