Chapter 1: Death's Champion

--

The sun had yet to rise over the battlefield. Tendrils of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a muted light that did little to warm the shattered stones and torn earth. Hogwarts' courtyard, once filled with shouts and the clash of magic, was now chillingly quiet. Shadows lingered across the walls, and every breeze stirred whispers that seemed to echo the memory of spells cast and lives lost. The bodies of friends and foes lay side by side, yet Harry's world had narrowed to one singular figure before him—Lord Voldemort.

Harry Potter had faced him countless times, but this was different. This was their last meeting, the final confrontation that had loomed over his life since he could remember. Every moment, every ounce of courage and pain, had led him here. He couldn't ignore the irony of it all: he had cursed his luck so many times, but at the same time, luck had kept him alive. And now, with every fiber of his being, he knew it would end here, one way or another.

Voldemort stood across from him, cloaked in darkness, his thin lips twisted in a predatory smile. The air felt thick with power, heavy and cold. Harry tightened his grip on his wand, his knuckles turning white. His heart beat a steady rhythm, though his thoughts were scattered. Everything else—the bodies, the castle, even the distant cries of survivors—faded. This was it.

Voldemort's voice slithered through the silence. "Are you ready to die, Potter?"

Harry straightened, feeling a strength rise within him. "If I go, I'm taking you with me," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. He saw something flicker in Voldemort's eyes—was it fear, or perhaps recognition of the unyielding determination in Harry's face?

With a swiftness that belied his age, Voldemort raised his wand. Harry mirrored him, both men calling on the depths of their power. Voldemort cast a curse that Harry dodged with a side step, retaliating with a spell of his own. The air crackled as beams of red, green, and blue light sliced through it, colliding with explosive force. Every spell they threw at each other was a culmination of years of training, suffering, and survival.

But this wasn't like their other duels. Harry could feel it, as if the magic around them had taken on a life of its own. Each spell they exchanged seemed to draw them closer to an invisible line, an edge neither could retreat from.

Sweat trickled down his brow as he dodged another deadly flash of green light. He retaliated with a stunning spell, only to watch it dissipate against Voldemort's shield charm. They were locked in a deadly dance, each man matching the other's moves, mirroring the other's will. The ground shook beneath them, as if the very earth resented the power unleashed upon it.

In the midst of the chaos, Harry felt a strange calm wash over him. His mind drifted to everyone he had lost—his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, Fred. Each memory came rushing back, bringing with it a wave of sorrow and strength. He was ready to join them, if that's what it took.

With a final surge of resolve, he steadied himself. His eyes met Voldemort's, and for a brief moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed, his voice laced with malice as the Killing Curse erupted from his wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried, pouring every ounce of himself into the spell. He saw the curse hurtling toward him, faster than he could react. Voldemort's wand flew from his hand at the same instant the deadly green light struck Harry square in the chest.

The pain was instantaneous, sharp, yet distant, like a phantom pain in the deepest recesses of his being. The world around him dimmed, fading into shadows and silence. He felt the ground leave him, the coldness creeping into every inch of him until he was weightless, suspended between life and something else entirely.

Darkness enveloped him, a place that felt at once vast and crushingly empty. There was no sound, no sight—only a void that seemed to stretch for eternity. Harry floated, unable to move, his senses numb. He was surrounded by a sensation he couldn't name, both everything and nothing all at once.

"So…this is death?" he thought. There was no fear, only a calm that felt almost surreal. "Is this…what everyone else felt?"

Just as he began to succumb to the silence, a voice pierced the darkness, old and resonant, like the rustling of ancient leaves. It echoed around him, chilling and yet oddly comforting.

"O Champion of Death…" it whispered, its words resonating through his mind. "Become my blade once more…"

The voice was everywhere and nowhere, as if coming from the very shadows surrounding him. Harry tried to focus, but he was weightless, formless—a mere thought adrift in the endless void. The cold intensified, creeping deeper into his soul, and he realized he was not alone.

In the distance, a figure took shape, shrouded in shadows that shifted like mist. It was tall, cloaked in a dark, ethereal robe that seemed to be woven from the essence of night itself. The figure was faceless, yet he felt its gaze upon him, a presence that was ancient beyond comprehension. It radiated power, an authority that made Harry's very being tremble.

"Who…who are you?" he managed to ask, though he wasn't sure if he spoke aloud or merely thought the words.

"I am Death," the voice replied, its tone neither warm nor cold, a simple statement of truth.

Harry felt a strange sensation—acceptance, perhaps, or maybe resignation. He was dead, after all. But the figure continued to stare at him, its unseen eyes boring into his soul.

"You, who have mastered the Hallows," Death continued, a hint of something like pride lacing its voice. "You returned them to me, willingly or not. For that, you have earned a reward."

A flicker of confusion stirred within Harry. "A…reward?"

Death's form seemed to shift, drawing closer without moving. The air grew colder, darker, pressing in on him. "Yes, a reward," it said, voice reverberating through the void. "You shall be my blade, my champion once more. You will live again—but in a world far from your own."

A shiver ran through Harry, cutting through the numbness. "Why? Why me?"

"Because," Death replied, and he felt something like a smile in the darkness, "you are worthy."

Before he could respond, the void surged around him, pulling him under like a powerful current. The last thing he heard was the whisper of Death's voice, fading like the final breath of a storm.

"Go forth, my Champion. And may you wield my power wisely…"

--

It's back everyone, the new and improved deaths champion story has been rebooted and reborn from the ashes of the old better than ever! The second chapter will be out tomorrow, as at least in britain its rather late, so i am going to bed, hence the shorter introductury chapter, however rest assured that chapter 2 will be much longer, so stay tuned, i hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for the support, you guys are so great! God bless you!!