Chapter Text
Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was finally gone. His pale, black-robed body hit the floor of the Great Hall and silence descended upon its occupants. Death Eaters, Hogwarts students and staff, and remaining Order members were stunned by a sight none of them had ever believed possible until they saw it. Two thirds of the hall erupted in cheers, while the other third tried to make a run for it, seeing their leader now lying dead at the feet of one they had seen rise from literal death.
Harry Potter, despite wanting to cheer and shout and smile, could not bring himself to do it. Too many had died, too many futures had been severed by a nonsense war. He could see Remus and Tonks' bodies lying next to each other with peaceful expressions. Fred's body was being cradled by the Weasleys, distraught by the sight of their loved one cold and stiff.
A jet of green light coursed through the Great Hall, and Harry wasn't fast enough to dodge it. With his last conscious thought he saw his best friend aiming his wand at him, casting the Killing Curse. Sorrow, anger, and a grand desire for vengeance filled him during his last living instant, and Harry Potter was no more. Except he was.
The most surreal experience ever was developing before his eyes. His own body hit the floor; he actually saw his body hit the floor, but he wasn't there. Harry Potter was still standing, seeing chaos burst across the hall. Hermione's cry of anguish was heartbreaking while she ran towards his now-dead body. Ron's family had him restrained, murder written on their faces for the blatant betrayal their own had carried out. The rest of the hall's occupants had their wands raised, thinking there was another Death Eater attack, only to find one of their own had killed the magical world's hero.
"So much death, is it not?" Harry was startled by the voice behind him. Turning back, he saw a man in a black suit staring at all the bodies and the battle unfolding around them. He had pale skin, wrinkles of old age, big and hollow eyes, and sleek long black hair. He was carrying a black cane with a skull for a handle. Behind him stood another man: black overcoat, clearly overweight, small eyes, five-o'clock shadow, and an almost bald head.
"Who are you?" Harry addressed the men in front of him with more bravery than he felt at the time.
"Where are my manners?" A snap of the old man's fingers, and all three of them were in a dining room. By the looks of it, Harry thought it might be an American restaurant. It looked like those in some of Dudley's magazines of naked women and such. The old man's eyes stared at Harry for a brief moment before speaking again. "Harry Potter, the boy I've had to personally take responsibility for, because none of my reapers can seem to find the best way for you to fulfill your destiny."
"Come on, old man. Don't be too hard on the kid. He had an old Satan wannabe manipulating things from the start." The fat man spoke without taking his eyes off Harry. "None of your reapers have the abilities or the cunning to circumvent those manipulations."
"You would know all about Satan's manipulations, now wouldn't you?"
"Low blow, old man."
"It's just the truth, Crowley." The fat man flinched for a second, while the old one stared back at Harry. "I'm Death, Harry."
Harry sat there frozen in place for a mere instant before bursting out laughing. When he calmed down a little bit, he opened his eyes, saw the serious faces of the men in front of him, and burst out laughing again. It was a good five minutes later that Harry finally managed to restrain himself enough to speak again.
"You're joking, right?" Harry couldn't fathom meeting the actual Death, let alone sitting with it in a dining room.
"You're smarter than that, Harry." It was the simplest, and calmest, response anyone had ever given him.
"Ron killed me." Death nodded once. "I killed Tom." Another nod. Harry tried to process everything that had happened in the previous 24 hours and was having difficulty wrapping his head around it. Especially Ron casting a Killing Curse at him. "What happens now? I don't have Riddle's soul in my head anymore, so I truly died this time, right?"
Death's sigh was one of exasperation and not a small amount of amusement.
"If you were any other worthless soul, yes, you would be correct. But no, Harry, you're not dead. Well, not the way you think you are."
"Come on, you old fuck. I have the Winchester boys waiting for me sometime in the next 10 or 15 years, time is mo... AH!" Crowley cried in pain, while Death simply sat in the same spot without moving an inch.
"Crowley, you think you can make demands of me? You are here only because I need you, as I have always needed your kind to draw up contracts for me. I will reap you now if you don't hold your tongue."
Harry was more confused. He didn't see a spell being cast, or a movement from the man who claimed to be Death itself—nothing that could explain Crowley's cry of pain.
"I see you have questions, young man." Harry could only nod. "Very well, I'll start at the beginning. I'm Death, as I've already told you. This loathsome piece of trash next to me is Crowley, a demon who fancies himself the King of Hell. A load of shit, if you ask me. With me so far?"
Another nod. As unbelievable as it all sounded, Harry found himself clinging to a simple truth: when everything else has been discarded, the only remaining possibility, however improbable it may be, must be the truth.
"Good. Now, as much as it is my job to reap the souls of the dead and depart them to their specific places for eternity, I, early on at the beginning of time, gave limited powers to a selected few across time itself to do the reaping for me. Since I'm Death, and same as God, exist beyond what you know as time and space, I took people from different timelines and universes to do this. Your reaper, bless his soul, really tried to get you on track, but unfortunately you still ended up dead before your time. This, Harry, is your seventh time."
A chill ran through Harry's spine. It made sense in a morbid kind of way. All of those near-death experiences that he had somehow managed to barely survive now took on a different meaning in Harry's brain. He had died those times.
"But, how..."
"How did you manage to survive every single time?" Harry nodded. "Your reaper rewound the timeline and tweaked a few things to guarantee your survival. It's all they can actually do with the powers I gave them."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. Anyway, since this is your seventh untimely death, I pulled your file and took the case myself." Death made a flourish with his hand and a thick yellow file appeared before him. "Harry James Potter, greatest wizard since Merlin. Defeats Tom Riddle in 1998, dies with his soulmate, some Granger girl, sometime in their sleep at 189 years old, after successfully merging the normal world and the magical world in their universe. Well, that's not happening if you die now, is it?"
Harry felt every fiber of his body burning up in disbelief.
"What do you mean, some Granger girl? Hermione? Hermione is my soulmate? What the actual FUCK are you talking about?" Harry's indignation was palpable.
"Careful now, Harry. I might decide I don't care about this universe or timeline, and just reap you right where you sit." Harry took a few calming breaths. "Good. Now, yes, your soulmate is Hermione Jean Granger, who then becomes Hermione Jean Potter. Huh, looks like you share initials when she takes your name. Funny thing is, I don't believe in coincidences."
Harry held his tongue, knowing full well Death wouldn't bat an eye before carrying out his threat.
"Good. Now, the only reason you have failed time and time again has been because of the manipulations and schemes of one Albus Percival Dumbledore. I don't understand how nobody noticed he hyphenated his own name years before he became famous." Harry was beginning to feel dizzy from all the revelations. "Anyway, because of it, he also made my job harder, and I took offense. Too many people died before their time, and it has set my reapers in a right state."
Suddenly there were two square boxes in front of them, emanating a smell that made Harry forget about all of his problems at once.
"Ah, food is here." Death opened up the first box, and a circular dough covered in sauce and cheese and ham, cut into big triangles, gained Harry's full attention. "I don't need it, of course, but you humans can be quite crafty when it comes to food." Harry nodded, asking permission with his eyes. Death smiled at him and handed him a slice. "This is called pizza. I know you've never tried it before, but it's quite popular even in your world."
All three sat in silence, eating the pizzas away, giving Harry much-needed time to process what he had learned up until that moment. The revelations had been startling. Dumbledore had manipulated him—well, yes, he could see it, even at the end of the battle walking towards the Forbidden Forest, he could actually see it. Hermione being his soulmate—come to think of it, it also made sense, but it made him wonder why he had never indulged in those thoughts, and why he had ever let Ron pursue that relationship.
"Well, now that we've been fed, here's what's going to happen. Crowley here is going to draft a contract between me and you. You are going to sign it, and then I'm going to send your memories back to a time of your choosing when you think you'll be of more use. During the drafting of the contract, we'll be making some plans about what I want you to do."
Harry had only to think about it for a second. He needed—no, he wanted—to go back and right the wrongs that had befallen his world. He could and would save many people, Dumbledore and Riddle be damned.
"Alright."
"Brave boy. You really are much like your parents. I didn't want to reap them—too young, if you ask me—but well, it had to happen, unfortunately." Harry let out a single tear in recognition. "Well, here's what I need you to do specifically; then everything else is your choice. God made me promise I wouldn't intervene."
"God?" Harry felt incredulous. God was real?
"Yes, God. He goes by the name of Chuck these days, but well, he's just tired." Death was contemplating something before continuing. "Anyways, here it is: reunite the Horcruxes; I'll come over and reap them all at once, including your scar—yes, your scar. Same with the Hallows; I don't want my instruments in the hands of humans anymore. Dumbledore doesn't need to die, only if you want it to happen. He'll die of old age anyway. Make sure you and Granger get together, and for the love of everything that is holy, choose better friends. Weasley is not a bad person, but he did kill you, didn't he? Perhaps he will again, if he feels you took something from him, or feels you are to blame for his misfortune."
Harry thought hard for what seemed to be hours. He needed to choose carefully when he would go. A moment in time when he could make the most difference. There were only two moments he thought could make the most significance: the Triwizard Tournament, and the Ministry fiasco a year later.
On the one hand, he could go through the tournament on his own merits without Crouch Jr. guiding him to his death. He could save Cedric, perhaps prevent the papers' slandering, start working on the Horcruxes even before Tom's resurrection, and have a somewhat calm year with Hermione before everything went to hell.
If he went back to the Ministry, then he could save Sirius, prevent Hermione from getting hurt, perhaps kill a few Death Eaters, and still out Voldemort to the public. Of course, he would have less time to deal with the Horcruxes as a whole, and while he hadn't known Cedric that well, it would mean the boy would remain dead, and it simply didn't bode well for him.
"I'll go to the beginning of my fourth year." Harry's resolution was ironclad. "I take it you can't have Hermione go back with me, right?" Death shook his head in the negative. "Fine, one of the contract clauses is that I can tell her everything."
Crowley smirked maliciously at him but said nothing. Death merely nodded once.
"I don't want Snape training me in Occlumency. Any suggestions?" Death smiled for the first time since the meeting had started.
"Yes, I can see now you're thinking things through much better than before. You can learn it by yourself; there are plenty of books in your Hogwarts library, and you have access to the Room of Requirement too."
"That'll do." Harry went deep in thought before speaking again. "I need someone to train me. I don't want to go against the Death Eaters and Tom with only an overpowered Expelliarmus or Stupefy."
"Again, the Room will help you. It will give you everything you need, I assure you."
Harry truly didn't need any more planning. He had learned from Hermione during third year that time could be a fickle thing; that being said, the moment he returned to his fourth year, his future knowledge would be worthless except for trying to manipulate events by himself. For example, he understood he couldn't out Crouch Jr. before the night of the third task; otherwise he wouldn't have a shot at Riddle early on. But he might be able to help Neville through the Unforgivable lesson, or even save Crouch Sr.
The contract Crowley drew up was tight but fairly easy to read. It stated that Harry James Potter was signing a deal with Death itself to send his memories back to the beginning of his fourth year at Hogwarts, Halloween night 1994. The clauses were simple: Hermione would be the only one allowed to hear the whole truth; nobody else. He needed to gather the Horcruxes and the Hallows, kill Tom Riddle, and avoid Albus Dumbledore's schemes.
Easy.
"Anything else, Harry, before I send you back?" Death asked after they had both signed the contract.
"How will I contact you once I have the Horcruxes?"
"Nobody contacts Death, Harry. When the time is right, I will contact you." A chill coursed through Harry's spine.
"I'm ready, then."
"Harry, may the blessings of Death, God, and the multiverse carry you. Good luck."
Harry was yanked backwards with sheer force. Everything around him shattered, as if the very fabric of reality was being destroyed. He was bent in half forward, the hook on his middle back pulling backwards with an almighty strength. Everything went dark for a split second. When he opened his eyes, he was in the Great Hall; lights were dimmed, and he heard a voice he hadn't heard in over a year.
"Harry Potter."
I'm back.