Chapter 1
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Except, not. Everything was whitewashed, the color of snow, blindingly bright. There was no train on the tracks. He was alone.
He was dead.
Harry Potter glanced around, examining the border between life and death. It looked exactly the same. He hadn’t expected to ever see this place again. He’d expected, that the next time he died, he would be sent directly to the afterlife.
This was… Strange. What was he supposed to do? Wait for the train to come, to whisk him away like Charon ferryman, rowing him over the River Styx? There was no glowing doorway, beckoning him to return to the life he screwed up.
Harry sat down heavily. If he hadn’t believed he was dead already, the lack of pain when his tailbone slammed into the brick floor would’ve confirmed it. He sighed, running a finger along his leg, the fake one made of silver.
Taken off mid-calf by a Transfigured bear trap. Unlike a Muggle-made bear trap, however, that one slammed close with much, much more force. His leg had been cleaved off instantly, bone and all. Since it had been in the middle of a battle, he was forced to abandon the limb, and barely made it out without losing another.
“Shit, Potter. You look just like Mad-Eye.”
The magical orb in his right eye socket spun around in his skull, keenly observing the newcomer. There was no sign of approach, not a single sound, and considering where they were, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched for them to have simply appeared here.
“Malfoy.”
Draco Malfoy, once his schoolyard rival, once the greatest Death Eater of the next generation, until his untimely demise. How Malfoy had expired, Harry never found out, but it was a weight off his shoulder. For all his bluster and tomfoolery when they were boys, Malfoy had become dangerous as the years went on. It was rather common to hear him spoken of in the same vein as the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord’s right hand. He’d become that skilled.
“You don’t just look like Mad-Eye, you’re basically a spitting image!” Malfoy exclaimed, walking around the Boy-Who-Lived (an inaccurate name, now) to observe him. “Goddamn, you are ugly!” Harry finally lifted his head to lock gazes with the Death Eater, who cringed at the sight of his scarred face and convulsing magical eye.
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked flatly.
“Here to guide you to the Great Beyond, obviously!” Malfoy said grandly. Sarcasm was overflowing in his tone. Harry’s countenance didn’t change, even when a boot slammed into his face.
“You useless piece of shit!” Malfoy bellowed, dropping the short-lived act. “You had one fucking job! End the Dark Lord! Some Chosen One you are!” The whole time, he continued stomping on Harry’s skull. Minutes passed, the air filled with the sounds of Malfoy’s grunts and dull thumping. Eventually, it stopped, and Malfoy backed off, breathing heavily.
Harry, who hadn’t even twitched during the beating, sat up as if nothing happened. And it certainly looked like nothing had happened- there weren’t even footprints and dirt on his face. Things like pain didn’t exist in this Borderland, since the dead had no need for them.
“Feeling better?” Harry asked mechanically, not really caring. Malfoy eyed him strangely- normally, a sentence like that would be dripping with insincerity. It unnerved him how lackluster Harry’s tone was.
“Yes,” Malfoy admitted bitterly, “At least for the moment.”
Harry hummed thoughtlessly. “Where’s the train?”
“It’s not coming.”
Harry blinked, and emotion finally appeared upon his face, surprise coloring his voice. “Why?”
“‘Cause you missed it, dumbass. You think you can just slight Death like that? That you can just decide not to die because you’ve still got shit to do?”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought that since I sacrificed the…” He stalled, not wanting to speak of the vile creations to a deceased Death Eater.
“Because you sacrificed the Horcrux? I’m not fucking stupid, Potter. I know the Dark Lord’s secret to immortality. Kinda hard not to find out, when you’ve got access to the Black library. Anyways, sacrificing that thing was hardly enough to satisfy Death. It was barely a sliver of a soul- the Reaper’s Law of Equivalent Exchange demands one full soul per death. But you backed out, and there are consequences for that sort of thing,” Malfoy intoned severely. Harry noted that the blond wasn’t mocking him. There wasn’t even a maliciously gleeful gleam in his eyes. This was really serious.
“So, what? I can’t die?”
“Pretty much. Well, not until you finish what you’ve started.”
Harry exhaled slowly. That was the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear, but it was just his luck. At least it meant being the Master of Death didn’t make him immortal. Hopefully. Besides, it would’ve left a bad taste in his mouth if he met Voldemort’s victims in the afterlife without having avenged them. If he didn’t go straight to Hell, that is.
Harry climbed to his feet, magical eye swiveling around, landing upon a glowing rectangle that emitted so much mana, he felt the artifact heating up in his eye socket. He quickly angled it away, before it started to cook his brain.
“How’d you die?” he asked Malfoy. May as well satisfy that bit of curiosity before resurrecting, or whatever.
“You don’t just fucking ask somebody that, Potter! Merlin’s beard, have some decorum!” The ferret sounded genuinely offended. He calmed down soon enough after Harry rested the gaze of the eye he inherited from Mad-Eye on him, though. “For your information, I died because of the Dark Lord, and that’s all I’ll say about it. I’m just as invested in seeing that bastard meet his end as you.”
Somehow, that was hard to believe. Nobody had lost as much as Harry in the endless war against Voldemort, even if some of them might feel like they had. At some point, quantity outweighed quality, so it didn’t matter if they lost their wife, child, or parent, Harry’s grief was overwhelming from the sheer number of friends he’s watched die. Not that it was a competition, but if it was, then Harry would definitely be winning. Or losing, whichever.
“You may as well make yourself useful, then,” Harry said, walking over and grabbing Malfoy’s arm in an iron grip. Was this a wise decision? Probably not. What if Malfoy was lying? Would he lie though, in a place like this? He certainly sounded sincere enough, and Malfoy hadn’t been known for his silver tongue like his father, just his skills with a wand. Those were plenty fearsome on their own, though. Besides, dead men tell no tales.
“What- what are you doing?” Malfoy asked, futilely trying to pull free. “Oi, Potter, what the bloody hell is this?” That was when realized where he was being dragged- to the glowing doorway that replaced the brick wall to King’s Cross Station. “Potter, you fucking maniac! You’ve already pissed off Death once, what the fuck do you think is going to happen if you try something like this!?”
His struggles intensified, but it was useless. Harry had done ritual after ritual to strengthen his body- it was the only way he could see to stand up to Voldemort, to become the equal he was prophesied to be. And yet, in the end, it still hadn’t been enough.
“You’ll get us both sent to Oblivion, you mad bastard!” Malfoy screamed, attempting to kick Harry in the back of the knees. Harry flipped the younger man (he’d been dead for around twenty years now) onto his back, and tangled his fingers into Malfoy’s blond locks, dragging him by the hair. It was a good thing they couldn’t feel pain, or Malfoy would probably be shrieking even louder than he was.
“Let me go! What the hell is wrong with you!?”
“A lot,” Harry replied blankly. He was in front of the path back to Life now. Without hesitation, he stepped into the portal, dragging Malfoy with him, uncaring of the consequences. “You want to see the Dark Lord’s end? You’re gonna have to work for it, then.”
“Potter!”
For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if he might regret this. He shrugged the concern off- he was nothing but regret now. One more wouldn’t bother him much.