Winter will end, spring will return.

The small pestering breezes

that I so loved, the idiot yellow flowers—

Spring will return, a dream

based on a falsehood:

that the dead return.*

The ghostly King Cross station welcomed Harry. For him, dying had become as common as going home, but one detail made him pause: the absence of Death. Usually, the immortal was there for his arrival—Harry never thought he would ever develop a sort of quasi-domestic relationship with Death.

He didn't stay long thinking about this change in their habits, because a sudden warmth in his hand caught his attention. In the palm of his hand, he found the soul fragment that seemed to lose its light with each additional second.

Was it possible that the fragment was destroying itself or...? Harry panicked. He looked around, searching for an answer. His eyes stopped on his other hand as he realized that his wand had followed him into Death's realm. Upon spotting it, a flash of memories about the Horcruxes and their containers rushed through his thoughts, providing him with the solution. Willing to risk any consequences, he locked the soul fragment in the Resurrection Stone. The solution would remain temporary, he could not afford to leave the soul in one of the Hallows.

The stone embedded in the handle of his wand made it buzz, the sensation reminding Harry of a snorting dog. After it seemed to accommodate the extra passenger, it stood still for a few seconds; then with Harry's hand still clasped around its handle, it suddenly pulled. Hard. Harry stumbled on his immaterial legs, but followed the direction his wand pointed. He left the King Cross replica behind and went into Limbo.

He knew he could slow down when he saw the huge, squelletic figure of Death in the distance, talking to another wandering soul.

At their level, the woman's voice became more audible to Harry, "they have always been there!"

"Don't be afraid, Merope. Nothing will happen to them."

Hearing the woman's name, Harry let his jaw hang in surprise. Tom's mother. He tried to muster up a good-natured smile, but it faltered when Merope's crossed eyes fell on him. The woman gave off a fierce look that would make a pack of werewolves run away with their tails between their legs.

"I don't know what you want exactly, but I've got my eye on you," she threatened before disappearing.

Well, Tom can always brag that he didn't inherit his immensely friendly nature from his father's side.

Death savored one last blood-curdling laugh as they rubbed their hands together, causing the bones of their knuckles to click against each other, "I think they got that from Cadmus, he was always arrogant enough not to fear me." They turned their empty eye sockets toward Harry. "The next one isn't far away." They pointed in the direction and they walked side by side. "Coming back to the mortal world was... how can I describe that?... Hum, entertaining? Oh yes. Very interesting."

Harry slowed his pace to better scrutinize Death, he didn't expect his friend to find anything fun. "It's unexpected that you would appreciate humanity."

"Appreciate? You're wrong. I like life, old friend. I love it so much that I'm always the last one to accompany it on its last breath. I am the rest after the trials, the soothing after the suffering, and the end for a new beginning... Knowing this, do you still think I don't love life?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," Harry apologized, a little ashamed that he hadn't considered that perspective.

Death clapped their bony hands together. "Perfect! Then you won't mind if I continue to follow you into the mortal realm?"

Harry had just been tricked. He came to a complete stop. "What? No!—"

"No objections? I knew you'd see my point. I've already got it covered!" Death resumed their steps, their hand resting between Harry's shoulder blades, urging him to move forward in concert. "Time is running out! We are already late. Perhaps if we hurry we can get there just a week later?"

Completely baffled by the total change of subject, Harry tried to reattach the wagons by asking, "what did we miss?"

"The murder of Myrtle Warren," Death announced. "Our dear Tom committed it much sooner than we expected. Hence our delay."

"... Do you think I could have prevented it?" asked Harry, unsure.

"Some events are just bound to happen. All you can do is deal with the consequences."

"Maybe I should have killed him after all," Harry said reluctantly, with mixed emotions on his face.

Death was silent for a few moments. Their voices became cautious, " It s little too late to regret your choice. You' ve already chosen the long road of patience... but I thought you understood that at the Cauldron."

"Yes, I did! Well... I mean... " Harry tried to explain, and no matter how immaterial his body was, his cheeks darkened as if he was blushing from the rashness of his actions. "Well okay! Not really! but I acted on a hunch!" He said defensively.

"A hunch. He calls it a hunch," Death huffed. "How dense can you be sometimes... Anyway, here we are."

The new soul fragment seemed larger than the previous one, it also possessed a rectangular shape. Harry assumed it was mimicking the shape of the diary.

This time Death did not stop Harry. The immortal only kept their hand on Harry's back as he carefully retrieved the piece of soul.

The wind howled through the Limbo, carrying with it the echo of a sound forbidden in this place. Harry felt his limbs tingle with frostbite, his lungs burned, and a film of powdery snow covered his body as it tried to mimic skin. Death covered Harry's hand with a bony one, and together they returned to the realm of the living.

Same as last time, Harry crashed face down, but, instead of licking the pavement, this time he felt dirt against his cheek.

A hand with lovely, chubby fingers reached out before his eyes. Death and her many faces sounded like an echo of her declaration of adoration for humanity. Her opaque white, pupil-less eyes stood out against her skin, which was as dark as the night that hung around them.

"Welcome back to the mortal realm my friend," she hummed in a voice that was both eerie and distantly cheerful.

Harry accepted Death's hand to help himself up. Even if gravity wasn't hammering him as much as the first time, his body felt like it had been put through a grinder. However, he was ready to move on, as he enjoyed his new size. Hooray! He no longer had the build of a child: a real relief.

Harry assessed the environment around him. Behind Death he could see a carriage harnessed to Thestrals, which meant that behind him— he turned around and looked with his own eyes at the gates leading to Hogwarts.

How was Death supposed to follow him inside? How was he even going to get into the school?

"I've already arranged everything, just follow my lead," Death said with a wicked smile.

The gate to Hogwarts opened as a thunderstorm broke out. Harry had almost missed the rotten weather in Scotland...

Death and Harry entered the school in a downpour. Despite the horror movie weather, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the energy of the place. The old stones sang with their rocky whispers, the ancient trees stirred their branches in a ripple that bathed each of their leaves in rain, and the children created a rousing cacophony with their energy. There was something warmly alive and preciously magical about Hogwarts. A place Harry has always considered to be his first home.

After a corridor, they passed a group of wizards wearing the official scarlet robes of the Aurors, some of whom naturally greeted Death with a friendly grunt without stopping her. Harry was silently shocked to see members of the Ministry's enforcement service roaming the Hogwarts grounds.

'Don't forget that a murderer is on the loose and that several students had been petrified before. The Ministry would have preferred to focus all their men on the fight against Grindelwald, but they couldn't afford to ignore the problems here any longer... Well, not without angering the parents.'

They were in another corridor that Harry knew well, and as he had expected, he saw at the end the huge closed doors leading to the Great Hall. Well, he didn't have much time to look at them, because without stopping to walk, Death opened them - almost unhinged - with a flick of her wrist. The wood of the doors slammed against the stone walls of the Hall with a sound that would probably have deafened a giant.

Harry held back a sigh, Death could deny it all she wanted, she genuinely liked making dramatic entrances.

Inside, a curious and sudden silence greeted them. Harry took a quick look at the decorations and bit his tongue to keep from laughing: he came back to life on Halloween night.

It couldn't have been a coincidence, Death had probably planned it.

Speaking of his friend, she continued walking across the room and Harry followed her at the same pace. He preferred to keep his attention riveted on the teachers' table. Even then, he was not safe from a bad flashback, reminding him of the state of the Great Hall after the Battle of Hogwarts.

When a man stood up from the Headmaster's chair, Harry wondered if that man was the inspiration for Dumbledore's future hairstyle. He had long hair as white as the thick beard that covered his neck. Even for his advanced age, he looked impressive and... respectable? Harry couldn't tell if it was from his azure and gold outfit, which exuded the craftsmanship of skilled weavers, or from the way he held his head, which was more befitting a wise king than a school director.

"Headmaster Dippet, I hope I haven't overstretched your patience. Yours and your students'," Death greeted with the splendour of a deity arriving on its celebration day.

"Auror Morcades!" recognized then Dippet with his eyebrows high on his forehead. "...Or rather ex-Auror, if I am to believe your presence here."

Harry hid his laughter in a cough. 'Auror? You're really going to have to explain to me how you were able to make it look like you're an Auror.'

"You couldn't have kept us waiting for any less," Dippet resumed, not paying any attention to Harry's coughing and his clothes, currently creating a puddle at his feet. "Not after the tragic accident that befell our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher..."

'Death? Don't tell me you had anything to do with it ,' Harry mentally complained.

'Not at all. The moving stairs are just sometimes an inconsiderate choice. Especially, when you're distracted.' Death continued aloud to Dippet, "Tragic, indeed. Leaving my post amid the Grindelwald debacle was not the easiest thing to do, but I did reach a compromise with the administration. They are allowing me a year to install stability in the school setting and allow you to comfortably prepare for the next year."

At that moment, Harry understood—and so did the rest of the Hogwarts student body, judging by the chatter that was spreading like wildfire in the hall—that Death was going to be the new DADA teacher.

Harry glanced at his friend from under his eyelashes with both panic and betrayal in his eyes. "Really? Ex-Auror and teacher? Reaper isn't enough of a job for you? How bored were you exactly?!"

"Let me have some fun. My psychopomps will take care of the souls as well as I would for a while."

Suddenly, Harry wondered if the professorship was jinxed because of this particular moment in the timeline...

The sensation of several gazes aimed at him made him look up at the professor's table. He found not only Dippet, but also Dumbledore, staring at him. In his blue eyes, Harry found a flash of interest tinged with curiosity. The Professor of Transfiguration put his cutlery aside and leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, totally attentive to the conversation.

Death placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, grounding him. "And this is Mister Peverell. His situation is quite exceptional, Headmaster. I can't go into it publicly, but you should know that he should have been a student of yours. Our paths crossed during my last assignment under unfortunate circumstances."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Grindelwald was implied to be the cause of Harry's disappearance.

Dippet walked around the teachers' table—Dumbledore following in his footsteps—approaching Death. The Headmaster invited them to follow him out of the hall.

As Harry became aware of the way people now interacted with Death, he wondered if the immortal had a way of dimming her unique aura that made mortals irrepressibly want to flee from her.

It was as Harry looked back into the great hall that he met his eyes.

Towards the end of the Slytherin table, black eyes rimmed with a red hue that could be attributed to the flickering light of Halloween candles met Harry's gaze. Tom's face was sickly pale, but his lips were contorted into an expression of furious anger. Focusing on the thick darkness that was emanating from him, Harry was able to tell that he was in a tremendous murderous mood. The impression was reinforced by the other students around him who were cowering in on themselves, their gazes plunged into their plates as if not to face this bloodthirsty version of their house prefect.

Faced with this realization, Harry could only think of one thing: there was absolutely no way he would let the Sorting Hat send him to Slytherin!

With Tom in this state, Harry would be unable to close his eyes without fearing a Crucio thrown into his sleep. He didn't know the reason behind Tom's behavior—although he already had a few guesses, one of which was that he had died before his eyes—but if Harry knew one thing, it was that he had to stay away. Very far away from Tom. Maybe he couldn't die, but he could suffer, and Harry wasn't going to allow Tom to remind him of that.

Of course, he didn't expect Tom to jump into his arms out of joy, but... it was a bit of an extreme reaction, wasn't it? Harry didn't know what, but something was wrong.

'Gryffindor's courage, my arse,' Harry thought very loudly as he climbed the principal's stairs after the gargoyle gave them access. 'Not now in myself, at any rate.'

Death stifled a laugh into her sleeve. 'Careful what you wish for, my friend.'

Dippet invited them to take their seats and motioned to some perfectly inviting chairs, with their large padded seats and neutral brown color. Dumbledore stood next to Dippet, no doubt accepted as part of the case because of the mention of Grindelwald earlier in the conversation.

With another gesture, Dippet also invited Death to say more about Harry's presence.

Death was putting her foot down. "Our investigations have uncovered the brutal disappearance of several children of high magical potential in recent years around the world. My latest assignment from the Ministry led me to a training camp... It was fortunately dismantled with the help of the MACUSA."

As Death's speech progressed, Dumbledore's expression darkened. He kept his hand in front of his mouth and preferred to look away from Death. He turned his back and lost his gaze to the office window and the dark landscape around Hogwarts.

"I remember you, my boy," Dumbledore said, in a weak, thoughtful voice. "I never imagined... I thought... Perhaps you don't remember me, though. How long has it been? Now, almost five years? Almost five years since I met you and Mr. Riddle at the orphanage..."

This seemed to surprise Dippet, the director raised his eyebrows and glanced at his teacher. "So you're confirming that this child is enrolled at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore moved his hand away from his mouth, "In a strange way, but yes. His letter arrived at the same time I did. It was as if Hogwarts had just discovered its existence... I wonder if..."

The blue eyes rested on Harry. He could feel the suspicion, but, more importantly, a sharp curiosity, together with all the questions that burned on Dumbledore's lips. Then, suddenly, Harry startled when he felt a touch in his subconscious. He jumped to his feet, violently expelled Dumbledore from his thoughts, and pointed his wand at the professor.

"Don't even try it with me. Sir," Harry growled, his magic crackling with sparks around the fingers bound around his wand. "If you have any questions, ask. Otherwise stay away from what's going on in my head. You might not be able to digest what you find there."

Death laughed charmingly and put a hand on Harry's to make him lower his wand. "Dumbledore, need I remind you that using your Legilimens ability on a minor—and against their will and that of their guardian too—may be severely punishable by law?"

"Albus..." Dippet grumbled softly, massaging his eyelids. "We have enough to worry about with the Hogwarts Board of Governors right now. Spare me that, please."

The professor looked disconcerted by the turn of events, almost confused. "I— My sincere apologies. Being a natural, I sometimes intrude unintentionally when... No matter. It won't happen again. On the other hand, Mister Peverell, Hogwarts sanctions just as severely a threat made against a teacher."

"Of course, Sir," Harry grumbled through his teeth as he put his wand away.

Dippet scanned Harry from head to toe before addressing Death. "You were talking about a camp. A training camp. What exactly were these children training for?"

"What a question!" she scoffed. Death's misty eyes remained on the Headmaster, but she pointed to Dumbledore with a sharp jerk of her chin. "They were being trained to kill him of course! It is common knowledge in our department that a blood pact prevents them from fighting each other." She took a breath and turned her face towards Dumbledore. "I'm sorry to break it to you in this way, but Grindelwald is looking for a way around that."

Dumbledore's face broke down and his shoulders slumped. He breathed Grindelwald's name from his lips, both scandalized and in such a sad way that Harry felt a little compassion for the man standing in front of him; but Harry also restrained himself from raging, would he also become the new trigger for Albus' obsession with child soldiers?

At the expression on Dippet's lips, this revelation left him pretty reluctant. "I'm ready to welcome any magical child... But the case of Mister Peverell seems to me... Sensitive." This time, his eyes sharpened and pierced Harry's. "Mister Peverell, to put it bluntly, how do you feel about having daily contact with the man you were being trained to kill? For that will be the case, and I will not tolerate any violent acts within the walls of Hogwarts."

In a moment of silence, Harry wondered if he could joke and ask which man exactly was being referred to: Tom or Dumbledore? But he kept his seriousness, after all, he was gambling his place at Hogwarts there.

"I think, Headmaster Dippet, that if Auror Morcades has taken the responsibility of bringing me here, it is because she feels I am capable of behaving fairly and respectfully. I am also sorry for my reaction, Professor Dumbledore... I just... Let's just say I've had some very bad and painful experiences regarding psychic invasions. It has a way of robbing me of my patience."

When Harry looked up to judge the adults standing before him, Harry recognized the expressions on their faces. A mixture of pity that pinched their brows and an opaque filter over their eyes that screamed that they were saddened by Harry, or, more accurately, the traumatized child in front of them.

Death gave him a blinding smile and gently patted his thigh, as if to say that he had done the right thing. The same toothy smile turned to the other two older wizards. "Upon his return, Henry underwent several evaluations, including a diagnosis of his mental state by a Mind Healer. They confirmed his ability to follow a conventional school course."

"Perhaps there is a way to get Headmaster Dippet the report, if it will reassure him?" Harry cautiously suggested to Death, watching out of the corner of his eye for Dippet's reaction.

"If you agree... I can arrange to get a copy. What do you say, Headmaster, would that appease you? Knowing that I am currently Mister Peverell's magical guardian, and therefore responsible for him... This is due to his rather... exceptional life path."

'Careful Death, you're starting to act like a mother hen ,' Harry teased gently through their psychic connection.

'You'll be the first one to come to my quarters and have a hot chocolate with me.'

Meanwhile Dippet was consulting with Dumbledore in a low voice, both seeking the other's approval. Finally Dippet slowly gestured with his hand, as if swatting away an annoying fly.

"The Mind Healers' findings are too personal for me to stick my nose into a potential student's. I'll settle for the word of Mister Peverell, your guaranteed ex-Auror Morcades, and..." Dippet stood up, his hands crossed behind his back as he made slowly his way to a shelf filled with knickknacks. From a shadowy corner, Dippet pulled out the Sorting Hat. The ratty hat drew in its folds the essentials of a face: squinty eyes and a grumpy mouth. "And I'll mostly settle for the Hogwarts judgment, itself."

The impressive and calm Headmaster approached Harry at a slow pace, Harry did not know if the wizard was walking slowly so as not to provoke an unfortunate reflex similar to Dumbledore's attack or if the Headmaster was just a slow person by nature.

He brought the Sorting Hat up to Harry's eye level, "Do you know how Hogwarts works, Mister Peverell?"

"You mean the houses? Yes. I know."

"Then let's see if you belong to one of them, shall we."

Harry inclined his head, a silent invitation for the hat to be put on. As the old leather covered Harry's ears, an old, grumpy voice echoed in the distance of his mind.

A thin smile sprang to Harry's lips, 'Sorry to wake you. I came back to bother you .'

'Indeed. A habit with you, Harry. Will you listen to me this time? Have you ever thought about what would have happened if you'd gone down the path I advised? '

'You're in my head. You know I've had plenty of time to think about it... To think about a lot of things, for that matter.'

The Sorting Hat laughed vocally. 'Oh yes, I'm in your head and see everything you're talking about. Don't you think you've matured since the last time we met? '

'I'm still stupid on and off... but not all the time either. Does that count? '

'You say more than I need. I think I understand better where the long years away from us have taken you... If I tell you Slytherin, what will you say?'

Harry bit his lips. 'Well, that I'll probably have a bad night? But I'll stand by your judgment this time. Might as well give Fate a chance.'

'Good. Very good.' The Sorting Hat was almost gloating in his thoughts before he let out a loud cry, "Hufflepuff!"

The light from the Headmaster's office blinded Harry's wide-eyed gaze.

This was unexpected.

At least from the raised eyebrows of Dumbledore and Dippet, the surprise was shared. The two men shared a glance and suddenly seemed lighter with warmer smiles.

After all, why would they be suspicious of a badger? Harry simply handed back the Sorting Hat, boiling inside. He hated being misjudged.