"A noise like feathers. Like leaves. Like ashes. Like leaves."*
They had arrived in a part of Limbo that Harry had never explored before, and it was radically different from the usual faded white copy of King Cross. Here everything was as dark as Death's shroud, and judging by the rocky walls Harry was touching, they seemed to be in a cave.
As they went deeper, a faint light could be seen. They approached and Harry first saw a huge ritual circle carved into the stone floor.
Although he didn't recognise any of the runes used to design it, he could safely say that they were far more elaborate than those he had already come across... And as he detailed the circle further, an uneasy feeling crept over him. Harry didn't consider himself an expert in any field, and often relied only on his experience from his various lifetimes, but he could tell that the work before him was far more than simply advanced. The circle and the ritual seemed to depend on a level of mastery and power that no man could even dream to achieve...
Sometimes he forgot that his old friend was also a divine entity. That Death was not only their name; but also the realm they could manipulate at will.
Harry swallowed loudly and looked around for the source of the light that illuminated the circle. In the center of it, he found something. His unease increased and his survival instincts kicked in. The shape remained indistinct, it seemed almost innocent as it glowed softly, but Harry felt deep down that what layed there was not something that could be handled without caution.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could even feel the eerie coldness that lingered in the atmosphere that Death left when they used their own magic… This did not bode well.
Without looking away, Harry grabbed Death's skeletal arm like a lifeline. His throat knotted with anticipation made his voice barely audible, "What is that?"
"Don't you recognise? It's a soul. Well, more precisely, a piece of it."
Harry's eyes widened with as much horror as if Death had just admitted that torturing puppies was their favourite pastime. "You split one? What's wrong with you?!" He abruptly removed his hand from Death's arm. The betrayal he felt flashed in his eyes as he took a few steps back.
Death did not take offense at Harry's attitude. On the contrary, they nodded serenely. "Even if I don't condone my actions, I had to do it. This soul, even split, was acting in a way that was... how shall I put it? Strange? Hmmm... Yes, this soul was quite unusual. At first I tried to bring it back together so that it could make a new start, but it resisted with all its might... Tell me, now that you are close to it, don't you feel something?"
Of course Harry had felt something! He had been wary at first of what awaited him here because of the Death magic that filled the cave with a chilly, and gloomy atmosphere; however there was something else he hadn't paid attention to. Ever since he had come close to the circle, he had kept moving forward until he could not move any further. His toes were just behind the line that defined the circle. He was drawn in.
Was this what Death was talking about?
"Maybe? Your magic prevents me from knowing for sure..." He glanced at his friend who continued to observe the piece of soul. "Death, what did you do?"
"Are you sure it's my magic that's distracting you, and not the boredom of your last few lives that has totally numbed your own soul?" A breeze swept across Harry's face as Death shrugged under their shroud. "Well, one day you'll have to come to terms with the fact that there is a connection between the two of you... In the meantime, I have divided one of the existing pieces to create the one in front of us."
"I don't understand anything. There were already several pieces and you split one of them again? What for?"
"The others - the originals - were waiting for something to happen. So I took a tiny part of one of them so as not to damage the others and forced it to show me what they wanted. I must admit, I'm rarely surprised, but it turned out that I was not expecting this... Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, he won't miss such a small part of him because he didn't even notice that they were disappearing one by one while he was alive."
A sickly cold sweat ran down Harry's spine and his eyes erratically shuttled between Death and the circle. He know it for sure. What stood there, in the cercle, was a bloody horcrux. And not just anyone's...
He couldn't believe it. In his past lives, he had met a few people desperate enough to resort to creating one, but hardly any of them had been able to bear the absence of just one part of their soul for long... only one of them was insane enough to split it up several times. Seven times exactly.
"Voldemort," Harry snarled venomously as he stared at the madman's soul fragment. He turned sharply to Death, an accusing finger pointed in the direction of the circle. "And this! This is supposed to help me change my first life?!"
"I grant you that it sounds far-fetched, but yes." Slowly, Death left Harry's side and ventured inside the circle to approach the soul. The light emanating from it flashed as a warning not to come any closer, but Death ignored it. In a gray mist, their scythe materialized in their hand and, with the wooden end, they poked the soul. "I can't give you your life back, old friend. What I can do, however, is offer you the alternative I've discovered."
Harry didn't respond immediately and watched the fragment flashing more and more furiously. He wondered if a soul could explode… Knowing Voldemort, it was very likely.
"Fate doesn't like to change her plans, but this alternative will free you from them. And in the long run, it may also allow you to regain control over your first life."
"That's—" Crazy? Vague? Unbelievable? Harry wasn't sure what to say.
Death would stop poking at Voldemort's soul. "Horcruxes are anchors, not only for the main soul to remain on the mortal plane, but also in time. I remember that you saw it yourself : they do not age. They are bound to the time of their creation."
It all seemed surreal to Harry. Using the soul of his enemy, the man he had killed, to return to an era he thought was lost forever, it was beyond comprehension… And, it was—also—too good to be true.
"So I only have to use one of them to get back to the living and in the timeline of my first life? That's it? What's the catch?" he asked as he cautiously stepped into the circle and joined Death's side.
"I made sure myself that there is none. The circle around us has allowed me to temporarily integrate myself into the connection that binds you to the soul and thus integrate the timeline for a few seconds..."
" Buuut? " Harry stressed, feeling there was more than that.
"It's not a requirement, but I think you'll have to gather all of his soul—"
"What? No way!" cried Harry in an outraged tone, "I'm certainly not going to help Voldemort pick up his pieces! The bastard made his own bed!"
Death had no real face—just an impassive skull. It was only by their movement to lean on their scythe and their hand resting tenderly on his cheek, that Harry could sense his friend's concern.
"And why not?" Death suggested softly like a tempting invitation to be corrupted. "It is not him you will help first, but yourself. The new path ahead will not be the one you knew as Harry Potter. It will be your path as my Master. The one you'll shape by your own choices and will."
Where Death's hand lingered on his face, Harry felt the mystical chill embrace him. A sensation that only he found soothing; a touch that only he, the Master of Death, could accept without fear of the consequences. What he had always wanted was now within reach, he wanted to be seduced by the idea, but he couldn't help being cautious—a little less reckless.
"Why should I pick up all the pieces? Wouldn't one be enough?" he asked, thinking he might be able to negotiate.
Death stood still for a few moments, seeming to weigh the pros and cons. Finally, they said in a vague tone, "only your actions will determine that."
"I'll just use one then."
Harry moved away from Death to crouch down. He reached out, his fingers already ready to close on the piece of soul on the ground, but Death grabbed his wrist to keep him from touching it.
"Did you not hear what I said? You will return to your own timeline, yes, but not to the time you wish. You'll be transported back to the time this one came from."
"So...?" Harry trailed off, a little bit frustrated by the complexity of Death's plan.
"So, by using only this horcrux, you will be transported to a time long before Harry Potter was born. And furthermore, I regret to inform you that you will not be able to stay in that time indefinitely. Not without disrupting the timeline."
"Wait, what? This will only be temporary? Why wouldn't I be able to remain there?" Harry complained loudly as he leapt to his feet.
"Using it is like creating a bridge between my realm and life, such an effort will exhaust the piece. And, as soon as it runs out of energy, you will be forced to return here," Death explained calmly. "Well, you will come back here, as long as you are not integrated into the timeline... because you will be an anomaly. You can't exist twice at the same time. I know two ways for you to stay. The first one, is by appearing at several key moments in the past before Harry Potter arrived. Like that you will be able to gradually implant yourself in this reality… That's why I was talking about the long term. It will take patience, before you get to the time you wish to reach, but if you can wait, then you will be able to do everything you want."
"...And what about the second way?" Harry asked after a moment's hesitation.
Death's face turned in the direction of Voldemort's soul piece before shifting their empty sockets back to Harry. "If you want to stop at the first one and be able to stay where it's taking you, then you'll have to cause such a major disruption in the timeline that it will become radically altered. Totally different from the one you have known. So much so that fate will be unable to put anyone back on the path she originally intended."
"In other words, kill Voldemort too soon," Harry concluded darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Another murder. No less! Just thinking about it made Harry's stomach twist with guilt. Yes, counting all his lives, he was responsible for a body count so high that Bellatrix Lestrange would have probably worshipped the ground beneath his feet, but he didn't want to be a murderer anymore. He didn't want to help Voldemort either, but he didn't want to kill him unless it was his last resort...
"He was a sadist, a megalomaniac and a supremacist. Many people I've loved died by his hand or by his orders..." Harry sighed heavily as he shook his head, his eyes closed. "And yet it would be hypocritical of me to kill him while he's still innocent."
When he opened his eyes again, Harry watched as Death bent down to cup the piece of soul that was glowing more and more intensely in their hands. Showing its fury - or panic - at being touched by what the man had feared most.
"Fond of second chances, aren't you?" Death teased. "Remember, only you will be free to act. The others will not possess this power. At least, not while you are unable to stay definitely."
Harry gave the soul shard another glance, but the dilemma still clouded his eyes. Would he have the strength to endure such a long wait? To be a mere spectator of the past that had taken place before his arrival as Harry Potter? How would he be able to change anything if he was only passive? And then, of course, he wanted to change the course of events... but he hadn't yet decided how.
"What will happen?" Harry waved his hand loosely at the piece of soul that Death was still holding.
"Nothing... Everything. There's no answer to your question. The possibilities are endless. Ask yourself instead what you intend to achieve with this second chance."
"I-I... I don't know." Harry confided in a whisper with his gaze dropping to the floor, "I guess, making things better… Fairer, maybe?"
He felt like a muggleborn, alone for the first time in Diagon Alley. The universe suddenly seemed too big, too overwhelming, and with no map to guide him. He was finally getting the power to change things, but now that it was at hand, he didn't know what to do with it. It had been his dearest desire, the wish he had most hoped would come true, but his fantasy had prevented him from projecting further. It had all remained a distant and unattainable utopia until then...
The soul piece appeared slowly under Harry's eyes, and perhaps it was only an impression, but its light seemed to faintly warm his face. How could such a simple sensation remind him so much of life? Perhaps because he had been in this icy realm for too long?
"Fairer? Are you sure?" Death inquired in a whisper.
Harry was silent, unable to answer that simple question.
Death sighed slightly. "Waiting here to find out what's awaiting you there is impossible. You can think about it, but it's only along the way that you'll find the answers you seek... No one will expect anything from you anymore, so why not just give it a try?"
Without a word, Harry approached a little closer. He flexed his hand spasmodically into a fist, reluctant to take hold of the only way to bring him back once and for all.
Sensing his hesitation, Death added, "I'll always be there, by your side, no matter which path you take."
Harry's eyes met Death's empty sockets. In the ocean of darkness he could see constellations and planets, the beginning and the end of the universe; he could see something beyond himself and he believed in his friend's words. He needed a friend, a support, someone who would guide him, not for selfish reasons, but so that Harry could finally be free of his regrets.
Still cupped in the hands of Death, the fragment increasingly radiated light as Harry approached it. Once he covered Death's hands with his own—the soul in a cocoon of bones and remains; Harry felt a rush of ice in his limbs, winter biting his spine. A blast of stinging coldness latched onto him; an iciness so acute that it was like being burned from the inside. Iced stalagmites—freezing thorns—pierced right through Harry's core. He sucked in a sharp breath, the impact as violent as a punch to the gut.
In this gloomy cave, a pulse desecrated the mortuary silence of the Limbo. A beating heart . Living things had no right in the realm of Death. After one last glance to his old friend, Harry was no longer dead.
