Chapter Text
Avada Kedavra.
Straight to the chest.
Harry Potter may not have had the easiest life, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else suffer because of it.
Well, not anymore.
There he was, in the Forbidden Forest, giving his life for a world he barely knew, but loved all the same.
Giving his life for a fate he hadn’t chosen.
Giving his life for people who would turn their backs on him anyway when the Daily Prophet told them to.
But Harry didn’t care. He loved this world. He loved his friends. He loved being magical. So if it took his life to preserve its peace, he would sacrifice it.
His body lay on the cold forest floor.
Lifeless.
His body was dead, but somehow his soul was still there, still hanging on by a thin thread. Not willing to give up just yet.
Where was he anyway?
Harry looked around, blinded by a brilliant light. Is this what the afterlife looks like? he wondered. Could he finally reunite with his family? Could he live a life he had never been allowed in the material world? Would Hedwig be here?
“I’m afraid you can’t do that just yet, Harry.”
An old voice spoke behind him. Harry jumped. If he hadn’t been dead already, he would have been now.
But he could recognize that voice anywhere.
“Professor Dumbledore?”
Dumbledore didn’t answer. He only smiled that familiar, soft smile.
“Is this real?” Harry asked.
Dumbledore chuckled. “I think you have to decide that for yourself.”
A noise came from behind him. Something small—not quite human. Dying, or perhaps already dead.
“Well, seems like it was successful.”
That was all Dumbledore said before walking away.
Where was he going?
“Wait! What do I do now?” Harry shouted. He looked around. It was like King’s Cross—empty, silent, with only a single train waiting.
“That’s up to you, Harry. Either you get on the train… or you finish what you started.”
And with that, Dumbledore vanished.
Harry’s anger surged. Finish what I started? He hadn’t started anything! He had been born into a life he hadn’t chosen. Even in death, the choice wasn’t his. Enough.
He strode toward the train.
Just as he was about to step on, another figure appeared. He wondered if it was even human. It looked like just a cloak with nothing inside. Black, billowing robes of old, worn fabric. Still, the figure looked at him, looking down.
“We meet again, Harry Potter.”
“Do I know you?” Harry asked, confused. Perhaps he was dreaming, or feverish. Maybe he would wake up in the cupboard under the stairs and none of this would have happened.
The figure laughed, a hollow, icy sound.
“Yes, you know me. In fact, I would say, you are my dearest friend.”
Harry’s brow furrowed.
“You cannot board that train, not yet. You have unfinished business. Your next adventure awaits. But after that…” Slowly, the figure bowed to the ground before Harry. “…you will be the master. Nobody will tell you what to do anymore.”
“Master of Death.”
The figure vanished, and darkness swallowed him.
Harry awoke in the real world. Hagrid was carrying him, the forest cold behind them. A sense of déjà vu hit him.
And he also had a goal in his head: defeat Voldemort. Afterwards, freedom awaited.
With that, he pulled himself out of Hagrid’s grip and fell to the stone floor—cold and dirty. But there was no time to spare.
He attacked.
Voldemort and the Death Eaters met him with fury. The battle was brutal, straining, exhausting. They fought atop the Astronomy Tower, debris raining around them.
Harry felt the last Horcrux’s destruction ripple through him. Instinctively, the Elder Wand was in his hand. He didn’t think, he acted.
Voldemort faltered. Harry grabbed him, shoving him toward the edge of the tower. One misstep, one fall… instant death.
Harry gripped his enemy’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. He wanted to be the last thing Riddle saw, the green eyes of the mother he had murdered, the life he had stolen.
“We finish it the way we started it, Tom. You will never be rid of me. I will follow you everywhere, and you will be punished.”
With a final shove, Harry sent Voldemort over the edge. Together, they fell into the abyss.
Death.
If only it were so easy to achieve…
Harry was somewhere new again, somewhere he didn’t recognize.
Unlike before, when everything was bright and white, this place was black and suffocatingly dark.
It felt like he was standing on nothing, surrounded by pure, endless emptiness.
With nothing else to do but look around, Harry began to walk.
To where, he had no idea, there was nowhere. Just void.
He had taken only a few steps when he suddenly dropped.
Or… was he really falling?
There was nothing around him, no sky, no ground, just darkness.
So was he truly falling, or was the sensation merely an illusion?
Either way, nausea surged violently in his stomach.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
Just as the dizziness threatened to pull him under, the falling stopped.
The darkness thickened, curling in front of him.
And there it was again, that cloaked, formless figure, waiting for him in the void.
Harry’s breath steadied, barely, as the figure loomed in front of him, its robes rippling even though there was no wind. The darkness seemed to gather around it, drawn to its shape like ink pulled by gravity.
“You again,” Harry muttered, though his voice sounded small in the emptiness.
The figure bowed its head slightly, as if acknowledging an equal, or greeting a superior.
“Indeed,” it answered, voice echoing without sound, vibrating through Harry more than through the air. “Did you think your journey ended with a fall from a tower?”
Harry swallowed. “I thought I was dead.”
“You are,” the figure said simply. “But death is not an end for you. Not anymore.”
A cold weight settled in Harry’s stomach. “Why am I here? What is this place?”
The figure drifted closer, its presence pressing against him like a storm front.
“This,” it said, “is the space between everything. The void where endings meet beginnings. Few have ever stood here.”
Harry tore his eyes away from the emptiness stretching forever in every direction. “What do you want from me?”
The figure chuckled, a low, unsettling ripple.
“It is not about what I want, Harry Potter. It is about what you have already taken.”
Harry frowned. “I haven’t taken anything.”
“No?” The figure tilted its nonexistent head. “Tell me, who pushed Voldemort to his death? Who carried the Hallows? Who refused to let go, even when your heart stopped beating?”
The darkness pulsed.
“You claimed power without intending to. You claimed me without understanding.”
Harry’s pulse quickened. “You’re Death,” he whispered.
The figure bowed deeply.
“At your service… Master.”
The word echoed through the void like a spell, settling into Harry’s bones.
He stepped back instinctively. “No. I didn’t choose that.”
“Power rarely asks for permission,” Death replied. “But it does require purpose. Yours is not fulfilled.”
Harry clenched his hands. “Then what do I have to do?”
Death rose to its full, towering height, shadows wrapping around it like living threads.
“You must return,” it said. “Your story is not finished. Not in life. Not in death. Not in destiny.”
The darkness trembled, as if reacting to the command.
Harry took a breath. “And if I don’t?”
Death leaned close, its presence overwhelming, ancient, absolute.
“Then your world will fracture. Magic will decay. And souls will wander without end. You are the bridge now, Harry Potter. The one who binds.”
Harry felt something cold and electric settle around his shoulders, like a mantle.
“Return,” Death whispered, voice like a closing door. “And take your place.”
Before Harry could speak, the void collapsed inward, swallowing him whole
and he woke up, gasping, in a body that had already died a few to many times by now.