New world same story

Harry's eyes snapped open to the soft light of dawn filtering through the cracks of the curtains. His body ached slightly as he shifted, but it wasn’t the normal soreness that comes from a restless night’s sleep. No, this was different. He felt a presence. Slowly, Harry’s head turned to the side, and there it was—Death, sitting in a chair near his bed, calmly reading a book.

The reaction was immediate. Before Harry could even think, he rolled out of bed, wand in hand, and fired a spell at the figure. "Expelliarmus!"

Death raised a single hand, effortlessly deflecting the spell, not even glancing up from his book. Harry’s heart was pounding, but as realization set in, he let out a long breath. He lowered his wand, sighing with annoyance.

"You know, you could wait until I’m awake next time,” Harry grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Or at least call, or just... wait in the sitting room like a normal guest."

Death didn’t look up, still engrossed in the book. “I’m fine here, thank you, Harry,” he replied casually, his voice as calm as ever. There was something almost soothing about the way he spoke, yet it always carried a weight, like a reminder of the inevitability he embodied.

Harry groaned, stretching his stiff limbs as he rose from the bed. “Well, if you’re going to be here uninvited, I might as well start the day.” He mumbled to himself, heading for the shower.

---

After a quick rinse, Harry made his way to the greenhouse. The air was fresh and cool, and he smiled as he admired the flourishing plants Trixi had been tending to so diligently. He picked some tomatoes, spinach, and herbs, and dug out a few potatoes. Grabbing a bit of fruit as well, he hummed softly to himself as he returned to the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, he found the fresh cream—Trixi always made sure to stock it. Harry began churning it to make butter, but it wasn’t long before the house-elf appeared at his side.

“Master Harry,” Trixi said, wringing her hands. “Please, let Trixi make breakfast for you.”

Harry chuckled. “No, no, I feel like cooking this morning,” he insisted gently. “But if you wouldn’t mind, could you make some tea and tend to our guest?”

Trixi hesitated, clearly wanting to argue but choosing not to. With a respectful nod, she headed off to gather leaves for drying and prepared the tea. Meanwhile, Harry set to work on breakfast, whipping up a spinach and tomato quiche with a perfectly flaky crust. He sliced up the fruit, juiced some oranges, and even brought out some scones Trixi had made the night before.

As he was setting the table, Death, as expected, appeared just in time.

They ate in a comfortable silence, though Harry couldn’t help but smirk at how much Death seemed to relish the food. It had always amused him how such a powerful being enjoyed mortal meals.

After breakfast, Death leaned back slightly, setting his fork down. “So, you’ve met your companions,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, they’re good hunters. I can see why you wanted us to work together.”

Death chuckled softly. “No, you don’t,” he said, his tone cryptic. “But you will.”

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Dean’s a good guy,” he continued. “Rough around the edges, but so am I.”

“You suit each other,” Death agreed. “When you meet their father, he’ll remember doing a job with you—a few, actually. He even gave you Bobby’s number once before you parted ways. That will be how you met Bobby, after all. I had to tie you to this world somehow.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “I figured as much,” he muttered.

There was a pause before Death spoke again, his voice growing more serious. “Harry, keep something in mind. You may be the Master of Death, but that does not mean you’re immune to it. Death is still a balance.”

Harry snorted, amused. “You’re talking to someone who can’t die. Isn’t that a bit facetious?”

Death’s gaze was steady, unbothered by Harry’s tone. “You can die, Harry,” he said quietly. “It’s possible for you to move on, hand-in-hand with me, your old friend. I simply cannot take you against your will.”

Harry froze for a moment, staring at him. “So, I can choose to die?”

“Of course,” Death said. “You are the Master of Death by conquest, but you are still mortal in the grand scheme of things.”

Harry frowned, unsure how to feel. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Death leaned forward slightly, his presence growing heavier. “Because there is a war coming,” he said gravely. “And you have a hero complex, Harry. You always try to save everyone. But let me be clear—you cannot, and you will not, save everyone. People die in war. It is inevitable.”

“I know,” Harry replied, his voice quieter now. “This isn’t my first war.”

“And yet, the people you lost from your last war still haunt you,” Death said, his words sharp as a knife.

Harry clenched his fists. “How can they not?” he snapped, his voice filled with emotion. “You took children. Mothers. Friends I loved. George can’t even look me in the eye anymore. My godson is an orphan, and his mother can’t let him see me because of the pain it causes her. How am I supposed to be unphased by that?”

“I took no one,” Death replied firmly. “Their time had come. I merely escorted them to the next great adventure. And it was the reapers that did most of the collecting.”

“They work under your orders!” Harry retorted.

“They have jobs to do, just as you and I do,” Death said. “They escort those whose time has come. It’s not out of hatred or cruelty. It’s simply the way of things. When a thread runs out, it runs out.”

Harry stood suddenly, staring at Death, feeling the weight of his words sink

Harry paced the dimly lit room, the weight of his conversation with Death hanging heavily on his shoulders. His voice broke through the silence, frustration laced into his tone.

"And who cuts the thread, then?!" he snapped, eyes narrowing as he faced the hooded figure before him.

Death's voice was calm, steady, as if they'd had this conversation countless times before. "Not I. Not you. The threads are woven at the moment of conception, strung out to a length as fired lives, and cut when it is their time. The Moirai know the length of the thread, and no one can change that."

Harry scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know that's not true. It can be changed."

Death tilted its head slightly, almost amused. "If you take someone else's. Only Death can pay for life."

"Yeah, and that's not right or fair. Neither is life. So, Atropos gets to decide that a two-year-old child has had enough time, but a ninety-year-old serial killer hasn't?" Harry’s voice rose, anger simmering beneath his words.

Death let out a low, quiet chuckle, though it wasn’t cruel. "You think Atropos enjoys it? She turns away when she snips the thread. Clotho spins them happily, singing as she weaves. Lachesis measures each with a heavy heart. And Atropos, she’s forced to cut where her sister says. She looks away as she does. Their job isn’t easy, Harry. It’s terrible and heavy. And they are almost as old as I am, as old as life itself. They grow weary and tired."

Harry clenched his fists, glaring at the figure in front of him. "Then they should take a fucking day off!"

Death shook its head slowly. "Without them, life stops spinning. Without death, life has no meaning. If you cannot die, you cannot live. What’s the point? What’s the point of love? Or beauty? Is a sunset beautiful if you know there will always be another and never a last? Would you even stop to look? No. You’d grow bored, and they’d grow mundane. Love grows tedious and tiresome. Death gives life meaning. One cannot exist without the other."

Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. "So, what are you saying? My life has no meaning anymore? Because I can’t die, I can’t live?" His voice wavered, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. "Well, newsflash, I had a prophecy about me before I was even born. I was born to be a cog in a machine. I never lived."

Death’s voice softened, though the truth was still there. "Harry, you can die. Your life has as much meaning as you give it. I’m saying, when people die... let them. It was their time. And death is beautiful. Because the pain makes happiness worth it. Without pain, pleasure doesn’t matter. Without darkness, there is no light. I am necessary, just as Clotho is. She weaves life into this world, and I guide it away. We all have parts to play."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat as he muttered, "I’m gonna lose people I love again, aren’t I?"

Death didn’t hesitate. "Everyone dies, Harry. So eventually, you will lose everyone you love. That is your fate—to live while others die."

Harry’s eyes burned as he stared at Death. "That sounds like a curse."

"It is, if you let it be," Death replied quietly.

"What’s the point of all this?" Harry asked, feeling the weariness of the conversation weigh down on him. "Why tell me all this?"

Death tilted its head again, a flicker of curiosity in its ancient voice. "I’m curious, is all. If you’ll choose to love, knowing you will lose them."

Harry's voice was quieter now, thoughtful. "Love isn’t a choice. It just happens. It’s like falling asleep—slowly at first, then all of a sudden. It’s why it’s called falling in love. One moment you’re losing your balance, and the next, you’re just on the ground. All you can hope for is to be caught."

Death seemed almost impressed. "Profound. But will you indulge in that love, or will you put up walls to protect yourself from the inevitable pain?"

Harry’s face hardened as he crossed his arms. "I can’t lose someone I love again... I suppose I’ll keep a distance emotionally. We’re hunters. We’ll hunt. But that’s all. We don’t have to care about each other."

Death’s response was simple. "Interesting." And then, in a snap, Death was gone, leaving Harry alone in the room once more.

The quiet of the space was suddenly suffocating. Harry's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, seeing Sam's message: Got a job in Rockford, Illinois. You in?

Harry stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He sighed, a deep, weary sound, and typed back: Sorry, got a job up north. I’ll catch you guys on the next one.

He tossed his phone onto the table, the soft thud echoing in the quiet room. He needed a break—a real one. He’d take a few weeks off. Rest, recover. Maybe, just maybe, figure out what the hell all of this meant.

Pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill, Harry began to write, his thoughts turning to Hermione.

Dear Hermione,

I’m so happy to hear the pregnancy is going well. I have no doubt the child will be beautiful and brilliant, just like their mother. Knowing you, I’m sure everything is being planned down to the last detail. Don’t overwork yourself though, okay? You deserve to enjoy this time.

(Harry paused, the image of Hermione with her growing belly filling his mind. He smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. He continued writing.)

I was also thrilled to hear about George opening a new location for the joke shop in France. Maybe the distance is a good thing… a fresh start. I think Fred would have been proud of him for expanding. He would’ve been proud of all of us, really.

(Harry's hand trembled as he wrote the next part. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, landing dangerously close to the parchment. He wiped it away quickly before it could stain the letter.)

I have to admit, hearing about Teddy at Beauxbatons fills me with so much pride. A third year already... Merlin, time flies. He would have made one hell of a Gryffindor, just like his dad, but I understand why Andromeda couldn’t stay in London. Too many memories, too much pain. Still, I’m sure he’s thriving there.

(Harry blinked away more tears, forcing himself to focus. He tried to conjure happier thoughts, his mind drifting to his best friends).

How are Ron and Ginny? I heard about Ron being head of his own Auror team now. Bloody brilliant, really. And Ginny—captain of the Holyhead Harpies? She always was unstoppable. I’m sure Molly’s proud as ever of the two of them.

(He leaned back for a moment, staring down at the ink as it dried. The weight in his chest felt heavier, pressing harder against his ribs. Harry took a deep breath, then leaned forward again, this time the quill scratching the page with less certainty.)

I'm sorry for running away. I never apologized and you never guilted me about it. But…’ve been struggling lately, Hermione.

(He stopped, feeling the weight of those words, but pressed on.)

I don’t know what it is exactly. Maybe it’s the weight of everything we went through, or maybe it’s just catching up to me now. But some days... some days it just gets to me. I know I don't ever mention struggling. Never felt like it was my place…i mean people lost children and parents and brothers. And I don't have any family left. I had to he strong. For the world. I was the savior, if i couldnt be strong what chance did the world have at moving on?

All the papers ever talked about was how strong I was and how everyone should move on with me to build the new world. I tried to live for me, I really did. I didn't want to be an auror. I don't think I ever told you that. I wanted to be a professor at Hogwarts, even spoke to McGonagall about it. She said she'd be happy to have me but that the world looked up to me and I had a responsibility to help the world rebuild first. And the minister didn't even ask he just shoved the past training into a job I never asked for.

(His hand trembled again, the next line coming out shakier.)

Then I thought I'd at least make a difference. Put away bad guys, make the world safer. But I wasn't allowed in the field. Too “high profile.” I was a poster boy for the minister and I couldn't say no. I tried, but they'd always say how much good I was doing by making the press releases and the conferences. I tried vacations and retreats…its hard to relax when EVERYONE knows your face. People stop and ask questions no matter where I go. About the war and Voldemort and there was no escaping it. I can glamour myself but then it lasts until the minister firecalls for me to come back.

And no matter what I said he'd say how selfish I was for not putting the world first and that all the lives lost in the war were for nothing if I didn't help them change the world for the better. And I'd always run back for another press release. Pushing bills that never get passed, advocating for change that never came. The purebloods run the wizgamot and they always will. Nothing I did mattered anymore.

(Tears were flowing down Harry's cheeks now as he wiped them and continued.)

I miss them all so much. I miss Fred. I miss Lupin and Tonks. I miss Sirius. It feels like I’ve lost so many people I care about, and every day I wake up, wondering who might be next. I’m trying to be strong, but it’s hard. It’s so hard. And seeing the faces look up at me with hope I didn't have anymore broke me every day. I started drinking and stopped caring about anything. People wanted to date me because of who I was but not who I am. Ginny left and I'm happy she did but without her I had no one to ground me. And I know I had you but you had Ron and I couldn't impose every few days when I needed comfort.

(He stopped, wiping away another set of ftesh tear before they could fall onto the parchment. His chest felt tight, the weight of the letter growing with every word.)

I guess I needed to start over. Somewhere where people didn't recognize me. Or expect anything from me. I love you guys and I always will but you all have lives and I just couldn't build one and I couldn't be an anchor dragging you all down while you were sailing and I was sinking. I've been happy here. Made friends. I know you're smart enough to know the whole ‘traveling to study ancient magic’ thing is bullshit. But you haven't asked where I am so I also know you understand I can't tell you. I don't know if I'll ever be able to visit or see you again. Or my future goddaughter or godson.

You can hate me if you need to. I would. I was selfish. I ran away. And it was selfish. But I needed to do this one selfish thing for myself for once. I walked into the forest ready to die for the world. I was selfish most of my life. I had to be selfish this once. I hope one day you can understand. And maybe give me some advice one last time?

What do you do when you know you're going to lose someone eventually? When you know they'll die and you'll live? How do you let yourself love someone you'll eventually lose? Is it worth the heartache? I was so happy here. I made friends I even met a guy. Who knows if he's even bent, but hes charming and handsome and he reminds me of myself. Hes selfless and fierce and he protects people with his whole self. He fights for what's right even when it hurts him. And I like him. But he's reckless. Leave it to me to fall for a self sacrificing Gryffindor with a hero complex then be angry that he's probably gonna die soon of his own doing. Ironic I know.

I can't explain it but I know I'll outlive him. Outlive all of them. My friends. My lovers be it this guy or the next. How do I go on knowing everyone I care about I will eventually lose? It'll kill me. I distanced myself and maybe I should leave it that way. I miss you all so much but I also don't want to go back. I can't. But i'm starting to think here is no better. Maybe I was supposed to die in that forest and I've been on borrowed time since. Maybe that's why life hasn't been worth living since. Maybe I'm not living. Maybe I never made it out of that forest that night and i've just been going through the motions of life since. I don't know what to do. I'm lost.

Harry set down the quill, staring at the page, wondering if he should tear it up. But he didn’t. He knew Hermione would understand, even if he couldn’t fully put everything into words.

With a deep breath, he signed the letter.

Yours always,

Harry

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with wax, and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he just sat there, feeling the quiet press in around him, the unspoken weight of loss and love both hanging in the air.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe.