Helloooo there, this is Newio reporting, and welcome to first fanfic, In Life and Death.

Before you go on, do be aware that this story focuses a lot on the relationship between Death and Harry, as well as the recursions that come along with being Death's favorite. OCs are bound to occur, since the story will take place in both future and past, where most of the characters are either dead or yet to be born. The endgame is indeed Death/Harry/Voldemort (let the world burn), but that's still a very long way to go.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Having said that, if you are still here, I hope you enjoy this intro chapter!

Chapter 1: The Beauty of It

In his dream, Harry sees three things: the sky, the ocean, and the boat.

It's black and raging, this sky. It roars with madness, signaling the incoming storm. Yet the ocean is eerily calm, and there's no life. The water is icy cold when he touch it, but when he pull his fingers out, his skin are black and marred. Marked with fire. He thinks of Ginny then, her screams, and his stomach churns with heat.

He sits alone with the boat as his only anchor. It rocks and rolls and brings him peace. He watches the storm until he is swallowed, and wakes before the boat is ripped to pieces. He carries out the rest of his day as any normal wizard would, the dream as his siren.

Some days, he stands up from the boat. He does not await the storm. He looks to the ocean, disregards the logic of his mind, and he jumps. The water embraces him like an old friend. He drowns, drowns, and drowns...but he does not wake. He dies multiple times over, yet the cold carries him on.

It's not healthy, the children chastise even as they force him awake. He ignores the worry in their voice, their sharp glances, the clothes that cling to the sweat on his back. Focuses on the tremor of his bones, the way his heart beats hard and fast, the lump that lies within his throat, and wonders, wonders...

Is Death finally coming?

.

The thing with becoming immortal, Harry figures out, is not that you lose love. Seventy years after that fateful day, and still Ginny remains a wonder within his heart. He's surrounded by family and friends, those that gives him hugs and kisses and calls him granddaddy and snuggles into his lap like he's the best there is. In their own ways, they give him life. In return, Harry gives them his heart over and over again.

Rather, the objectionable thing about being immortal is the discovery of repetition. He finds that the phrase 'history tends to repeat itself' stands true to its meaning even decades after the war. From the mundane everyday life to the superficial dealings with higher ups, Harry realizes that things grow old, real fast. Ron, bless his heart, used to say "mate, if I were you and immortal, I will do everything, and I do mean everything, at least once" and wiggled his eyebrows in a manner that was in no way suggestive.

Harry follows Ron's words like it's the Code. He went from a hot-headed Auror to a respectful Healer to being a halfway decent Malfoy that dabbles in politics and dances the game of bitch-slapping people with words. Society kinds of leave him alone to do whatever, since he saved the world more than once. But the problem with Harry Potter, as people tend to discover, is that trouble finds him no matter what.

Like being kidnapped in broad daylight by the goddamn police. Needless to say, ever since the day the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy became the Statute of Wizard and Muggle Relations, Harry finds himself in trouble with the non-magical side of the law more than he could count. Something about seeing a century-year-old wizard just quirks them the wrong way, Harry supposes.

"Sir?"

It's not as if he intentionally try to break the 'rules'. In fact, Harry goes out of his way to avoid the muggle world. But these days, with muggles and wizards so intertwined, one can't even go to Diagon Alley without seeing some muggles gawking at everything in sight. Really, Harry understands. He was like that at eleven years old, after all.

He just can't handle looking at their smiling faces, when all he hears, sleeping or not, is of her screams. He gets it. Not all wizards are alike. And not all muggles are alike, either. He just can't accept it. He does not think he ever will.

"Sir!"

So perhaps Harry likes to do little charms. If these charms happen to turn some people hair pink or their skin to turns green with dots...well, it's just harmless teasing. They wanted to see magic first hand anyways. The problem afterwards is that these muggles just don't understand the fun side of magic, and when they call the Statute, both police and aurors come running.

This time, Denise Goode gets to him first. She's a good kid, a squib with a passion for guns and knives. She's also the only one Harry can tolerate within this whole building. It's through a sense of familiarity that she always seem to know when he does something wrong.

"Mr. Potter!" she screams, finally having enough of his silence.

Everybody turns to look, their eyes disapproving. She glares at them all until they glance away. The moment she looks back at him, Harry almost shrink in size. Harry likes to think she would have been a Gryffindor if Hogwarts is still standing today.

"Do you know how many complaints I get in a day? Half of them are about you! The Statue tells me to leave you alone one day, and the next tells me to send you to prison. I swear they need to get their things together - it's like having two evil bosses!"

"It's no surprise, Denise." Harry finally says. "It's ruled by two different Ministers, after all. One is a wizard with a hero complex. The other is a muggle-born who loves magic like life itself. You can just see the struggles."

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, that's a mystery of its own. I've never seen this Minister Fitzroy. From what I've heard, he looks mighty handsome. Is he even real?"

"As real as magic can get."

She stands up from surprise. "You've seen him then?"

"Yes," Harry replies. "He doesn't like me very much. To be perfectly honest, I don't like him very much either."

"No wonder he keeps insisting on sending you to jail, Mr. Potter! The things he writes about you!"

Harry laughs. "Yes, well, you can't live life without having some enemies. Besides, the quirk of being one hundred and two years old, my dear, is that nobody dares to touch you. I go to prison, I get the paradise life."

"You're a very strange man, Mr. Potter." She sits down and takes an envelope out from within her desk. "Even stranger than my father."

"Knowing who he is, I will take that as a compliment."

She stares at him with her blue eyes, no longer smiling. Suddenly, the happy mood vanish. She hands him the letter. "From me, yes. From others, no, it's not a compliment, sir."

Harry takes it from her. In his hand, it feels somehow heavy, even with the knowledge that it's only a slip of paper. "What is this?"

"Please open it."

He do as she says. He's right, it's a simple piece of paper. The words, upon it, however, are of accusations and just plain wrong. He folds it up calmly and put it on the table.

"What is this?" He repeats his question.

"A recommendation from Minister Wright." She answers, voice tense. "For your psychiatrist care under Dr. Rey. Due to recent events, he believes that you are in need of help, sir. He understands that the trauma caused from the death of your wife is very nerve wracking, but that is no excuse for your reckless behaviors, which may become dangerous to you and those around you. And after talking to Dr. Rey, he finds that-"

"I know what I read, Denise." He interrupts. He stands up, abruptly very angry. "They thinks I am … mentally unstable?"

"No. You just need help moving on, Mr. Potter."

"Moving on? Moving on?! They are taking the children away from me!"

He sees the pity in her eyes. Stops. Looks down at himself. Sees that his hands are in a tight fist. Relax, Harry. Calm. Think clearly, now. Don't let her see you like this.

"I understand how you feel. Heck, I can't even imagine what the children will say. But think of this as a new experience! You've never dabbled in psychology before, right? Think of this as a stepping stone. Show them you're sane and walk out."

"The problem is not that I am sane or not..." He says. "But how this letter come to be."

"What?"

He looks at her.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Let the Aurors come in, Denise. I know they are waiting outside the building." He sits down. Smiling, he asks a young boy with glasses for a cup of tea. The boy nods, and scuttles off into the common area. "I would like to have a talk with this Minister Wright."

Denise signals one of her boys to go outside. She gives out a big sigh, and gives Harry an utterly annoyed look. "I hope to God that you know what you're doing, Mr. Potter."

"Dear Denise," he grins. "Don't you know me at all? I always have a plan."

She gives him an untrusting look. "The last time you said that there was almost a Civil War."

"When you're as old as me, you don't just stand there and endure the unfairness of the world."

"Over magic education?" She challenges and looks into his eyes. He stares back, unwavering.

"No." He replies. "Not over education, but over human rights."

Denise looks away. "You know, I was very young back then, only ten. When my mother learned that I was a squib, she was overjoyed. I didn't understand then, why, until I go to school and saw for myself. Children can be very mean, especially under the guidance of their parents. They can get very jealous too. You know, I was chosen for the Institute."

"Denise, I never knew..."

"Of course not, you weren't there. Not exactly. But the thing is, the Institute was the first and last try, and I saw first hand the cruelty of both sides. Muggles against wizards, wasn't that the thing for everyone? They put all these children together, hoping for the best. Until a kid broke his arm. The next day someone got put in the hospital, I think? Then someone drowned. And it repeats and repeats. I just, just didn't really understanding what's truly happening. Until two years later, when we all got separated because you finally spoke up."

Harry clenches his fists. "I wasn't fast enough."

"No, you weren't. I was spared because I was a squib. They pitied me because I got no magic, and l was also left alone because I got no magic. I didn't leave that Institute whole, even if I was the least damaged. But you were my hero. And to all the children of that Institute as well as their parents."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I am saying is that some people forget, and some people don't. Society thinks you're an old man, take you for a fool. Well, Mr. Potter, there are a thousand men and woman standing right behind you, even if you don't see it. You have an army ready and willing."

"You speak as if I'm getting prepare for my next fight against the next Dark Lord."

"Sometimes I forget just who you are," she smiles, eyes bright, and gives his hand a tight squeeze. "That you've defeated two Dark Lords, rebelled against those with too much power but also too wrong, prevented the death of how many lives, and God knows what else you have also done. Yet here you are, my great grandfather."

He looks at her, thinks of Dumbledore, and imagines the twinkle within his own eyes. The glamor seeps into his skin, a constant itch that has became a normalcy. He thinks of removing it, showing the world what he truly is...he thinks, he thinks...

Instead, he can only says, "I too, always forgets."

.

They finally come in just as Harry takes his first sip. To Harry's delights, it's Jacob Yap that leads them in. That deceitful little bastard. Harry loves to loathe him. Unlike other people, Yap gives no care for Harry's grey hair and wrinkled skin. They could banter like little children all day and then punch each other in the face. Harry supposes he should worry about this young man's future, but he's having too much fun with this wonderful being who possess only one weakness.

Yet while his appearance usually bring Harry a somewhat sadistic joy, today Harry's in no mood.

"Yap," he says. "Bring me to your master."

The wizard looks at Denise and raises his eyebrow. She shrugs helplessly and mouths good luck. Yap just rolls his eyes and mutters dear lord.

"Harry Potter, you're under arrest for-"

"Yes, Yap. yappy- yap. Yap."

"Under article-"

"Yap. Yippity Yap."

"Goddamn it Potter! Just come with me now!"

Harry winks at his granddaughter, who scoffs.

"That's all I wanted to hear, Yap."

.

The moment he arrives at the Ministry, he uses the excuse of going to the bathroom. Yap gives him a look of pure distrust until his workmate finally gives him the look that say man it's just an old man let him go do the do. Harry got to give it to Yap, the wizard has good instincts. Once in, he drops his glamor and walks out. Everyone looks at him with wide eyes. Even Yap stutters, his eyes impossibly huge.

"Good morning, M-"

"Mr. Yap. Where's Minister Wright?"

"Inside room D321, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Yap," Harry says, interrupting the wizard, who merely nods weakly. Yes, still Yap's number one weakness. Just for the fun of it though, he continues, "I just saw Mr. Potter diving out of the window. Old people these days, huh?"

Yap pales a few shades lighter, and immediately runs into the bathroom.

Well, that never get old.

He continues on with his quest to look for the Minister. Wizards and Muggles part way for him like the red sea and he's Moses. He sees Lovegood walking towards him from the corner of his vision, and immediately walks faster. Merlin, Luna Lovegood was a strange, strange woman. Her great grandson is even stranger. Harry entices the idea of having a second glamor, but thinks that's too much work. Besides, it really does boost Harry's self-esteem a little bit that everyone wants a piece of him, for whatever the reasons. Harry thinks of his teenage days and how out of his skin he always felt. How Hermione hit him in the head for liking the attention so much.

He crosses the hallway and barges through the door. "Walton Wright! What the bloody hell is going on? I just received-"

"Ah, come in, my friend, and have a seat." The bloody bastard gestures toward an empty chair, right next to the one currently filled by a man with long black hair tied over his shoulder. Harry cannot see his face, only his back, but something about the way this man holds himself makes Harry tense with anticipation. "This is Dr. Eastmund Rey, Mr. Potter's psychiatrist."

This Dr. Rey turns around, and his face...Harry swears he has seen it before. In the war? No. Harry would never forget those blue eyes. They feel exceptionally intrusive. But Rey is a mere muggle.

"Hello, Minister Fitzroy," the man says, his voice is very rough, as if unused to speaking. Strange, due to his profession. "I've heard much about you."

"Good things, I hope." Harry says sarcastically as he sits down.

"A man of humor, as I've heard."

Harry looks back at the Minister. "Well, not to be rude, but there's no need for Mr. Potter to have a psychiatrist. That poor man has done enough already, leave him alone."

"It's precisely because of how much Mr. Potter has contributed to the community that we care for his well-being, my friend," Wright says, and gives that smile of his that always make Harry wants to strangle him. "Besides, Dr. Rey here also believes that Mr. Potter showcases some rather disturbing behavior, to say the least."

"What kind of disturbing behavior are we talking about here?"

"Unlawful use of magic, constant distaste for all things non-magical, lack of social friends, and, of course, vandalism of government properties."

Ah. So the Minister's still a little mad about that awful incident where Harry sort of dented his muggle car. It was just a stupid piece of metal anyways. Things just like to come back and bite him in the arse.

"That's hardly disturbing behavior," Harry replies. "That's how every old man acts."

Both men turn to look at him, their eyes saying all.

"Fine." He spits out. "So this Harry Potter is weird. That's hardly enough reason to separate him from his family and friends. Like I said, I think he deserves some free passes considering his good acts and sacrifices."

"We were just talking about that, actually," Rey says. "And came to the conclusion that if Mr. Potter agrees to a one-hour meeting with me once every two days, he can remain with his family."

"Once a week."

"Once every three days."

"Deal, Dr. Rey," Wright interrupts before Harry could say more. "We will see you once again next week to discuss Mr. Potter's progress. Hopefully, it'll be good news."

"Very well, Ministers. Have a good day." The doctor stands up, getting ready to leave.

Harry whips out his arm, catching the man by his elbow. For some strange reason, Harry just can't get rid of the nausea within his guts. There's something about this man that he just can't figure out, especially his strange, blue eyes. "Say, have we met before, Doctor?"

"Many times, Minister Fitzroy," the man smiles. "But only from afar. You always seem to have look pass me."

"My condolences. Next time, say something, yeah?"

"If that's what you want, Minister."

Harry releases him. Rey gives a nod to both Ministers before walking out. Harry stares at his own hand.

He knows Eastmund Rey. The name behind it anyways. In fact, there's a whole folder dedicated to that name alone. A muggle that's too proud for his own goods. Disappeared for a year to only reappear now. Many looks at him for his favor. Adores him for his good looks. Yet he stands on top, looking down with his mighty nose. Harry knows Rey is a man who is used to getting what he wants, but what exactly does he want with Harry Potter, the hopeless old man? And why does he looks so familiar?

He looks to Wright, who only stares back grimly. "You understand now, Harry?"

Harry nods. "Yes, my friend, I'm afraid I do."

"Merritt Kemp, the Auror I sent to investigate, disappeared two days after without a single word. Jasper Woodward, the Unspeakable who went undercover, came back without half of his memories. And yet we have no proofs. The mystery behind Eastmund Rey only lengthened. I almost use desperate measures. Imagine my surprise when he comes to my office by his free will. His request? You."

"Me."

"Yes, Harry Potter," Wright laces his fingers together, suddenly looking very tired. "At first I refused, knowing how much you hated the idea of being tear apart under another's watching eyes. Especially by a muggle. You can't even tolerate me half of the time, and I am your boyfriend. God, such a ridiculous term, can't we just get marry and I call you husband, love?"

Harry smiles in amusement. "Continues on, Walton."

"He then insisted on wanting to figure out the man behind the legend. Harry Potter was his hero growing up, apparently. He speaks of you with fondness, as if he knows you. It was strange. His ways with words. Anyways, he used every single card he had, pointing out all the wrongs and rights. He was bloody convincing, and then a thought came to me..."

"If he's so very fond of me, perhaps I have a chance?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I had thought."

"Walton Wright, this is why we're not husbands," Harry says and kisses him on the lips. "Because you're an idiot. And also because we are partners, and we know each other too well. I know, with a hundred percent certainty, that if we are married, you would never have accept. Bound by conscience, you would have said no. Right now, we are way too important men, there is no room for compassion. Do not worry. I am no damsel in distress. I do not require my lover's helping hands."

Wright embraces him to his chest and whispers, "Only one more year, my love."

Harry laughs. "And then I will marry you until the day you die. In life and death, Mr. Wright. For now, I will play Rey's games, and I will bring you his lies. It's time to go undercover."

.

That night, Harry dreams a different sort of dream.

In his dream, Harry sees three things: the sky, the ocean, and the boat.

This time, however, there's no storm, only the calmness of the ocean. The sea is blue and bright, reflecting the sky. The boat, as always, rocks and brings him peace. Harry thinks that this is a very strange dream, but he welcomes it for what it is. Perhaps things are getting better. Harry smiles at the thought.

"Hello, my dear master." The voice says. And breaks the tranquility of his life.

Harry dares not turn around. His body knows what his mind cannot, and is too afraid to move. Decades, he waits for this day. At this moment, he gives his back.

"Why now?" He braves enough to say. "After all these years?"

"Why not?" Death replies.

Harry bites his lips. Always, Death plays riddles.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Death does not answer.

Harry turns and sees the being for what it is. Death, if that's what Death truly looks like, is a tall entity. He hovers over Harry like a kindred spirit. His impossibly long hair reaches his feet and is as black as the night. Harry looks into his face, and where his eyes should be, Harry sees only the might of the abyss.

Death reaches out and touches his face. His touch is so very gentle. His skin so very cold. Harry fears what's happening.

"What is it that you want from me?" he says, voice soft.

Death's thin lips turn into a smile. It's a smile of things to come.

"That is the beauty of it, my dear master," Death says and let go. Harry wakes up in sweat and screams. He sees Walton, his mouth moving, but he cannot comprehend the words that are being said. All he hears is the echo inside his head. The lingering heat upon his face. Remembers Death's mocking voice.

"You have an eternity to figure it out."

- End of Chapter One -

You may see some humor. Endure with me.

Next Chapter: For Every Man and Woman - Harry comes to the realization that perhaps he has bitten more than he can chew. Death teaches his master a lesson in vengeance.