Disclaimer: No time like the past to regret. No time like the present to rest. No time like the future to forget.
I do not own Harry Potter.
To those who have heard the title of this story before, yes it was I who had previously written it. It was my first fic and there were a ton of unnecessary subplots and some embarrassing writing.
I wouldn't curse the sheer mortification of reading their first story upon anyone. But here I am again, with some improved skills and better story-telling. The concept hadn't changed but everything else is scrapped. I hope you like it.
To those who haven't read this before, Welcome! I assure you that this will be quite a ride.
It's a dull place by any stretch of the imagination, Harry pondered upon his surroundings as he sat on the unremarkable bench. He was surrounded by a sea of white, with not a speck of color as far as the eye could see. The place appeared to be a caricature of the Kings Cross Station but lacking the hubbub and charm of the original.
A man could die of boredom if left alone in a place like this.
So he supposed he should be glad that there's company, in the form of a towering giant dressed in clothes that wouldn't seem out of place on a dementor. Harry couldn't identify any discernible features of his companion – if there were any in the first place – but there's an aura around the figure that reminded Harry of the gallows. Its black cloak, with frayed edges and long sleeves, swayed in the non-existent wind; The fabric was oddly reminiscent of his invisibility cloak. The figure was almost as tall as Hagrid but at the same time, thinner than Snape. He figured there was nothing but a skeleton lying under the shimmering material.
He could make a pretty good guess about who this was. But that would ruin their impromptu staring competition; Even if staring at an unending abyss that was the figure's visage got tedious incredibly quickly.
"I suppose this is the end then..." Harry remarked after a while. He didn't know how much time had passed – the caricature of the Kings Cross Station lacked the gigantic clock that graced the original one – and he got the feeling that the passage of time didn't matter at this point.
"...In a manner of speaking," the figure replied. Its voice sounded as if two mountains were having a fistfight and both were losing. Whether it was spooky or irritating, Harry couldn't decide. "But there's a saying about Death isn't there, that it's but the..."
"...next great adventure. Yeah, that statement got old pretty quickly when the man who said that died. And when hundreds of others followed during the next few months," Harry's tone carried a sense of resignation that was hard to miss. "After all that happened, I like to think that Death is a relief for those who died and a burden for those who managed to survive."
That saying was a source of comfort when he was an innocent first-year but the way the events had unfolded, he had an inkling of suspicion that the Headmaster was not solely referring to the Flamels that day. Whether Dumbledore knew about the Horcrux at that time, Harry didn't know nor did he care enough to guess.
"I will not pretend to understand the sorrows of the living," Death responded blithely. Harry could only roll his eyes. "But what I know are that such concerns are above he who holds the title of 'Master of Death'."
If he understood the title right, it practically implied that he was Death's Master but he got the feeling that the interpretation wasn't so simple. The only other meaning he could discern was that he need not fear the wrath of Death.
"You mean I am like you now...immortal?" Harry raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. That thought didn't fill him with any joy. Whatever powers Death might hold, they were not worth the headaches that it brought, he learned from experience. "I sure don't feel like it."
"Immortal your body might not be but the same could not be said for your soul."
It sounded like Voldemort's wet dream, Harry thought to himself. It seemed ironic that after all that Tom Riddle had done, he had obtained what Tom wanted the most without even trying. It left a warm feeling in his heart that, even in death, he managed to spite the prick one last time.
"So you mean I can start possessing some hapless wizards and keep living for eternity," Harry's dry tone conveyed how much he loved that idea.
Death made a displeased sound, like the final crackle of a dying fire. Apparently, the Master of Death resorting to petty thievery of bodies didn't strike a chord with the immortal. "You could but that would imply that you take your nemesis with you."
"What?" the fatigue that enveloped him since his foray into this place vanished in an instant at the mere thought. "You mean Voldemort isn't dead?"
He was prepared to die if it meant that it would rid the world of Voldemort. It was a fitting finale, Harry remembered thinking as he walked to his death towards the Forbidden Forest; For it ended the way it began. Him at the end of a killing curse and Voldemort paying an equivalent price for his death.
"Neither could die while the other remains," Death replied, a hint of humor seeping into its tone. It seemed that the plight of the mortals was a source of great amusement for the ethereal being. "If you opt to return to your world, the soul tethered to you would come along. Fickle as fate might be, it is just. Your death would imply the death of Tom Riddle and your living would simply imply the opposite."
Harry released a beleaguered sigh. It was cruel of Death to provide the solution and then pose the problem. "Then what's all this for? Why not just let me die?"
"It seems that you misinterpreted my previous statement," Death said in a chiding tone. "You might not be allowed to return to your world without your unwanted passenger but this world is but one of many that exist simultaneously. I do not hold any power over the soul of the Master of Death. The death you so willingly chose is not something I can provide you."
Before Harry could wrap his mind around the sheer ridiculousness of what Death was hinting at, it continued unabated.
"But the transmigration of souls still falls under my domain. While I cannot claim your soul, I can...relocate it, in a manner of speaking."
Honestly, the thought of another life when he barely managed to survive the previous one was an idea so tiring that his shoulders drooped out of his own accord. But the way Death had put it made it seem as if he had no other choice. Stuck between a rock and hard place, he couldn't help but ask.
"What do you gain from this?"
From all the stories he heard, he never got the feeling that Death was a benevolent entity; Quite the opposite, in fact. So it was beyond suspicious that it was so accommodating, in spite of the fancy title that he carried now.
"As amusing as it would be to watch you and Tom Riddle squabble for eternity, I still hold a grudge against your nemesis for even trying to think that he could escape my grasp," Death was nothing but honest, it appeared. "But more importantly, tell me, what did you glean from the Tale of the Three Brothers?"
"That you are an unrelenting bastard?" Harry thought it was only proper to answer honesty with honesty.
Death gave a guttural chuckle. "Crude but correct. As you must've understood by now, I do not take kindly to anyone cheating Death. In hindsight, it was a terrible plan and it created a concept, something that wouldn't have existed if I didn't gift them the hallows, that I abhor to this day."
"The Master of Death," Harry answered in realization.
"Yes, he who hath conquered Death," the displeasure in Death's tone as it uttered the words couldn't be put into words. It was a sound that rattled his bones and sent a tremor through his soul. "The only way to rectify my mistake is to transfer your soul to another world, for the title only holds as long as you stay in this plane of existence; The world in which you collected the three Hallows. In another Universe, you are nothing but another soul and when I meet you again at your death, I wouldn't be greeting the Master of Death but Harry Potter."
A stretch of silence that seemed to last an eternity smothered the desolate plane. Death waited, for it has all of eternity to wait, and Harry waited, for he didn't know what to do but wait. For all the important decisions that he had taken in his life, he later came to find out that those choices were already picked out for him. They were nothing but ultimatums in hindsight. And now even in death, things weren't any different.
"So this was the plan all along?" Harry asked in resignation.
"Oh no. Not at all. I do not want you to mistake my intentions as anything but spontaneous," Death responded with a wave of its bony arm. "I did not spend years plotting your death and I did not compel you to face the Killing Curse. I merely saw an opportunity and grabbed it."
"If everything went to plan, your departed Headmaster would've met you here and would've probably convinced you to return to the land of the living, to defeat your enemy one last time. You would've led your whole life believing you killed Tom Riddle and we would've had this discussion at a later date. It's just delaying what was inevitable, akin to what the third brother did."
"What to say that I wouldn't have preferred that?" Harry retorted. Whatever his decision might have been, having an illusion of choice was better than the stark realization that your hands were tied.
"Would you have, Harry Potter?" Death inquired in return. "I may not try to convince you with flowery words neither do I see a need to. But do not mistake my reticence for ignorance. I've seen your entire life play before my eyes and if there is one thing I am certain about you, it's that you abhor being lied to. You might have forgiven all those who have fed you lies in your life but you haven't forgotten. And it's my belief that for one who abhors the lies, living a lie would be the greatest sorrow."
If this was a negotiation, Harry couldn't help but feel horribly disadvantaged. Death, for all intents, seemed to know him better than he himself did. Harry, on the other hand, had lived his whole life in uncertainty and that didn't seem to be changing any time soon. But if there was anything he had deduced from this discussion, it was that Death had always had its best interests at heart, and for once, they had aligned with his. He was certain that he wouldn't find a more impartial adjudicator.
"Anything I need to know before I go on my next adventure?" Harry finally said in acquiescence.
If Death could smile, Harry was sure he would've found a mile-wide grin on its face. He was grateful that it couldn't.
"The journey you are about to embark on would be similar to the one you had been on before," Death answered.
"Wow, that was really helpful," Harry remarked, tone dripping with sarcasm.
"But one major difference you would find is that your parents are still alive after the fall of Tom Riddle," Death continued as if it hadn't been interrupted. Harry's heart skipped a beat before it started thudding violently in his chest. If Death had started the discussion with this, he was sure he would've said yes before it even began. "The causes and effects of this difference would determine the contrast between the two worlds."
'Say no more,' Harry mused. 'Come what may, it couldn't be any worse.'
Wait a minute...the fall of Tom Riddle? Didn't that happen because of his birth? Did that mean that he was already born in this world? He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried at that fact.
"Does that mean I would take the place of the Harry Potter of that world?"
"As I've said before, Fate is just, and because James and Lily Potter are alive, Harry Potter suffered as recompense," Death said as it rose to its full height. "He had been in a coma for years now due to magical backlash after the defeat of Tom Riddle, and as per his fate, he would die in a few minutes."
"And I will be taking his place," Harry declared solemnly.
"Do not fret, Harry Potter. It's but the cycle of Death and Rebirth," Death uttered as it brought a skeletal finger to his forehead, touching the area where his scar was located. "Save your sympathies for the living."
As Harry felt a searing agony spread from his scar to his entire body, he heard Death say. "You will learn that memories do not cross over as promptly as souls do."
He would have loved to have a few moments to digest that warning before his body shattered into a million pieces and his soul faded out of that plane of existence. But Death had to be a bastard till the end.
He woke up to silence.
His body felt unresponsive, and every sensation seemed to have been amplified to an unbearable degree. The soft mattress beneath him felt too soft, the surroundings too cold, and the air too stale. Yet his limbs refused his commands to escape this tranquil prison.
He stayed still and decided to concentrate on one body part at a time. The foremost concern was to see his surroundings instead of feeling them, so he began with his eyelids. To his frustration, someone seemed to have glued them shut, or at least it felt like it.
With monumental effort, he fluttered his eyes open, only to find a pair of beautiful green eyes hovering above him.
He blinked.
The pair of eyes blinked in return.
Did someone put a mirror above him? Then why is the image lagging?
He blinked again.
This time the eyes widened.
"Harry?!" A melodious voice gasped in surprise.
Harry? The name seemed intimately familiar to him but he couldn't put a finger on why it was familiar. He tilted his head in confusion.
The very next moment, he was smothered in softness as someone hugged him delicately, and his sight was obscured by a curtain of red hair. His chest began to get wet as the figure above him sobbed as they held him in their arms.
He had no clue what to do in this situation so he wrapped his arms around them in return. The figure stilled at his touch before peppering his face with feather-light kisses.
He still no idea where he was or who the person above him was...but it felt nice.
Somewhere in Scotland, a white-haired man sat in his throne-like chair in an ancient castle. The peace that settled in his office shattered like glass when every instrument scattered around the room began to trill and wobble before imploding.
The only reaction of the man was a raised eyebrow but considering his usual demeanor, that was akin to a startled shout.
The sound of rushed footsteps echoed beyond the office before the door to the entrance was slammed open by another white-haired man wearing half-moon spectacles. "Gellert! The devices..."
"I know, Albus," Gellert confirmed calmly and rose to his feet. "It looks like he's finally awake."
The delighted twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes could've overshadowed the sun.
Author's Note: What do you think would've happened in a world where there are no Deathly Hallows?
Don't forget to review. To the old readers, tell me whether you liked the changes. To the new readers, tell me whether you liked the concept.
Thank you!