Harry wakes up a bit dazed the next day but quickly snaps fully awake when there's a loud bang from downstairs, sounding like a door was slammed. Oh Merlin, what is Death doing down there? Harry trips out of bed and makes his way to the upstairs landing where he pauses.
A tiny Voldemort stares up at him, all pale skin and big brown eyes.
"What?" Harry asks no one in particular.
Death, back in his businessman skin, steps into view. "You're welcome," he says smugly.
Harry sucks in a breath. "Hey, um… Dave. Could we talk? Upstairs? Now."
Death raises an eyebrow at the name but makes his way past tiny Voldemort and up the stairs.
Harry manages a smile at the boy. "Just make yourself at home, this will only take a second."
Harry spins on a heel and rushes after Death, stopping himself from slamming the bedroom door shut after him, but he does end up casting seventeen different locking, hardening and silencing charms on the room itself.
"What?" Harry tries again.
"You wanted Tom Riddle," Death explains. It actually explains nothing.
"Yes," Harry says slowly, the panic creeping in. "Not now though. Years from now I wanted Tom Riddle. I wanted to put Tom Riddle into a nice family after he mellows out a bit in Hogwarts. I am not- nothing is prepared. This isn't the plan. I haven't even finished the plan yet. This is only me, saying my ideas out loud to you whenever they pop into my head."
Voldemort is downstairs. Child Voldemort is downstairs, and Harry has nothing. He has no idea what to do. He has planned nothing. He can't ask anyone. He's still… still trying to push back the part of him that's mourning.
Harry scrapes a hand through his hair and staggers back until the back of his knees hit the bed and he drops onto it. "I died and then you gave me ten minutes to pick a new world. I have been here for less than two days, could we just – please just slow the fuck down?!"
Death peers at Harry, expression almost expectant as the wizard finally realises what's happening.
"I died," Harry chokes out. "I fought so hard to even get to eighteen and I still lost everything…" He falls back and grinds the heels of his hands into his stinging eyes.
Harry breathes in through his nose and out of his mouth until his body stops shaking. It doesn't take long to stifle it, he's old friends with the concept of his death. He's not okay, but he's a professional at blocking it all out until the job is over, and then he can drown under it all for a good few days.
A weight pushes down the mattress near Harry's waist as Death sits down.
"I grabbed onto this idea and just ran with it," Harry admits shakily. "Do you want to know what the plan is? The actual plan?"
Harry drops his arms to the bed and looks at Death. "I was going to distract myself with wandering around, finding nice couples to be my friends, and then when Voldemort gets to Hogwarts I was just going to tell Dumbledore. Just pass it on. Of course I would help, but I died before I could get to twenty-two so clearly I don't have the ability to keep a child alive."
Death hums. "There is a slight problem with that."
Harry closes his eyes and braces. "Hit me."
"When you first had the choice of a new world, you only specified that Tom Riddle must be a young child not yet in Hogwarts," Death summarises. "I gave you more."
"More… what?" Harry asks slowly.
"More Dark Lords," Death continues. "You have several to choose from in this world. For instance, there was no need to ask me about pulling Gellert Grindelwald from his time because he is already a child. Here. In the downstairs bathroom."
Harry sits up.
"This shift in history means that several other sequences that you know from your world are in fact different." Death gestures vaguely to the world outside the window. "Little things like trees growing where they hadn't been before, new buildings sprouting up, Albus Dumbledore being a Dark Lord, more butterflies-"
Harry holds up a hand and Death cuts himself off. "You are… actually enjoying this, aren't you?"
Death's smile stretches too wide for a human's face. "You've already made it this far. Would you really turn back now?"
Harry stares at that macabre grin for a long time.
Then he pushes his glasses up and stands. Nothing matters anyway. He's dead. His friends are all gone. He's definitely not in the right mentality to take care of a child. Two children, in fact.
But he can't possibly do any worse, right? No matter what he does, the Dark Lord ending is literally the bottom of the drop. There are pretty much no consequences when you think of it like that.
Take it slow, one step at a time.
.
A/N: To SilentSnowLeopardNinja: All of your questions/statements will be answered in other chapters since I'm still setting out this world. (That couple is rather suspicious though *wink*.)
Regarding the psychology… this is a drabble series that I wanted to add a plot background to so it's not just diving in head first. There are points of seriousness such as the Merope musings or this chapter.
However, I literally used the words 'Hoe McFucker', so clearly, you're not supposed to take this story too seriously.