Prologue: The End and a new Beginning

The night was dense, shrouded in a mist so thick it swallowed sound. Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the shadows of a desolate street, every footfall echoing through the emptiness. Just ahead, he could see the faintest glimmer of light through the swirling fog, yet he knew this wasn't a beacon—it was a trap.

After all these years, after surviving countless battles, he had never imagined his death would come quietly, hidden away from the world in the cover of darkness. His instincts screamed as he sensed the presence lurking nearby. Malfoy—not the pale, sneering boy he once knew, but Lucius Malfoy, cold and calculated. Harry had barely registered the flash of movement before a streak of green light erupted from the shadows.

His body fell to the ground, and for a fleeting moment, he felt nothing—just silence, like the pause of breath between life and death. And then, he was elsewhere.


Across town, Daphne Greengrass faced her own ambush, her sharp eyes narrowed as she scanned the room, her wand held ready. Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, his expression a mask of disdain, but she saw the flicker of fear behind his cold, grey eyes. He muttered an incantation, his voice trembling just slightly, but the spell was strong. She tried to block, to counter—but he had been prepared. The world around her dimmed, and she felt the ground slip away.

And then, she too was nowhere.


The world that followed was strange—a limbo suspended between time and place. Harry felt weightless, as if he'd been stripped of his body yet retained the sensation of being. Daphne was near, yet he couldn't quite make out her features in the ghostly mist surrounding them both.

They hovered there, in uneasy silence, wary of each other. They each knew who the other was, but after years of bitter, unspoken alliances and suspicions, neither dared speak. It was only as a chilling voice drifted through the mist, ancient and resonant, that they both turned.

"Welcome, Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass. You've reached the end of the life you once knew."

The figure of Death stood before them, cloaked and faceless, a presence both terrifying and strangely comforting. It gestured slowly, its skeletal fingers pointing towards them, as if inviting them to understand something deeper.

Harry spoke first, his voice low and wary. "What…what is this? Are we dead?"

Death's voice echoed through the fog, a strange calm settling in its tone. "Yes, and no. Your mortal bodies were destroyed, but your spirits remain, pulled from the end of your time streams."

Daphne's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting from Death to Harry. "And why are we here together?"

Death's form shifted, and they could feel the weight of centuries in the silence that followed. "Because you were never meant to be apart. Forces beyond your control shaped your lives, bound by others' manipulations. You, Harry Potter, and you, Daphne Greengrass, were destined to be soulmates."

Harry's breath caught, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "That can't be…we barely knew each other."

Death's voice deepened, almost sorrowful. "That was by design. Albus Dumbledore, a man revered by many, kept you separated. He went to great lengths to ensure that both of you followed paths he deemed necessary for his 'greater good.'"

The air thickened as Death's revelations began to unravel years of assumptions and bitter memories. Daphne clenched her fists, her voice laced with anger. "What exactly did he do to us?"

"Potions," Death intoned, each word a knell. "Love potions were used on you, both subtle and strong, to alter your perceptions. For Harry, they diverted his affections and bound him to alliances that never served him. For you, Daphne, they dulled your own feelings and instincts, keeping you in the shadows."

Harry's fists clenched as he absorbed this, a storm of emotions raging within him. His life, his choices—it all felt tainted, warped. "Why? Why go so far?"

Death's form loomed closer, shadows swirling around it. "Dumbledore saw you, Harry, as a tool, a weapon to wield against his enemies. He wanted you vulnerable, controllable. And you, Daphne, would have given him a counterbalance, a strength he could not predict."

Daphne looked away, her voice bitter. "So we were never free. Our lives were nothing but strings he could pull at will."

"But now, you are here," Death said, and for the first time, there was a note of hope in its voice. "Here, you are beyond his reach. And I offer you a choice: to return, to relive your lives, and reclaim what was taken from you."

Harry's gaze hardened. "We'd be… going back?"

"To when you were seven years old," Death clarified. "Before the potions, before the manipulations had taken full hold." Death paused, a flicker of something akin to mercy in its hollow voice. "But know this—your lives will still be fraught with danger. Dumbledore's influence reaches far, and others will seek to guide your path."

Daphne looked at Harry, a shared determination passing between them. "If we go back, will we remember this?" she asked.

Death inclined its head. "Yes. And I will grant you one gift to help you—the ability to communicate with one another, no matter the distance. In times of need, you will have each other."

Harry felt a swell of resolve. This was a chance—a real chance to rewrite everything. He looked to Daphne, who nodded, her expression fierce. They would do this together.

"Then send us back," Harry said, his voice unwavering.

Death raised a hand, the mist swirling as its voice echoed around them. "Live wisely, for I shall see you both again, but perhaps, in a world remade by your choices. Goodluck, Master of Death, Mistress of the Master..."