DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR POKÉMON

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|MASTER OF DEATH|

"Understand?"

Harry nodded as the sound of the train's whistle, a sharp, clear note cut through the air. He wasn't sure how long he and Sirius had been talking. It felt like forever had passed since he opened his eyes, yet still not long enough.

Sirius had spent most of the time teaching Harry everything he knew about women. There was a lot Harry didn't know, having died a virgin and all. He did his best to listen to everything, but the main rule that stuck out to him was that while some witches didn't mind being talked about, Sirius had never met a witch who liked rumors being spread about her. So don't go running your mouth. That was a surefire way to cut the number of witches he would get to shag in half. Because the witches he did take to a broom closet would be telling all their friends that he was a blabber mouth.

Steam billowed from the train and it started to move. I don't want to leave yet, Harry thought and his face must have been an open book because Sirius patted him on the back.

"Go on then, Harry," Sirius said, trying to keep the mood light. "And remember, no matter where you end up, you have a life to live beyond what others expect of you. Always make the selfish choice to be happy. You've earned that right."

With a final hug, a squeeze that seemed to convey all the unsaid words and feelings, Sirius stepped back. Harry climbed the steps to the train, turned back once to wave, and then disappeared inside.

Inside the train, it was warm and bright. Harry found a compartment and settled into the seat, looking out the window as the train started to move, slowly at first, then faster as it picked up speed.

He expected to see a city or the gentle rolling of countryside hills. Instead, the world outside the glass became a movie, flashing with scenes from his life. The first scene wasn't as scary as it had been before—a flash of green light, the very one that had attempted to end his life in my infancy and did end his life in the forest.

The view shifted to a more mundane, yet equally defining part of his life—growing up in the house of the Dursleys. There he was, a small figure with a mop of untidy hair, sneaking around a much larger, blonder boy: Dudley. He watched as Dudley, in a fit, threw away a battered old Game Boy. His younger self took it from the bin, eyes wide with the thrill of having his own game. The tiny screen of the Game Boy lit up, and through the train window, Harry could see himself huddled in the cupboard under the stairs, blanket drawn over my head like a tent as he started his first game in Pokémon FireRed. The game cartridge, cracked, slightly sticky, and covered in a fine layer of biscuit crumbs—likely from one of Dudley's snack-time tantrums—but miraculously still working was a treasure. Before he ever knew magic was even a thing, that simple device, scratched and worn, became Harry's portal to another world, a world where I wasn't just the unwanted nephew who lived under the stairs.

As the train raced on, the images began to blend together. Hagrid telling him he was a wizard. Meeting Ron and Hermione. His fun and exciting, but also dangerous school years at Hogwarts. And each summer, when he returned to Privet Drive, cut off from the magical world and his friends—because Vernon locked up Hedgewig, Ron was in Egypt, or on Dumbledore's strict orders—falling deeper into the Pokémon universe. Whether it was through the latest games or the newest episodes of the anime, Harry kept his connection to the Pokémon world. It wasn't just a way to pass the time—the Pokémon world was his escape, his refuge from the dreary and sometimes harsh reality of his summers with the Dursleys.

As the scenes ran their course and finally faded completely after Harry saw myself walking into the forest, the train came to a complete stop and the door to his compartment slid open.

Instead of the hallway of the Hogwarts Express, the doorway looked more like Veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry stepped through the doorway.

A few seconds later, or at least from Harry's perspective, the Boy Who Lived found his vision filled with a blinding white light and there was an otherworldly voice resonating around him, filling his ears and soul with an eerie melody.

"We finally meet, Master,"

Harry looked over his shoulder toward the voice. Floating in the air was a humanoid figure twice as tall as him, and covered in long robes and hooded cloaks of ripped white cloth.

"Death?" Harry asked, not sure why he even bothered. Who else would it be? He had just accepted his death after all.

Two pale white hands reached up to pull the hood back. Harry expected to see something ghoulish, like a Dementor's face covered in thin, scabbed skin, with empty eye sockets and a gaping large hole where the mouth should've been. He was ready to keep himself from reacting, even if he was here to die, that didn't mean he wanted to insult Death.

Death's hood fell revealing the pale and ashen face of a beautiful woman. "Yes master," she said, her voice was light and sweet, but it still gave him chills. "I've been waiting for you."

Harry gave a slight bow. That was something people did for death right?

"Then you know why I am here Lady Death," he said, then he registered what she said and frowned. "Could you please not call me Master? I don't like that word."

Death laughed and she floated around him forcing Harry to turn on his feels to follow. "You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."

"So it's true?" asked Harry. "All of it? The Peverell brothers —"

"—were the three brothers of the tale," said Death, nodding. "Oh yes, I granted them each one of my Hallows."

Harry was shocked. Even till the end, he always assumed that the story of the three brothers was a bedtime story, or at the very least not the complete truth. He thought the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death's own Hallows seemed to him the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

But here he was, hearing it from Death herself.

She floated closer until there was only an inch of air between their noses. Harry was once again glad she didn't look anything like how he thought Death would look.

"Did you think I would be some hideous beast?" Death tilted her head to the side. She was looking at him curiously, then she sighed. "You mortals always think that. I wonder why?"

After a moment, Harry realized the question wasn't rhetorical and that Death was waiting for him to answer.

"Um…because you're Death?" he answered, though it came out like a question. "I mean, to most people, dying is the scariest thing in the world."

"Exactly!" Death let out a little huff. "It's not like I'm killing the mortals. I don't have any control over when or how they die. That's not my power. I only come after they die, to gently sever the last ties between the soul and the body, and to guide the deceased to the afterlife. Why would I present myself as some scary terrifying beast and make the whole ordeal even more difficult?"

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted. He couldn't really argue when she put it like that.

It made sense, but it still didn't change the fact that the idea of dying was terrifying. He had faced it multiple times already, and even at the very end, when he accepted his death, walking into the forest had been the hardest thing he had ever done.

Not that he planned on arguing semantics with Death. He might be the "Master of Death" but he wasn't sure what that meant. Was it a metaphor, or was he supposed to become the new death? And if Death was just a guide, what if he insulted her and she refused to take him to the afterlife? Would he be forced back to the Wizarding World? What would happen when he died again?

Death reached out and gently cupped Harry's cheeks. Harry felt a sudden rush of peace wash over him. All his worries faded away as he looked into her purple eyes.

"Do not be afraid, Harry" she said, in answer to Harry's unasked questions. "You have nothing to fear from dying, because you can't die."

"What?"

"To guide a soul to the afterlife, I must sever the ties between the soul and the mortal world, but a servant cannot harm their Master."

"I don't want to be the Master of Death," Harry protested weakly, the title sounding too grand and permanent for his liking.

"It is not a choice that can be undone. You have proved yourself worthy with my Hallows, Harry. The title is yours."

Harry's protest grew into frustration. "But why do you even need a master?" he demanded. "Why risk giving your Hallows to three mortals?"

For a moment, Death looked almost sheepish, which was odd, considering her role.

"Being Death is a lonely and thankless job, Harry," she admitted. "I wanted someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't just see me as the end."

Staring at her startlingly human expression, Harry sighed. "I'm still scared of you, though," he confessed.

"Yes, you are now. But this is only your first time," Death said with a smile. "The thing with mortals, even those who believe in reincarnation, is that they never remember their past encounters with me. They forget that there is no reason to be afraid and always come back scared."

"First time?" Harry asked. "So, I'm not going to spend eternity here with you?"

Death looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion. "Of course not," she said quickly. "I might want someone to talk to every now and then, but I don't need a pet."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit insulted by the jump straight to 'pet' instead of something like boyfriend or husband. But then again, to a being like Death, the idea of dating a mortal probably didn't even register.

"Oh?" In a sudden playful move, Death squished Harry's cheeks so that his lips puckered. She grinned at him playfully. "Do you find me attractive, Master? Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Caught off guard by her forwardness, Harry didn't know how to respond. He was about to quickly change the subject when he remembered Sirius advice: Witches liked confidence, and pretty privilege was a thing. The only difference between being a creep or a flirt was whether a witch found him attractive or not.

Boldly reaching around Death, Harry spanked her white robes taking a great big handful of her large, round arse, filling his palm and fingers with springy, bouncy arse cheek.

"Harry!" Death yelped at Harry's sudden boldness.

He was worried he may have overstepped and was about to let go and apologize when he felt her arch slightly into his touch. There was a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes as she let his cheeks go to wrap her arms around his neck.

"How bold of you, Master. Maybe you do want to be my boyfriend," she said, cheeks red as she pouted up at him. "We might have to explore that idea sometime."

Harry gave her a lopsided smile and another playful squeeze. "So, I'm just going to keep getting reincarnated, but because I'm the Master of Death, I'll remember all this?"

"That's right."

"It doesn't sound too bad," Harry said, "but it'll be weird being alone. Never seeing my friends or family."

"Who said you would be alone?"

Harry was about to ask what Death meant by that when he heard a slight flapping noise. Like a bird…like an owl.

"Hedwig!"

Soaring toward him was the ghostly form of a large snowy female owl. She landed with a soft flump on Harry's shoulder and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he let go of Death's arse to reach up and touch her beak.

"Usually with mortals who refuse to let me guide them to the afterlife I just let them wander around as ghosts until they come to their senses," Death said, "but I think I can make an exception for this one, Master."

"Thank you, really," Harry said, smoothing down some of Hedwig's feathers.

"I expect payment for this gift you," Death leaned in close again. Her arms were still around his neck and her chest was against his.

Despite his earlier boldness, Harry felt his cheeks flush. "H-how?"

"Next time we meet, I want you to…"

Harry swallowed hard. What? What did she want?

"…tell me about your life. I'm really curious, you know."

"Huh?" Harry blinked. "Tell you about my life?"

"Yep," Death nodded. I've always been curious about the simple things that seem to bring you mortals such pleasure. Like eating an apple. Most mortals love them so they must taste amazing!"

"You've never had an apple?" Harry asked. "They grow on trees and you can pick them right off."

Death gave a small wistful laugh. "I only exist on the mortal plane in the spaces between life and death, Harry. I see the end of every story, but not the stories themselves. Not a lot of time to go apple picking."

"Well, if I'm going to be popping back and forth through lives, how about I make it a point to try new things each time? And when we meet, I'll tell you all about them."

Death's face lit up. "I would like that very much, Harry."

"It's the least I can do," Harry said, lifting his fingers so Hedwig could nip at them again.

"Then I do believe this is where we say goodbye for now," Death said, and before he could ask how reincarnating even worked, she pressed her lips against his.

The sensation of it consumed his senses, far beyond anything he'd ever experienced. As Death's lips moved against his, a subtle vibration of energy pulsed through him. Harry felt his soul being pulled out. It was like the Dementor's Kiss, yet completely different; there was no pain at all, Death's hands were soft and light not strong and clammy.

Thankfully, her breath didn't smell putrid like a Dementor either. She smelled like treacle tart. Harry opened his mouth, hoping to deepen the kiss and really start snogging when he started to feel dizzy.

His eyelids grew heavy, fluttering as the world around him—the infinite expanse that seemed both nowhere and everywhere—began to dim. He could feel his knees weakening, the effort to remain standing becoming a battle he was losing.

"Relax, Harry," Death whispered against his lips. "Let go."

Her arms wrapped around him more firmly, guiding him gently to the ground.

"What's…" Harry heard his own bewildered whisper and felt his consciousness slipping away…

He'd never dreamed that he'd be transported to the Pokémon world.

Next chapter; Harry enters the amazing world of Pokemon!

Thanks for reading!