Harry Potter and the Great Doom of Things

"He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone."

~

The first thing Harry Potter noticed was the cold stone floor underneath him. His cheek was pressing into it quite uncomfortably, and he would have much rather ended up in a more dignified position than lying face down on the floor. Nonetheless, as his body apparently refused to move, he found he didn't have much of a choice. Lie there he would.

He did, somehow, gather up the energy to open his eyes, and to his surprise found himself in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Which would've been perfectly fine, really, if not for the fact that Harry had just a minute ago walked out of the place.

He sighed, his breath hitting the floor. He just needed a few seconds of rest and then he would be able to think, really, if he could just close his eyes for a second, he wouldn't probably even fall asleep. And even if he did, it wasn't like that was the end of the world, Hogwarts was a safe place to sleep in...Hogwarts...

And then it came to him. The battle. Voldemort. Dying.

He quickly sat up, suddenly finding energy, and groaned at the pain it erupted in his head. Wow, one would think that after years of suffering the headaches the horcrux inside of him had caused, he would have grown some kind of tolerance for them. But no. He would suffer painful migraines forever.

He sat there for a minute terribly suffering and then remembered why he had gotten up in the first place. That he was supposed to be dead. Dead, after sacrificing himself like a true Gryffindor. (He might, in hindsight, possibly have a saving people thing.)

The main part of the problem at hand was that he wasn't sure where everyone was. There was supposed to be a battle going on, but as far as Harry saw, he was completely alone. That in itself seemed completely impossible, unless... Now that he thought about it, maybe he had died. Yes, that was it! He was definitely in some weird sort of afterlife. That wouldn't explain the horrible headache, though. Or would it? Did dead people have headaches?

"You are not dead," came a man's voice behind Harry, sounding exasperated. Harry turned around and flinched at the pain it caused, but flinched even harder when he saw who (or what) had spoken.

There, at the entrance was a man(?) ((It was hard to tell with the massive hood on)) wearing black robes and weirdly enough, a scythe. He was also wearing an annoyed expression, like he wished to be anywhere but there. And hey, it wasn't like Harry couldn't relate, he hadn't asked to be in this afterlife.

"Where am I, then? And who are you?" Harry responded, not entirely without panic. He was trying to for now ignore the fact that the man had seemed to read his mind. There were bigger problems to deal with. Like the fact that said man was silently glaring at him. Had Harry said something? Maybe it was indeed not human and was now offended at Harry using who, instead of what. But before Harry could start to panic, the thing finally seemed to consider him worthy of an answer.

"I am the embodiment of Death itself, the doom of all things living, the great master of-"

Death itself stopped speaking when he noticed Harry's expression. He must've truly looked like he was suffering, holding in his laughter with all his might. But really, you couldn't blame him. The guy was acting like some almighty god, and Harry was calling bullshit. Also, was this some kind of a sick joke? Wasn't Harry just a moment ago told that he was in fact not dead? Maybe this was like a thing that happened to all dead people, and Death would soon take him on his final journey, show him the way to the Great Beyond...

Speaking of, The Great Doom Of Things was glaring at Harry in a very murderous matter. And okay. Maybe Harry shouldn't be literally laughing in Death's face, but hey. Last time he checked, Death was not supposed to be a person, but a mere simple concept, so we just couldn't get everything we wanted.

Harry gathered himself, smoothed out his expression, and motioned for Death to continue, "Sorry, go on."

"As I was saying," a pointed look at Harry, "I am Death, and have the unfortunate task of informing you of Fate's meddling. She has decided that as the Master of Death, you would-"

This time, Master Doom (-that sounded unintentionally very kinky. How about Doom Master? No, that was definitely worse) was interrupted by the boy himself, "Excuse me? Did I hear that right?"

Death sighed. "You are the 'Master of Death'. A truly horrible name, since I am not something to be mastered, but oh well. You are incapable of dying unless you wish so yourself. You gained the title when you, as a descendant of Peverell, managed to find and rule all of the Deathly Hallows-"

"But the wand!" Harry interrupted with a frown. He was not liking the sound of this. Death sighed again.

"You got ownership to the wand from Draco Malfoy. He became the master when he successfully unarmed Albus Dumbledore, and you wrestled the thing out of his hands, thus making you the master. Anyway, another reason you are the Master of Death is quite literally because you just are. For the same reason as that I am Death, which actually has no reason at all, you just happened to gain the control of all of the Hallows at then become the 'Master of Death'," Death explained.

Harry nodded slowly as though he understood, even when it was quite the opposite. He was choosing to, for now, ignore also the fact that he just found out he's basically immortal. He would deal with all feelings later. Preferably, late at night in his bed, when he was trying to sleep.

"So any descendant of one of the brothers could've just become the Master of Death by gathering the Hallows?" Harry asked and Death made a pained sound.

"No, I told you already, you are the Master of Death. It isn't just a title that can pass from person to person, it is what you are at the core. But you are that at the core because of you being a descendant of Peverell, as well as your gathering of all of the Hallows."

Again, Harry nodded obediently, though in reality he was starting to doubt Death's sanity. Our all-impending doom was apparently batshit crazy? What a world to live in.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Fate decided that as the Master of Death, you would be an appropriate person to go fix some mistakes. As it turns out, she decided that too many sacrifices, in nature of death and magic itself, had to be made before destruction of the Dark Lord, who goes by the name Voldemort. She has decided that by sending you back to his youth you will be able to stop some horrible mistakes that are soon to be made."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Death continued on.

"You asked where you are. You are in Hogwarts, but in the year Tom Riddle makes his first irreversible mistake."

"His first horcrux," Harry realised out loud. He really wanted to argue. In fact, he had already made up at least twelve counter arguments in his head as to why he should not be the person to do this, but in the end he stayed silent. He was already there, wasn't he? And if the literal embodiment of Fate had decided, who was Harry to stop it, especially since he knew it the truth. Too many sacrifices had been made for Tom Riddle.

Besides, when had Harry not been thrown into absolutely mad and dangerous situations and still come out fine?

"Fine. I'll do it," he caved in, nodding a bit tiredly. Who knew that first dying, and then speaking with the Big D himself for who knows how long would be this exhausting? Not Harry.

Death smiled wickedly, which was a little terrifying, and then turned around to leave.

"Okay then, if we're done here-"

Harry screamed out a panicked, "Wait!" which was a little too theatrical to not be hilarious, so he burst into laughter immediately after. God, was he funny. Death turned back around with the exasperated look in his eyes that told Harry he was a smile away from being blown into pieces. Harry was, for his part, quick to explain, "How exactly are you planning on this to work? I mean you can't just throw me in here and expect me to find Voldemort, and then persuade him not to become a manic mass murderer who gets off on torturing literally everyone."

Death gave a deadpan look.

"...Can you?" Harry asked a little worriedly. He honestly wasn't sure.

Death sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time since meeting Harry and explained, "As you would've figured out with a little bit of thinking, no, you are not to walk up to Tom Riddle and, as you said it, persuade him not to become a mass murderer. You will need to be much more subtle than that, and for that you need a cover. My suggestion is a transfer student from another country, but you can get creative with it. Free reign."

Harry nodded, but wrinkled his nose as another thought came to him.

"What about Albus Dumbledore?"

Harry had mixed feelings about the man. Now that he had had (though little) time to think about what exactly had occurred with the sacrificing and horcrux hunting, Harry had come to the conclusion that he had been at least a little emotionally manipulated. And though he still held respect for the man, and probably always would, he couldn't help but feel bitter.

Death waved a hand dismissively. "I'll handle him. Now, if this is all..."

Harry would've probably had more questions, but as he found it, he was unconscious. Well, then.

~

When Harry woke up again he found himself in the Entrance Hall once more. He got such a strong sense of déjà vu, that he half expected The Great Destruction to come rolling in, lecturing about Fate and Fixing Mistakes. But as he opened his eyes, he found himself not in the presence of Death, but another very severe man.

"Dumbledore," Harry noted out loud. He also noted that he was currently standing up. Which would seem impossible for someone unconscious mere seconds ago, but when had things ever made sense for Harry?

"Hello, you must be young Alan Taylor. We shall go up to the headmaster's office to talk about your transfer in detail. But I must say I'm curious as to how you got magically educated while your stay in France. Did you attend Beauxbatons?"

Wow, free reign, Death had said. He wondered what exactly his made up circumstances for the transfer were. Perhaps the war?

"No sir, I was homeschooled," Harry decided on a whim. It was better this way, since he didn't really know much about the curriculum in Beauxbatons. He wouldn't do well to blow his cover over the simple mistake of not knowing enough, if asked about his 'former school'.

"Is that so? By your parents, I assume?" Dumbledore asked with a strange twinkle in his eye.

"A parent, actually. I'm a halfblood, since my father is a muggle, sir," Harry responded. He had guessed that about anyone would notice his last name as a muggle name, and decided that it was better to be known as a halfblood to a muggleborn. If Tom was already going on about his blood purity propaganda, he would not be likely to even talk to a 'mudblood'.

Dumbledore nodded, but Harry got the feeling that he wasn't completely trusted yet. The headmaster, or right now the professor, still had that weird twinkle in his eye. How had Harry not noticed it before? Did Dumbledore charm his eyes in front of the mirror every morning? The mental image that produced had Harry holding in laughter as he walked with Dumbledore toward the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore gave the gargoyle the correct password and the doors opened to reveal a familiar looking office. The place looked pretty much the same, save for a phoenix here and a magic sword there. Dippet himself was sitting in the office chair, and looked up from a pile of papers when the doors opened.

"Professor Dumbledore. And our new transfer student, I'm assuming?"

Harry reached out his hand to shake hands with Dippet and bid, "Alan Taylor."

The headmaster made a surprised face. "Oh, but you have the most amazing pronunciation, for someone raised in a non-English speaking country!"

Something in Dumbledore's expression told he had noticed the same thing.

"Yes, well, both of my parents were from England, so I guess the accent stuck, sir." Harry improvised and smiled at both the men, hoping that they would just let it go.

Thankfully, at least Dippet seemed to buy it and moved on to a new subject, "Well, as you know, tomorrow will be the start of term. You will of course be sorted then, and will start your sixth year the day after that."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied and tried to hide his surprise. The term would start tomorrow. He would have under 24 hours to prepare. Also, he was apparently a sixth-year student now.

"Are you familiar with the sorting system we use here?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded and answered vaguely, "Yes, I have read about it."

"Good. Then we'll see you tomorrow at the start of the term feast," Dippet finished and smiled at Harry.

Harry smiled back a bit uncertainly. "Uh, sir, where am I to sleep for tonight? Since I'm not sorted into a house yet." Dippet's eyes widened.

"Oh, I'm sorry, of course! Well, I think we might have a problem there. Of course, if you won't mind, we can do the sorting right now, and then you can sleep in that house's dormitory starting tonight. And then we'll just announce it at the feast tomorrow."

Harry thought about it. There really wasn't any reason not to do the thing right now in a private setting. Still, Harry had a strange feeling about being sorted again. He really had no idea which house he would be going to now, since last time the Sorting Hat had deemed him worthy of being in all the houses. He knew which house would benefit his plan the most, but there really wasn't any telling if the hat would listen to his wishes a second time.

But it wouldn't make much of a difference if Harry got sorted now rather than tomorrow, so he nodded. "I wouldn't mind, sir."

Dippet smiled and summoned the hat with a flick of his wand from one of the shelves. He held it out to Harry and he took it, swallowing. He put it on.

"Mmh... interesting. It's not many times I've encountered a time traveler..."

Harry smiled. Is it not?

"No. Only a few people time travel at the age of which they are to be sorted, and exceptions like you are rare."

Do you remember where you sorted me last time, then? Or does your memory only work linearly.

"Oh, I remember, yes, you were a very extraordinary sort."

Harry held in a laugh.

"Well now, where to put you... You have the same chances of fitting into any of the houses. But I still stand by what I said. In Slytherin you would thrive in lengths greater than any others."

Now, Harry let the grin spread across his face.

Well, good thing that's exactly where I want you to put me.

The hat, who in all fairness could read Harry's mind, didn't seem shocked at all.

"Yes, the plan you have is indeed quite the feat. Well, then. Better be..."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took the hat off and handed it to Dippet wordlessly. At the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore's eyebrow twitch in a slight frown. Harry felt like frowning himself at the man. What was he making faces for? Contrary to popular belief, Slytherin students were not all evil and baleful at the core, and even Harry knew that. Did Dumbledore just from the top dislike every child who got sorted into Slytherin?

"Well, then. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be happy to assist you to the Slytherin dormitory. We will see again tomorrow," Dippet said and walked back to his desk.

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore, who gave a pinched smile and nodded. He turned back to Dippet and grinned. "Thank you, sir. I will see you tomorrow."

With Dumbledore leading, they strolled out of the office, the door closing by itself behind them.

They walked in silence as Harry looked around at the familiar place. Hogwarts looked almost identical to how it had looked at Harry's time, all the same paintings up and the same staircases moving. He tried to play it off like he didn't have any idea where they were going and thought he did pretty well. At least, if he did look suspicious, Dumbledore didn't mention it. In fact, Dumbledore wasn't making any conversation at all. Funny, how he seemed much less interested in Harry now that he had gotten sorted.

When the teacher finally stopped in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms, Harry was holding in a yawn. He was absolutely exhausted, about to fall asleep on his feet as Dumbledore said the password out loud.

Then without any words, the man turned and left, leaving Harry standing there for a moment. Well, fine by Harry. If Dumbledore wanted to be a prejudiced piece of shit, then so be it. Harry wouldn't be making any effort to make the man like him, it was his own fault if his bias couldn't handle Harry being a Slytherin.

Harry turned and walked inside the common rooms. He took a look around, finding it seemingly identical to how it had looked (would look?) in Harry's timeline.

He didn't have the mental energy to observe the place in detail, only took note of the huge wall of bookshelf opposite the fireplace. He hadn't paid it much attention in his second year, but now he knew it could be of use. If he didn't want to die of boredom in his future classes, which he would have to be repeating, he would have to entertain himself if only by self-studying some interesting topics.

He climbed up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dormitory (as it helpfully read on the door) walking into a room with seven four-poster beds in total. He eyed the beds longingly, and felt now more than ever how tired he was.

When he noticed that in fact two already had a trunk at the end of them, he stilled in his steps.

One undoubtedly belonged to him, he recognized it as his from his past, but the other one was unfamiliar. Apparently, he wasn't the only student already at Hogwarts. And since he so well knew that only bad things happened to Harry James Potter, he had a feeling of who the trunk belonged to.

Therefore, when only a second later out of the bathroom walked out a very young and very handsome Tom Riddle, Harry could muster up only some surprise.

He took a breath and put on the friendliest smile he could gather for his mortal enemy. Then he looked at Tom in the eye.

The prefect stopped dead in his tracks, but, save for the slightest twitch in his hand, didn't show any signs of surprise. His face was blank of any emotion as he stared at Harry.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Hello, I'm Alan Taylor. I am a transfer student, and apparently will be housing with you for this term," he introduced politely. He held out his hand for Tom to shake, and made sure to keep on the friendly smile.

Tom answered his smile with presumably equal falsehood and shook his hand, "Tom Riddle, it's a pleasure meeting you. I'm one of the prefects for Slytherin, and will indeed be housing with you this term. If you don't mind me asking, where did you transfer from?"

Harry found himself a little surprised by how little actual fear he apparently felt for the boy. He would've guessed meeting with Tom to be a little more frightening, but all he felt was slightly nervous. Though, he had never really been afraid of Voldemort himself, had he?

Tom got an odd look in his eye, and Harry realised exactly what the boy had figured out. He tried to add discreetly, "My parents were British, so naturally I learnt both languages."

Shit. Why did Harry have to go and say that? This wasn't helping the situation. Of course Harry didn't actually know French! He would just have to hope that there wouldn't come any situation where he would have to speak-

"Oh really? Did you by chance go to Beauxbatons?" Tom asked in French, with perfect pronunciation and that fake smile still on his face.

Of course. Tom was clearly trying to see if he was lying, was testing him. Maybe it wouldn't be too suspicious, if Harry answered in English, that no, he didn't go to Beau-

Wait. How had Harry understood the question? He wasn't supposed to know the language- at least he hadn't in his old life. Maybe Death had given him the knowledge of French, to back up his plan? Could Death do that? Who was he kidding, of course he could.

"No, I was homeschooled," Harry answered and reminded himself to kiss Death the next time he saw him. Or- maybe not. He was an eternal god, or whatever. Anyway, fuck Tom Riddle and his mind games. Why had he agreed to this, again?

Tom nodded and gestured at his bed. The odd look hadn't left his eye. Whatever. Tomorrow, Harry would deal with gaining his trust, when he wasn't dead on his feet with exhaustion.

"Well, It's getting late, so I will be going off to sleep. As tomorrow we'll have to wake up early, I quite advice you to do the same."

Back again with the false politeness.

"Quite," Harry replied. "Good night, Riddle."

Tom nodded once more and then shut the curtains to his bed.

Harry climbed inside his own and quietly muttered a silencing charm, as well as a mild protection spell. It was just to warn him if anyone got near his bed or his trunk (-which was of course highly warded itself, but you could never be too careful).

He lay there in his bed and finally let his heavy eyelids slip shut.

This whole situation was of course absurd and possibly life-threatening, but nothing Harry couldn't handle. He had been through worse than getting a repeat year of his sixth, and would handle this just as he handled everything else that was thrown at him.

He did wonder why Tom was already in Hogwarts. Had he been there for the whole summer? If so, what had happened different in this timeline that had changed the events? Had he merely been lying about not being allowed to stay the for the summer in an attempt to frame Hagrid further?

Dumbledore not trusting him could be a potential problem, though for now all Harry felt was annoyance. The man he had adored and looked up to wasn't really that man at all. He was blinded by his own righteous principles, and had truly treated Harry like shit. Even more so than everyone else.

And that was another problem. Harry himself felt a little uneasy at how fast he had accepted leaving his old life behind, no matter for how short of a period. But that was some emotional trauma he wasn't ready to uncoil tonight, when he was already half asleep. No, he would think about it later.

For now, he would focus on getting Tom Riddle to trust him.