RISING FROM THE ASHES

PROLOGUE

May 1998

"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

(J.K. Rowling - Albus Dumbledore - in 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone')

Harry hadn't wanted to die, but she had done it anyway. She understood it was necessary, to destroy the horcrux inside her scar, but it didn't lessen the betrayal. It made her feel nothing more than a disposable weapon; or a pig for slaughter like Snape had so rightfully put it. Well, she preferred the term lamb but the sentiment was the same. Her function in life had been to die at the right moment. Pretty depressing if you asked her. Not that anyone had bothered to ask her.

She had sacrificed herself like it was required of her, like the third brother of the story, greeting death like an old friend. She didn't raise her wand, she didn't try to defend herself. She had simply, calmly, let Voldemort kill her.

Finding Dumbledore in a white, limbo-like King's Cross had been sort of nice, though part of her still wanted to strangle him or scream at him, give voice to all the anger and bitterness she had felt before dying – but death numbed everything.

Until he implied that she needed to go back, because she was the only one capable of killing Voldemort. She had tofulfill the prophecy. Voldemort might be mortal now but he was still very much alive.

All the fury – even hatred – she had felt for him before her death resurfaced. She was done. She was finished. Couldn't she rest now? But no, the 'girl-who-lived' didn't get to rest, she didn't get to stay dead. She had to kill herself to save the world and now she also needed to live again to kill Voldemort. Couldn't someone else do it, for god's sake? Why was her responsibility? Because a damn prophecy said so? Well, fuck the prophecy.

She had done enough. She was going to board a train and join her parents, Sirius and Remus. The rest of the Wizarding World could figure out who was going to kill Voldemort. Couldn't they do anything on their own?

"No. I won't," she said to Dumbledore.

"But my girl—"

"Nope. I'm done, old man," she interrupted before Dumbledore could voice his dissent. "I've already died for the wizarding world. I'm not going to give up on my final rest because you feel like manipulating me from beyond the grave. Killing Voldemort is a matter for the living and I'm not anymore."

"But—" before he could utter anything else, he was gone, puff, vanished right before her eyes.

"Does he ever stop talking?" A raspy, chilling voice said from behind her.

Harry spun around, fearing what she would find.

A pale figure stood in front of her, features strangely distorted and blurred. He was wearing a black cloak and a robe – also black – while holding in his hand a scythe as tall as a staff.

"Not usually," Harry replied, pretending she wasn't intimidated by the terrifying figure. The baby-like-thing that was Voldemort's soul-piece kept moaning in the background but she ignored it. "Who are you?"

"Well, I'm Death, of course."

"Of course." Harry rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're here to make sure I board a train, I assure you, I'm going to, as soon as one arrives."

"Not exactly. You could board a train, if you want, but it won't bring you to your final rest."

"And why not? Haven't I earned it? Why does everyone think they get to decide not only when I get to die but also if I get to live again? Why can I not have control of anything, nor my life and now not even my death? I don't want to live anymore. I'm tired. My whole life I've been the slave, figuratively and literally, of someone else's whims and wishes. I want to decide this one thing, at least."

"Ah, yes. Choices. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. What if I told you that, because you collected all my Hallows, you are now the Master of Death? And, because of that, I can't collect your soul just yet. You can have a boon, though. Just one. Would you take it? Or are you so tired of living that you would give up on a second chance?"

"Oh no. No, no, no. It's not possible." The denial was out of her lips in a rush. "Yes, I did inherit the cloak from my father, and I kept it. But I threw the stone away and I've never even held the Elder Wand in my hand once."

"It doesn't matter. Before you died you were the legitimate owner of all three Hallows, thus making you the Master of Death."

"What does it even mean? Being Master of Death? And what did you mean about a second chance?"

"Well, it's simple. You get to live again. If you want, you could board a train and you will be reborn – live your life as Harry Potter all over again. This time you will remember. You could change things, make them better."

Harry shook her head in protest. "No. I can't do it. I don't want to be Harry Potter anymore. I don't want to lose my parents again. I don't want to live with the Dursleys again. I don't want to face Voldemort again. I've been through this already and I don't want to relive it. Sure, I could improve things, but I could just as well make them worse. I can't. I won't."

Harry couldn't really see the expression on his face but she had the impression Death was smirking. "I figured you would say that. But the problem still remains. I can't collect your soul just yet. However, I can offer you an alternative."

Harry felt wary but she was willing to listen. "What kind of alternative?"

"I could give you a fresh start. Somewhere else, in a world different and yet similar to the one you know. You will be reborn as someone else, someone whose name is not Harry Potter, daughter of Lily and James Potter. And, at the end of your life, you will get to move on, to really die this time."

"Will I find peace? Will I get to join my loved ones in the afterlife? My parents, Sirius, Remus…?"

"Eventually, yes," Death replied but there was something strange in his tone. Harry felt like she was being tricked, like there was something Death was not telling her.

"I can promise you, though," Death continued, trying to sway her decision, "that the thing you've sought all your life, you'll find it in this new world. If you're only willing to recognize it and accept it."

Harry didn't know what Death meant. What was the thing that she'd always sought? Control over her life and destiny? But that was a question for another time. "What about Voldemort? If I don't go back, what will happen to him? Who's going to kill him if not me?"

"The prophecy will shift to the next best candidate. Don't worry, one way or another, the prophecy will be fulfilled, just not by you."

Harry smiled. Of course, it was going to be Neville. "All right. I accept. It's not like I have much of a choice anyway."

A few moments later, a train painted red and orange appeared, bright as flames, making not a noise, and puffing out white smoke. "This is your ride," Death said.

Harry headed straight for it. Just before boarding she turned around and Death nodded at her. "Good luck Harry Potter."

Harry nodded back and then got on, sitting on the first place she could find. The train started moving at a slow pace but soon picked up speed. Then, at last, her surroundings disappeared and she knew no more.