Chapter Text
Harry lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay, existed too.
Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In trying to open them, he discovered that he had eyes.
Harry squinted his eyes, struggling to get adjusted to the light. Too bright. Too white. He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like a mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather it remained in an in-between state, not quite formed yet. Much like he felt.
The mist settled just as thoughts came to him, and he became more than simply matter. Where was he? How did he get there? Wasn’t he on– Oh, the memories came to him. The battle. The forest. His family. Hagrid’s plea. Voldemort’s voice. The flash of green light that suddenly took over everything.
I died.
For some reason, Harry smiled. He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes once more and taking a deep breath. Sirius was right. It was quicker than falling asleep.
Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.
For the first time, he wished he were clothed.
Barely had the wish formed in his head then robes appeared a short distance away. With a sigh, he sat up, only now taking notice of the unscathed appearance and feeling of his body. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore, yet his vision seemed perfect.
He reached for the robes and put them on. They were soft, clean and warm. It was extraordinary, how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them…
He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass glittered high above him in the sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises from somewhere close by.
Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for–
He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noise. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.
He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless, he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon, he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.
“You cannot help.”
He spun around. And although his body stopped, his mind kept spinning. Because there he was, Albus Dumbledore walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.
“Harry,” He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man.”
“Professor?” Harry asked, not entirely surprised. Of course, the first person to welcome him in the afterlife was the person that sent him to it. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He didn’t step into the hug, and the man’s arms fell to his side.
“Well, yes. But no,” Dumbledore smiled sheepishly. “I took this form in the hopes that it would be a more familiar face for you to talk to. Perhaps I chose the wrong one. But I am an old friend of yours, nonetheless, even if you don’t actively remember me.”
Harry frowned, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. It was always like this, riddles for him to crack, never a straightforward answer, not even in death. But for better or for worse, he was more than used to it by now. It took him only a couple of seconds to come up with an answer. “You’re Death,” he reasoned.
“Precisely.”
The boy hummed, digesting the information. He never really thought Death was a personified being. Not really. He had met and talked to ghosts and none of them had ever mentioned Death welcoming them to the afterlife. Then he remembered the tails of the Peverell Brothers. He had never, until now, thought about it as a literal tale. He always assumed they were rather talented wizards who accomplished great magic.
The Elder Wand - just a powerful wand. The Resurrection Stone - a more precise and powerful way to reach the other side. If he remembered correctly, even muggles had their own way of doing it. And the Cloak of Invisibility, another powerful and rather fun magic.
But now… He knew it was all true. And yet, it all felt extremely anticlimactic. So much had happened in the past hours, so many discoveries, so many lies, so many stories, that this was just one more piece of information to gather.
“So, what now?” Harry asked.
“Well, you tell me,” Death said, and the words ate Harry’s insides. Another vague answer. The figure took notice of the boy’s discomfort, and before continuing, signaled with his hand to the path ahead. “Why don’t we walk for a bit?”
The boy hesitantly nodded, stepping closer to Death. They walked quietly, Harry not trusting himself to speak. At each step, the white nothingness gained shape, aside from the dome ceiling. Columns rose one after the other ahead of him, and the floor dipped to his right, leaving them walking along a platform. An endless one, at that, or so it seemed, as it faded into the background far sooner than the horizon.
“Harry, do you believe you’re dead?” Death startled him out of his peace.
“Well, I feel pretty dead! I mean,” he gestured around, and then to Death, making a point. “I don’t actually believe I would be talking to you if I wasn’t!”
The elder smiled. “You’d be surprised.”
Harry stopped walking. “Am I dead or am I not?”
“No, Harry. Not yet,” The figure spoke. Then, a screeching noise called their attention. Harry looked for the source of the voice. It was the same creature again. Ugly, small, and naked, abandoned like a mangy dog. Were they walking in circles or has it simply reappeared?
“What is that?”
“Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Death.
A pause. “But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,” Harry started again, “and nobody died for me this time— how can I be alive?”
“I think you know,” said Death. “Think back. Remember what he did, in his ignorance, in his greed and his cruelty.”
Harry thought. He let his gaze drift over his surroundings again. He had discarded the idea of it being somewhat a palace, for if it was, it was certainly an odd one. Now, between the columns, he saw chairs set in little rows and bits of railing here and there, and still, he and Death and the stunned creature were the only beings there. Then, a question rose to his lips.
“He took my blood.”
“Precisely!” said Death. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it, and in doing so, tethered your life to his. You were his seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to make. And… He is yours, or so to speak, for it was made with such completely different magic that calling it a Horcrux is a gigantic stretch.”
Harry remained silent for a moment, his steps slowing. “And that thing… It’s him.”
“Yes. At least the part that lived within you.”
Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the distance, and Death didn’t miss the way his brows met on his forehead.
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.”
Harry stopped walking altogether and looked straight into Death’s eye. “Well, it’s easy for you to spit beautiful words, isn’t it? But how can I not pity the dead? Not pity the fact that Remus and Tonks won’t see their kid grow, just like my parents? Of the fact that Fred won’t get to grow old?”
Death stared back with a familiar condescending gaze. He could really think he was talking to Dumbledore were it not for its midnight-dark eyes. “Death is as much part of life as birth, Harry,” he tried to reason.
“I know! But not like this! Like that!” He gestured vaguely, pointing to nothing and everything, pointing to a world he could no longer see, to a battle he could no longer partake in. “That- That isn’t fair. None of it it’s fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, my boy.”
Harry flouted. “I know!” He screamed. He was angry. “I know, alright? I’m dead. My parents are dead. My friends are dead. All we’ve known was war and fear and destruction, so you don’t need to tell me that life isn’t fair. Because I know that! Better than anyone.” If he had a body, he was certain he would feel the weight on his chest, of the anger, of not being able to properly breathe. But he doesn’t have a body, and somehow, the emotion took over all of him. All of his soul.
Death touched his shoulder, and the pain vanished. It was a much gentler touch than he could have anticipated.
“But you are not dead yet, as I mentioned before. If you chose to return and finish things for good, you still could.” Harry took a deep breath in, and Death continued, knowing he was listening. “Part of your soul still lives. It’s not strong, however, and it might not have been enough. But if you take into consideration that you are now what wizard would call The Master of Death, then it is enough to bring you back to the world of the living.” There was a moment of hesitation. “If that is what you desire.”
Harry blinked. “I’m sorry?”
You did own all my Hollows at the time of your death, didn’t you?”
“Well, I suppose. But I didn’t have the wand or the stone when I died.”
“No, but you owned them. They were rightfully yours.” A beat of silence stretched between them before Death asked again. “So, is that what you desire? To go back?”
The answer came almost instantly, surprising both. “No,” Harry stated. “I’m done.”
Death raised its brow. “Are you sure?”
“In all honesty? No, I am not,” he sighed. He wanted to sit, he didn’t want to walk anymore. At that, a bench appeared and he sat. Death followed him and he continued talking. “It’s just- I’m so bloody tired. And it’s not like they need me anymore. I’ve done my part. I want to rest.” He choked on the last words, as the first tears fell.
Harry cried in silence. He was so ready to meet his parents. They were almost the same age now, so maybe the afterlife could be fun. He could only imagine Fred’s face when he realized that the Marauders were his family all along — he grimaced at the thought that Fred would probably be mad at him for not saying anything. He would get to see Sirius again. Oh God, He really missed him. Although they hadn't had enough time together, when he died, it was still like a part of him was gone.
But on the other hand, maybe not everything was lost. Hermione and Ron were still alive. Molly and Arthur too. And Teddy, his godson. He still had a family to go back to.
“I just wish things had been different.” He sniffed, drying his face with the back of his hand. “If I could just go back in time and-” he sighed again. “I don’t know what to do. It feels unfair. I had too many chances of living already. I was supposed to die as a baby, but I didn’t. And then you- I mean, not you, but Dumbledore, he- Fuck, I was ready to die, you know? I am ready to die! But now you say I have another chance and… Why do I get so many chances when others don’t?”
After a brief moment of consideration, Death questioned. “Would you prefer to give this chance to someone else?”
Harry stiffened. Was he serious? Could he really? “Is… Is that possible?”
Death nodded. “The circumstances are unique, and this has never happened before. But you are The Mater of Death, and yet you’ve never tried to take advantage of me. Instead, you’ve welcomed me with open arms even if it was not your time. In contrast, Riddle escaped me far too many times, and by that, he took many lives with him, lives I was not to collect yet. So that’s why I believe, that just this once, I can make an exception.”
Harry grinned. Now, there was no hesitation. “Brilliant. If there’s a possibility that I can give this chance to someone else, then yes. I’ll do that.”
“Very well, then.” Death nodded, bringing his palms together in a thud clap. “Now, it’s only a matter of who.”
Harry thought. “Lupin, maybe? He just had a son. Or maybe Fred? He was too young. I-”
“You’re thinking too small, Harry, it’s not likely of you.” The elder interrupted him. Harry frowned. “You said you wanted things to be different, didn’t you? Can you not think of a life, that if spared, would have been a turning point in history?”
Harry pondered. A life if spared… Who would be a turning point? He thought, he searched, he analyzed. And he found exactly the person Death was talking about. But- “But he died a long time ago. It would-”
“Change everything. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Well, yes, but what happened with ‘terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time’?”
Death laughed. “Oh, my boy, but we are not meddling with time here.”
Harry turned his head to the side like a curious dog. “We’re not?”
“No. We are at the Limbo. There is no time or space in here. Tell me, Harry, how long does now hold? A second? Or maybe a minute? A day? A week, a month, or a year? A decade, a century? Time is a messy concept. A second ago is as past as ten years ago. And today is as present as this century. Do you understand?”
Slowly, he nodded. “So, if I chose to save him, I’ll be able to change things for good?”
“Well, you will be able to change things. But I can’t say that it will be good or bad. You see, that’s another messy concept.”
“But-”
“Right now may be bad for you and your friends. But someone just got married to the love of their lives. Someone just had a baby. Someone got into their dream college. Someone is having the time of their lives, even if it is hell for you right now.” The boy remained quiet. He could see sense in those words, but still, he just wanted to know if things would be better. As if reading his mind, Death continued. “However, I can guarantee that a lot of innocent blood will be spared.”
Okay, that was a good thing, right? Ah, fuck it. Let the Slytherin in him speak for once. He wanted a different word. He wanted to grow up with his parents, he wanted this bloody war to be over, and he wanted a normal childhood. Was he being selfish? Maybe. But if his selfishness would bring a positive outcome out of it, then why not?
“Okay, I’m doing it.” Harry stood up, feeling more alive than he felt in his entire life. Oh, the irony.
“Very well. Say it loud and clear, Harry. What do you wish to do?”
Harry took a deep breath, and spoke.
“I, Harry James Potter, wish to trade my life for the life of Regulus Arcturus Black.”