My Favourite Story's On The Internet

Findable On: Archive of Our Own (Ao3)

Author: resonance_and_d

Summary: Harry was supposed to pick- move on and be with his parents, or go back to finish the battle with Voldemort. But even Dumbledore doesn't know everything, and Harry finds that there are actually a lot more options than those two.

Harry wants more than what he got. He wants a home. He wants a family. He wants a chance to be happy. He isn't sure he deserves all that, but he's going to try anyway. If only to spite Dumbledore and Voldemort's plans both.

OR: Harry Potter wakes up ten years old but with all of his memories from age seventeen. He immediately begins to make Mistakes.

---

"Everything I've done," Dumbledore tells Harry, "was what I had to do. I will not deny that there were costs, but you must see that those were necessary costs. That it was all for the best, in the end."

"You left me with the Dursleys," Harry says numbly. "Was that for the best?"

"Living with your blood family kept you safe," Dumbledore says. "But it was more than that. You needed to be humble, to be kind, and those lessons only come with hardship."

Harry had thought that he was done being angry, here. But he'd been wrong about that. The anger that rises in him is colder than usual, but still there.

"It wasn't hardship- it was abuse," Harry says, although he might not have been able to admit it if he were still alive. "And If you think being abused makes people kind," he adds, "then I think you don't know anything about abuse. Or about kindness."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dims a little.

Harry turns, and picks up the baby. The horcrux. It is still revolting, wrong. Harry doesn't want to touch it, but he does anyway. "I won't leave without him," Harry says, and it isn't kindness that motivates him. "You hurt a lot of people for this plan, and it stops here." He sits on the bench and holds the horcrux against his chest. It continues to wail, though more quietly than before. Harry bounces it, gently, and it quiets little by little. It can't seem to tell that Harry is only helping it out of spite. Or maybe it doesn't care. Maybe it is willing to settle for spite, as long as it is helped at all.

"Harry," Dumbledore says, and Harry knows that whatever comes next will sound reasonable, and will make sense. Dumbledore had been cruel, but only as cruel as he'd felt was needed. If Harry listens, he will understand and he will probably agree to do whatever Dumbledore thinks is needed.

Harry doesn't want to listen to reason, doesn't want to understand. He doesn't want Dumbledore to be right, because if he is right, if all of this is justified, then Harry thinks he might have to forgive Dumbledore for the cruel things he has done, and the cruel things he is about to do. And Harry doesn't want to forgive Dumbledore anything.

"Why are you even still here," Harry asks. "If dying- moving on, is some great adventure, then go on, do it."

When he looks up, Dumbledore is gone. But Harry is not alone with the horcrux. Where Dumbledore stood a moment ago, there is a figure, or maybe the opposite of a figure. What Harry sees reminds him of the after-images from staring at a bright light for too long. There is only a void, and he cannot make out a single detail of who might be standing there.

"Hello, Harry," the void says, in a language that is not English, is maybe not a human language at all. Their voice sounds like sand, and Harry can feel coldness from their form. And yet for all that they are inhuman, for all that they aren't speaking a language he should be able to understand, he has the feeling that their tone is fond.

"Who are you?" Harry asks.

The not-figure moves, and sits beside Harry on the bench. "You know me," they say. "You've always known me, in your heart, even when you didn't yet understand me. And you've never been afraid of me, not really. We've walked together many times, side by side."

Harry says, "You're Death."

The horcrux Harry is holding lets out another wail, and Harry absently bounces it again until it quiets, holds it still again as it stills into something like sleep. It takes what feels like hours, but maybe it is only moments. Time doesn't matter much, right now.

As though there had been no pause in the conversation, Death says, "I am."

"Is this about the Hallows? The whole 'Master of Death' thing? I had them all, sort of, I suppose."

"Gathering the Hallows doesn't make you the Master of Death," Death tells him.

Harry nods, because that's more reasonable than the rest of this, at least.

"You have always been Master of Death," Death continues. "And you always will be. And because of that, the Hallows belong to you, and they always did, and they always will."

That is considerably less reasonable.

"I don't understand," Harry says. "What does being 'Master of Death' even mean? Why does Death need a master at all? And how can I have always been... that?"

The void- Death- touches Harry's shoulder, and even through his sleeve Harry can feel a sort of humming, a surge of his own magic inside him that feels, he realizes, exactly like the magic that is Death.

"You are the master of your own magic," Death says, simply, as though that is enough of an explanation. "As for the rest... Time only really exists in the material world. Who you are, what you are, is written in your soul, and that isn't subject to petty things like cause and effect."

"But I'm just Harry," Harry says, echoing something he'd said at age eleven, only this is much more baffling than being a wizard. "How can I be..."

Death's hand is still on Harry's shoulder, a cold presence that is comforting and achingly familiar, even though it should feel strange.

"You have a lot to learn, still," Death tells him gently. "And you won't retain it if you learn it here. Your mind will only hold on to pieces of this, still. You're too used to thinking like a mortal being."

Harry nods shakily. "What happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"

Harry says, softly, "I want to go home." And that's not possible, he knows. Home is Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is in ruins, and Voldemort is still out there to defeat, and even if Harry wakes up this very moment, back from the dead, like Dumbledore told him was the right choice... Even if Harry kills Voldemort now, it will take so long to rebuild. Home is a long way off.

"Time isn't a problem," Death says. "Not here, outside of things. You could come back later, or earlier."

"How much later or earlier?" Harry asks.

"A moment, a thousand years- it doesn't matter. Time does not mean much, here. You can wait for the castle to be rebuilt, if you want. You can be a first-year again, if you like. Change, things, keep them the same- it's up to you."

"If I go backwards," Harry says slowly, "Dumbledore will be alive again."

"He won't have died yet," Death agrees.

"He'll manipulate things," Harry says, thinking it through, seeing the flaws in his idea. "He'll try to make it all happen just how he planned."

"He will try, yes."

Harry looks up sharply, even though Death doesn't have a face to stare at. "You think I can change things?"

"You can. If you want to."

"I do," Harry says, surprised to find that it's true. "It will be hard, though, won't it? I'll be eleven again. I'll be small, and no one will take me seriously."

"You'll have me," Death says. "And you'll know it, this time. You've never been limited in the magic you can do, not the way mortal humans are. You've only ever thought you were."

Harry doesn't know how to process that information, so he just nods.

The horcrux in Harry's arms is sobbing again, but quietly, as though it knows there is no hope. Harry knows the feeling, he notes absently. And there really is no hope for the horcrux. Harry has to leave it behind. That's the only smart thing to do. Only... Dumbledore had wanted Harry to leave the horcrux alone here forever, and even though Harry doesn't like Voldemort- hates Voldemort- he also hates to let Dumbledore have this victory.

Harry looks down at the horcrux. "I won't leave him here," he says, because that hasn't stopped being true. It is supremely stupid of him, and he is fully aware of that, and he's doing it anyway.

"You can't save him," Death says. "Not if he doesn't want to be saved."

"I know," Harry says, and Death doesn't say any more.

Harry considers saying goodbye, but if he understands this right, there's no point.

"I am always with you," Death confirms, as though reading his thoughts.

And then Harry wakes up in his cupboard.