A Deal With Death.
Fear was one of the only emotions Harry knew growing up, he didn’t really have a chance to know anything else.
He felt fear when his Uncle would get angry and start throwing him around, making sure he had plenty of bruises the next day to remind him to act normal, to be normal.
He felt fear when Aunt Petunia would scream in his face, telling him over and over that he was a freak, just like his mother.
He felt fear when his Aunt went silent, giving him the silent treatment, no matter how much he begged her to look at him, to love him.
He felt fear when Dudley would walk in his direction with his friends, ready to ‘play games’ with Harry. Which in reality was just Dudley beating him up until he got bored and whined for his mom to give him dessert early.
When Hagrid arrived and promised Harry that he would be safe at Hogwarts, he believed him. That was the very first time Harry felt true happiness, the first time he felt warm inside with a tingling feeling that he never wanted to let go. He truly thought he would be safe, that he would never have to feel fear again, only happiness.
What a pitiful thought that was. Of course he wouldn’t be safe at Hogwarts, he was Harry fucking Potter, the freak who ruined everything. The freak who never feels any emotion other than fear. It was like a cycle, a pitiful one at that.
He would feel happy, then an adult would promise that he ‘would never feel fear again’, then he would be forced into a position by that same adult, a position that caused fear to circle through his body replacing the feeling of happiness like a taunt. It happened over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.
What made it so much worse, was that he kept trusting the same adult Every. Single. Damn. Time. and each time without fail, the cycle repeated.
When Dumbledore told him he would have to die in order to defeat Voldemort, he wasn’t surprised. Instead he laughed, he laughed so hard that he started to cry which then turned his already hysterical laughing into gut wrenching sobs. The only thought on his mind was that the cycle was repeating again. It never stopped repeating.
He remembers his last thoughts during his final battle with Voldemort, ‘If i am to die, then may Death be kinder than the curse that haunted my living days, may Death stop this never ending cycle of fear and finally let me rest in peace.’ he remembers hearing Voldemort's last words as well ‘Avracadavra!’ then silence.
Well, not complete silence. There was a constant buzzing sound that never seemed to stop. But silence nonetheless.
It felt nice, not having to hear constant nagging from others. Expecting him, a fucking child, to fix every little thing for them. For him to be their god damn savior, even though they were all much more capable to defeat Voldemort than him due to them all being grown ass adults.
Harry took a deep breath of the cold air, his shoulders sagging in relief, he couldn’t help but think that it kind of felt like he was floating. Wait- Floating?
Harry opened his eyes, slightly surprised to see nothing but darkness. Where is he? Is this really what it’s like to be dead? Huh. It’s not like he’s complaining or anything, it’s nice, just not what he was expecting.
A hollow, haunting, voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Comforting, isn’t it?”
Harry swerves in a circle, his eyes attempting to locate the body of the voice. A laugh similar to a cackle echoes around him, causing his heart beat to quicken.
“I assume you’re trying to find little old me, correct?” Harry nods, still not quite sure where to look or what was even happening. The person hums, before going quiet again.
Harry gulps, his saliva having to fight the bulky lump that had formed in his throat on the way down. “Would it make you feel more…comfortable if I had a physical form?” He moves his head to nod in agreement, it was a bit awkward talking to someone you can’t see, you have no idea where to set your eyes or which direction to face.
Harry lets out a strangled gasp when a figure suddenly appears to his left, just barely in his peripheral vision. The figure in front of him had a masculine physique, he wore muggle clothing and had messy black hair. He had red eyes that looked hollow, like there was no life inside them, that instead of being used for sight they were being used as decoration.
The man’s skin complexion was pale almost like his body has never seen the light of day. The man smiles at him, and because of his lifeless eyes, Harry can’t quite tell if it’s a genuine smile or an empty one made to comfort him. Harry returned a small smile, it was the polite thing to do no matter which smile the man was wearing.
When the hollow voice spoke again, it was weirder than before. Mostly due to the normal looking body not fitting the creepy voice. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Harry. I’ve been waiting quite a long time, although.. I would not have minded to wait a bit longer due to your circumstances.” Harry could tell he was talking about him dying at only 17 years old. Witches and Wizards were expected to live until their hundreds.
Which is why many people would consider his life a short one. Apparently even Death.
“Er, yea…I also would not have..minded waiting longer to meet..you..” Wow. Way to go Harry. Not awkward at all. It became clear that Death also picked up on the awkwardness, as he gave Harry a pitiful smile. Which definitely wasn’t creepy and uncanny. At all.
“It’s not your time to die yet, Harry. You don’t belong here.” What? No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO! This can’t be fucking happening to him. He can’t go back- He can’t go through all that pain again! He can’t- No. He won’t go back!
“Calm down.” Harry’s head snaps up to look Death in the face, making eye contact with his cold dead eyes. “Why? Why should I calm down!? You’re the one that’s going to send me back to that fucking hell hole!” Harry never wanted to cry more than he did right now, he was finally free from the never ending cycle. But now he has to go back? That’s not fair. Nothing about this was fair!
Death watches him carefully, “Stop having a tantrum. I’m not sending you back. Orat Least not in the same time frame.” Harry sucks in a shaky breath, staring at Death warily with wide eyes, almost like he was expecting Death to tell him a second later that he was joking.
“What-..What do you mean?” He asked carefully, clearly trying to choose his words wisely. If Death wasn’t joking, then Harry needed to be polite so he wouldn’t get offended and change his mind.
“I’ll send you back in time. Preferably when Tom Riddle- or Voldemort as he prefers to be called, went to Hogwarts.” Harry stared at him horrified. Death wanted to do what? “Um- Not to be rude or anything. But.. why? What’s the point?”
Death tilts his head, watching Harry amusingly. “The point, Harry. Is for you to stop Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort. Or don’t. I don’t care.” He said with a smile. “This is your second chance. You want to stop Voldemort? do it. You want to ignore him and just live a new life? Okay, your choice! This is about what you want, Harry.”
Harry laughs. He fucking laughs so hard he starts to cry. He doesn’t laugh because it’s funny or amusing, he laughs at how sad he felt. “I think-” he pauses to let out a breathless giggle. “I think this is the first time something is about what I want. The first time someone actually wanted MY opinion! Oh my God! That’s so fucking sad!” His laughing begins to turn hysterical and his face feels soaking wet from the amount of crying he’s doing.
By the time he’s finally calmed down from his breakdown, he feels fucking exhausted. “Okay.” Death raises an eyebrow at the short answer. “Really? No questions, no objections, just ‘Okay’?” Harry moves his head in a sharp nod. Honestly he’s just too tired to argue anymore, plus it’s not a bad deal. He doesn’t have to stop Tom, he can just..live. Normally. Not as the boy who lived. Or Harry Potter the savior of the magical world. Just..Harry.
Death sticks out his hand expectantly, “Do you agree to the terms of your reincarnation, Harry?”
He doesn’t hesitate to shake Death's hand, why would he? He’s already made up his mind.
Death grins as black dots start to invade Harry’s eyesight, he leans forward to whisper in his ear. “May this life be kinder than your last.”
Harry gasps as everything goes dark.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His body feels heavy when he finally gains consciousness, he opens his eyes but quickly regrets it when the sun directly above blinds him. He hisses in pain, before attempting to open his eyes again, slower this time. He can see the top of trees and can feel grass underneath him, he struggles to sit up at first, before attempting again with twice the amount of energy.
The first thing he notices once he is in a comfortable sitting position is that his body is tiny, as in child-like tin..y..oh. Well fuck. He doesn’t know how to feel about being a kid again, honestly he feels kind of numb to any emotions currently.
The second thing he notices is that he’s covered in scars and blood. God damn it. He sighs as he looks around and takes in his surroundings. And holy shit it does not look good. He was in some sort of town or village, he doesn’t really know the difference between the two.
Most of the buildings are destroyed, blown to the point where they’re just rubble. He should have mentioned first that there are dead bodies, like, a lot. As well as a lot of blood. Fuck what the hell happened here.
He hears the sound of paper rustling in the wind and he locates the source of the sound to be an envelope…under him? He turns the envelope around so he could see who it’s from.
To: Harrison Evans (Previously Harry Potter)
From: Death :)
(Read this when you wake up, it explains your cover/back story as well as explains the..massacre you’re probably horrified to see)
Harry glances at the name, mentally reminding himself to introduce himself as Harrison Evans to anyone who asks.
Dear Harry,
Sorry I can’t be in person to explain everything to you, I had very important business to attend to in France, 2017. I sincerely hope you can forgive little old me. ANYWAYS, I decided to give you a more sophisticated name since that was more respected back in the day. (Don’t worry I chose a name where you can still use Harry as a nickname just in case you mess up)
You may also be wondering why you’re a child again, well to answer that question! I decided to give you a chance to have a better childhood! (I know, how thoughtful of me) Now, for your backstory, you’re an 8 year old Half Blood wizard whose mother was muggle born while your father was a pure blood (I decided to keep that the same as well, once again just in case of messes ups. You’re a pretty clumsy guy soo can’t take too many risks)
You're from a small town in England, one that was recently attacked by Grindelwald. Your father died while fighting, and your mother died protecting you. (I know! How original of me :3) You have no siblings since your parents only desired to have one and had no need for an heir.
I should also tell you that the date today is August 11th, 1935, Tom Riddle is 9 years old. Remember that if you want to stop him (if u don’t then ignore that ig) You don’t have any living relatives so you’re going to have to figure out your living arrangements on your own. Good luck Harry! I’ll probably check in with you in a few years, or not, I might be busy but who knows!
- Death :3
Harry sighs, scrunching the letter into a paper ball after he finally finished reading it. “Bloody hell, he couldn’t have tried to help me out just a little with living arrangements? I’m a child for fucks sake.” He mutters.
He stands up with a wince before walking down a faded stone brick path. He throws the paper ball into a burning building next to him. He smiles as he watches it burn to ashes. He always found fire quite beautiful, dangerous yes, but beautiful nonetheless, and maybe that’s what makes it so dangerous.
His whole body freezes when he hears distant voices and footsteps, fuck, what should he do? Hide? Run away? No. All of those would make him look like he did something wrong. Which he didn’t. He just needs to look like a pitiful, traumatized child who just watched his parents and his village people die gruesome deaths. Yeah, he’ll just do that!
He stares into the fire he previously was admiring, forcing himself to think about Sirius’s death, Dumbledore’s manipulation, never getting to see his friends again. He felt tears start to run down his face but he doesn’t bother wiping them away. He needs this to be as believable as possible. The footsteps get closer, the voices though have gone quiet, and eventually a startled gasp disrupts the silence.
Someone starts to walk in his direction with a quick pace, the light weight of their footsteps suggests that they’re wearing heels.
He finally lifts his right hand to wipe away a few of his tears, leaving some behind so his act can still be convincing. A hand softly lands on his shoulder, he finches, due to instinct this time and not on purpose.
A gentle hand appears under his chin before carefully lifting his head to look at them. The woman who approached him was beautiful, she had dark skin, emerald green eyes, black curly hair, and gold earrings that complimented her skin just right while also showing she was of wealth. Her nails were painted black with an almond shape, and her makeup was clearly created to compliment her facial features.
Last but not least, her outfit, she wore a long black dress that has droopy sleeves along with a hood and a silver corset. She had pointy black heels, and she wore what looked to be expensive gold jewelry.
“Hi sweetheart, are you here alone?” she asked, her voice was soft and sweet but still a bit rough due to her accent. Harry stares at her before pointing at a lifeless, bloody body that he found looked suspiciously too similar to his original mom. Most likely the work of Death.
The woman's eyes widened in realization, before looking behind her at a man who Harry just now realized was here. Oops. They communicated silently with each other through facial expressions, the woman’s hand still on his chin.
Eventually they came to an agreement and the woman turned to face him again. “Are you hungry little one?” Harry nodded, mostly because he wanted the woman to think he trusted her plus he was a bit hungry. Apparently time traveling makes you gain an appetite.
The woman gives him a warm smile, happy that Harry wasn’t too wary of her, and offers him the same hand she had on his chin. He couldn’t help but notice her hands were soft and very clearly taken well care of. The woman began to lead Harry down the path her and the man had emerged from. The two whispering to each other in a language Harry can only assume is Russian.
They walk for a while, mostly through a forest. A beautiful one at that, he could tell it hasn’t yet been corrupted by the greediness of humans. Eventually they come to a clearing with a small building in the middle, for a second Harry wonders if this is where the woman lives but realizes that’s probably incorrect. If she did, wouldn’t she visit the village often? Wouldn’t she realize he’s not familiar and thus not actually from the village?
The woman pauses, waiting for the man to unlock the door. Harry grimaces when they enter, the house smelling too much like cigars. When he looks up it seems like the woman’s not affected by the horrendous smell, at least not physically, maybe she’s used to it?
Even Though the smell makes him feel extremely nauseous he continues to allow the woman to lead him further into the house, until finally they arrive in a dining room of sorts.
The woman gestures for him to sit in one of the chairs, he decides to sit in a chair that resides in the middle. Not too close incase they try to attack him, but not too far so they don’t think he fears them too much. The woman leaves the room, most likely to get some food for him. He doesn’t know where the man went, probably to smoke a damn cigar.
He never really understood why people smoked, whether that be a cigar, cigarette, or a blunt of weed.
It was a bit awkward waiting alone in the room, so to try and cure the awkwardness, he studied the room. Mostly so he knew where the exits are so if he needs to escape he can, but also because the room looked pretty nice.
Honestly he thought that a smoker’s house would look more…horrible? Ugly? Horrendous? Those are the words that his Aunt and Uncle used to use when describing one of their neighbors houses. The guy was a smoker, and Harry’s pretty sure was also a really petty guy, he used to purposely blow smoke in his Aunt and Uncle's faces when they tried to be fake nice with him.
Besides being petty, the guy was pretty nice. Harry remembers when he was 7 and the guy snuck him a bag of sweets on Halloween after overhearing his Aunt yell that halloween was for freaks. That was his first time having actual sweets instead of old granny candy from Ms.Figgs.
The dining room he’s in isn’t huge by any means, but it’s not tiny either. It’s also well decorated, or at least in his opinion. The table cloth under him had beautiful embroidery of flowers, mostly of purple wisterias.
There was a shelf filled with expensive looking statues sitting on the wall in front of him. Even from where he sat he could see the tiny movements they made, not surprising since most wizards get animated statues all the time.
He was only able to make out what two out of all six of the figurines were, a lion and a snake. Huh. How ironic.
“They’re magnificent aren’t they? Albert informed me that he bought them in France three years ago from a beautifully talented sculptor.”
The woman had returned but now she was holding a cup and a bowl. “Hopefully you like cabbage, it’s the base of Shchi.” She flashes a warm smile as she carefully sets both the dishes down in front of him. He peeks at the bowl, confused about what it is. Clearly it's a soup with cabbage as the…base?
He decides to peek at what the drink is instead, not wanting to accidentally make a face at the soup and offend the nice woman. The drink was a nice yellow which told him immediately that it was tea, just not what kind.
The woman laughs at his curiosity, “The drink is lavender tea, with a drop of honey and one cube of sugar.” Harry nods in understanding, although still a bit curious. He’s never had lavender tea before, mostly just green tea.
“The Shchi of course has cabbage, but it also has meat, flour, mushrooms, and some delightful seasonings.” Harry liked the way her accent became more pronounced when saying Shchi, for some reason it felt satisfying to hear, kind of like when you hear a loud crunch.
Harry nods his head in thanks before taking a small sip of the tea, he was glad to find that it wasn’t scorching hot but still warm. The woman must have made it first so it had time to cool.
He liked the taste of it, it tasted exactly how he thought flowers tasted like. After a few more sips of the tea, he begins to take nips at the Shchi. He was surprised to find it didn’t taste that bad, not that he thought it would, he’s just never tried it or anything close to it before.
He glances at the woman as he takes another small bite, he studies her well defined face and finally notices that her eyes are blankly staring at the wall, her face a neutral expression. She looked sort of dazed, and it took him an embarrassingly long amount of time before he realized that she was daydreaming.
Harry allows himself to space out as well while he continues to slowly make his way through the soup. It doesn’t take long before he’s cut out of his trance by the shrieking sound of metal on glass. He glances down and tries to ignore his feeling of disappointment that he’s already finished the soup.
He hears shuffling and he finally realizes that the woman’s gone, he looks around and finally locates her in the living room across the hall. She’s talking to the man from before, who he now knows is named Albert. It feels awkward again, mostly because it doesn’t feel like he belongs here, like he’s intruding on their private time.
“It has been lovely chatting with you Albert, but I best believe me and the boy should be leaving. It's getting late and I still have some things to take care of.” Albert nods his head in agreement. “I absolutely agree. Callie! I do hope you have enjoyed your visit.” Harry couldn’t help but notice his voice sounded a bit similar to Dumbledore’s, or maybe he just thinks that because they’re both old men.
Callie politely hugs him before walking in Harry’s direction, he quickly turns around and pretends to be still drinking the tea. He hears the clacking of her footsteps stop, and a soft laugh. “You do not have to pretend little one, I saw you watching us.” His face heats up in embarrassment and he turns to face her. Her hood is back on and her expression confirms to him that she is amused by his behavior.
She slowly lowers herself in front of him, now eye level. “I’ve only now realized I’ve never told you my name, sweetheart.” She smiles. “My name is Calliope Hawthorne and I am quite proud to say that I am currently the head of the Noble house of Hawthorne.”
Hawthorne? Did he know a Hawthorne in the future? He doesn’t remember meeting or hearing of anyone with that last name.
Calliope doesn’t deter at his silence, instead she waits patiently, most likely for him to introduce himself as well. “My name is Harrison Evans…But everyone just calls me Harry.” He winces at his squeaky voice as he frantically informs her of his ‘nickname’, is this really what he sounded like when he was eight?
Calliope smiles and covers his small scrawny hands, with her soft manicured ones, “Well then, Harry. You can call me Callie, that’s what everyone calls me too.”