Lost Chances [T.Nott/H.Potter/B.Zabini]

[1]

DEATH WAS NOTHING NEW TO Harry, and that was a hard pill to swallow for some. He hadn't reacted to the deaths of the people around him as he fought, didn't react at the screams of the lovers or the parents, or the children of parents who fell.

Yet the sight of Nott and Zabini's bodies falling to the ground, off the bridge and into the rocks and waters bellow, the scream of rage shook the battlefield and all who were there to see and hear it.

The wizards on that battlefield, on the grounds of Hogwarts, will never forget the look of pure, vicious, dark rage that appeared on the face of Harry Potter at the sight of the two boys that fell, fell into the abyss bellow. And they will never forget the build of that pure chaotic, wild magic that blanketed the entire field and then viciously zeroed in on the two responsible for the deaths of those boys. The two boys that Harry had spent years subconsciously making sure were always fine, never hurt or in distress. Two boys whose souls were tied to his. Harry Potter had lifted his wand and with the coldest voice imaginable, he had uttered the words that made everyone freeze.

{"Crucio Maxima"}

To see the two well known monsters turn to vicious insane dogs within seconds of the spell, they were frozen. To see famed Black Widow and the political genius and ultimate soldier Thaddeus Nott fall had never been expected, much less at the hands of one Harry Potter. And then, to see him walk to them casually, like one would through a library or a park, and break their wands, then step on their necks with a viciousness not unlike a hunter putting out it's small pray out of it's misery, was what had caused the ultimate surrender of half of Voldemort's forces within seconds.

Voldemort himself was seen only five minutes after the deaths of two of his valued monsters, and the duel of Voldemort and the still raging Potter was recorded as the shortest and most brutal defeat of a Dark Lord in history.

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The world after the war was, to many, great and beautiful in it's freedoms and it's quick changes. The end of the war brought on the change of laws that were once the reason in the devide between those of old and new blood, the laws that caused fear and hate of the creatures that bore magic in ways that thise born with it and used it through wands didn't understand and pushed it away. For some, it brought change in view and caused new love to bloom where it would never have bloomed before, caused old friendships to break and new to form.

One of the people whose life turned completely to the isolating suffocation of Grimmauld Place, was Harry Potter. His world was horribly silent, filled with phantom pains and invisible, painfully tight chains that seemed to be pulling him down deeper and deeper into the void's depths. The dead were calling to Harry these days. Their voices doubled, static overlaying the original tones. They were calling, some softly, some begging with tones of desperation and stinging, heartwrenching sobs, and there were thr ones who screamed, cried to him, for him, to free them and let them see the light, the sun, the moon, the stars.

Harry understood that he was no longer...Just Harry. He had never really been that, in fact. He was a man that people screamed praise to, a man to whom many sang and wrote songs about, a man whom they greeted on the streets with beaming smiles and exclaimed in thanks to, bowing and taking off their hats in shows of respect.

Harry was a murderer, a child thrown into a war by fate, by a manipulator and a monster, with no middle ground to choose from and too reliant to form his own. But now, as he stared down into the horrid papers before him, he knew. Oh, how he knew, that if Albus Dumbledore was alive in this very moment, that Harry himself would've burned the man alive and read out every single crime that the man has ever had the audacity to commit and still act like he knew what was best for all the people he had menaged to fool with his fabricated grandfatherly persona, and that includes Harry himself.

A list longer then any homework Snape had ever assigned him in all his years within Hogwarts walls combined, listing not only the way the man had voted his considerable number of Wizengamot seats, but also the items he took out of his vaults and placed into his, as well as the large sums of money taken from all the vaults under his name and placed into either his, or the Weasley and, albeit smaller, Granger vault.

The other paper held his long list of bloodlines and gifted house seats, heirships and wealth, and the blocks, potions, charms and health conditions that had rested within or on him for most of his life. From imperius potions, attempted amortenia poisoning, unmatched thorough compelling charms and the insidious blood glamours that had been keeping his actual personality locked away and caged for many, many years, to blocks on his magic that had made his core so goddamn unstable at only 30% functionality and the rest an uncontrolled 70% of pure wild power and magical energy, the bindings on his animagus form, the locked away bloodline traits like the siren and vampire blood, or the taints of dragon magic that rested almost rooted in his soul so much it became tangled and was bound into it, effectively partially binding even Harry's soul.

Harry Potter stared at these two papers, and he had read through them a thousand times in the past week since he had gotten back from that fate damned Gringotts visit. He had been nothing but a puppet, manipulated like a marionette with invisible strings on a stage where war raged, a play, a game and reality all in one horrific swoop filled with smirking, smug Dark Lords, glittering blue eyes that seemed to always gleam with the darkness of satisfaction and greed, and the false kindness of a family of nine, all soo greedy in the face of old money and titles, the media's view of heroship and villainy, enemy and friend, monster and wizard.

The world became cold for Harry Potter, and then the dead became his only companions. They began to whisper (necromancer, necromancer, Death's favored, help us and we'll help you. Eye for an eye, necromancer, look at the books, look at the books) and some that screamed began to sing (Oh, Death, oh beauty of raven skies, Oh, Death, the necromancy of your eyes...). Harry looked at the books within Grimmauld Place, and then he fell to the curiousity that had once trapped him so.

From books on Necromancy, to books on Blood and Soul Magic, Harry read them and Harry tried them. He rose inferi, and then he let them fall bac to their rest, he made wards of his own and made to protect all that he had left. Made four rings, for Luna, for Draco, for Teddy and for Pansy, and he sent them off by a falcon he had given the name Serian. Harry dived into the elements, from ice, to lightning, to fire, earth and air, he let himself drown in lakes and oceans, het himself be struck by lighning and felt the branching white scars appear from left shoulder, over his arm and to the tips of his fingers, let himself burn, and let the burns scar too, let them taint his right arm from shoulder to the tips of his fingers too, and let the rocks break his bones, let the ice shards stab his body and draw blood.

And then. And then, Harry Potter came to the final, last book that he could read within the library of all Black properties. PEVERELL MEMOIRES.

And that is how Harry Potter had found himself back in the pale space of Kings Cross Station, before the tall, cloaked figure of Death in all their genderless existance, gray hands that were peeking from the hooded cloak's  sleeve gripping the scythe in their left hand, holding a piece of paper in their right one.

The being hadn't spoken, so much as they had given him mental impressions of instruction. The way their head tilted to the right, in a sign to come closer, the way their right arm moved as if they were telling him to read and willing him to understand. And Harry did. He read over the paper, the DEAL that Death was offering him, and he sat on his knees for days, within the white plane, staring and thinking over everything that he was about to agree to.

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PROS:
•Harry could go back in time, to the exact moment of leaving Vernon's car, and he would be immediately cleansed of all the affects on his body and would change in the shadows of the station, fully, into how he would look if he was perfectly healthy.
•Harry would go into an inheritance, where he would gain power over his mind magics and wouldn't have to worry about legillimency.
•Harry could go to Slytherin, befriend Draco and Pansy early, make sure they are safe, being taken care of and not feeling like they have no one but each other to lean back on.
•Harry could find his mates, claim them, make them his, protect them.
•He could kill Voldemort early, ruin Dumbledore slowly, and build his own faction from the darkness of Hogwarts' shadows.
•He could change the way the magical world views things, change it from within, attacking it from all sides.
•He could unite the houses, change everything that is wrong with the educational system, fix it and make it better, make it fit the international standards.
•He could prevent a war and save the few that he had spoken to through letters that had surrendered from Voldemort's army, the few he had used veritaserum for to discover exactly why they had joined the monsterous psychopath in the first place.

CONS:
•Harry would become a hybrid of Death, an earth-bound version of the being, as well as gain his inheritance which would be either siren or dragon.
•As either inheritance, Harry would feast on human flesh, larger chunks of raw meat, blood and sexual energy, making him a possible danger unless he learned control in the timespan of two days, before classes are bound to begin, which would be near impossible.
•Harry would have new instincts towards his mates, and it would be hard to control unless he had people or things to ground him.
•Harry would need to be careful because not only would he have Dumbledore watching him but also Snape, should he get into Slytherin.
•Harry won't have a way to kill Voldemort until second year, when Lucius Malfoy slips the diary among Ginerva's books, not to mention the other horcruxes he'd need to deal with.
•Harry's own piece of soul would be transfered into a small, silver ouroboros ring that will hang from a charmed invisible chain around his neck, easy to steal if you know it's there.
•Harry would need to create a secret safe house for him and his, meaning that his summers would be spent building an unplottable house on a property no one would expect him to own, or would know of it's existance.
•Per Death's demand, Harry would need to sacrifice up to three thousand (3000) people, either magicals or muggles or both, before he is allowed to kill either Dumbledore or Voldemort- all sacrifices must have a criminal record deserving of death.
•Voldemort is to be collected by Death themselves, and not Harry, though Harry must collect Dumbledore and any of his followers that desire to follow the manipulative Light Lord into the hellscape of Death.
•Harry is not allowed to kill more than two of Voldemort's supporters.
•Sirius Black is to die in Azkaban the moment Harry boards the train to Hogwarts, and Remus Lupin is to recieve a letter from an anonymous source telling him the truth of the Potter's death and is to be delivered the rat on his doorstep the next day with instructions to either kill him, or to hand him over to the proper authorities (cited, Madam Amelia Bones).
•Harry, immediately upon turning 17, fully becomes immortal and expands this immortality to his "clan".
•Upon the date of his mate's scheduled collection, Harry is to collect them and place them among the blessed, where he will join them after a millenia of work as the earth-bound Death has passed.
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Despite the weighted cons, Harry's soul screamed to accept it. To cut into his hand and let the quill soak the blood from his veins, and to sign it. To put his name down on the piece of paper that would sign him to more then a single lifetime of menaging and guiding the dead. But then, he let his eyes stray to their names, Nott and Zabini, who were his in soul, in magic and later even in death, his to own, to love, to care for and to be owned, loved and cared for in return. He was selfish, terribly so. A monster in his own right, made by nurture rather then by nature, as Voldemort and Dumbledore had been, though Dumbledore may have been made by both.

So, with a new weight on his shoulders, though this time shouldering it willingly and with a mind in its clearest state since his birth, Harry James Potter signed the contract, and he saw the genderless being again, though this time Harry felt their soft warmth and their welcoming embrace, dragging him through time and space, to the time when everything was set to begin again.

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[A/N]

This is an idea I've had for a while now, and I've been thinking of writing it for ages now, so I decided to take the stress from my exams off by writing something to help me relax a bit. It hasn't helped me much, but hopefully I decide to update this. I'm not very consistent with updates, if I update at all, so I wouldn't hope for much. If anything, I'd think it a miracle if I update this once a month. Just a little warning :]
-Firebird_02