Author's Note: This is a parody of the "Don't Fear The Reaper" challenge issued by Reptilia28. It's not meant to put down the challenge or anyone who's accepted it; just having a bit of fun with the premise. (I've probably read a dozen fics based off of it, which is the only reason I know it well enough to parody it in the first place...) Hope someone enjoys.

The challenge itself is reproduced below for context.

STORYLINE:

*Harry is killed at 17 during a fight with Voldemort. He's sent to his Death's office (explained later) and finds out that this isn't the first time that this has happened.

*Harry's Death (who can have a human name) is mad at his arrival. Apparently, people dying before their time is a black mark on the various Deaths' records, and Harry is getting perilously close to getting this particular one fired.

*When Harry asks what was supposed to have happened, Death goes off on a rant saying how he was supposed to have killed Voldemort, found his soul mate ("Some Granger girl...") and lived to be a centennial age. But since Harry keeps getting into life-threatening situations for one reason or another, he keeps dying before that happens. Harry is surprised about the soul mate part.

*Death gives Harry a paper to sign that allows him to retain his memories (the previous times, he wasn't given this option for some reason). Harry is deposited to a previous time of the writer's choosing.

*Eventually, Harry gets it right. He kills Voldemort, gets the girl, and lives to a ripe old age of whatever. And Death doesn't get fired.

REQUIREMENTS:

*Harry had to have died at least three times before this one.

*The memory keeping contract must be included.

*Death must refer to Hermione as "some Granger girl" when Harry's soul mate turns up in his rant.

*Obviously, must be H/Hr.

*Have fun.

OPTIONAL: *Dumbledore's manipulations can be a factor in Harry's premature demises.

In accordance with the vast majority of fics based off the challenge, Dumbledore is a manipulator, Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione are the result of Love Potions, and there is some bashing. Also, this is specifically after Harry takes Voldemort's Killing Curse to the face in Deathly Hallows; there's a line that implies this in the fic, but it's best to confirm it.

Disclaimer: Not J.K.R., do not profit. Not Reptilia28 either.

Harry flipped through the list of deaths, frowning. "So I've been Potioned up to my gills, so to speak..."

"Right," his Death said impatiently from across the table.

"...killed sixteen different times, and those are just the 'major' ones..."

"Excluding the times you merely were rendered brain-dead, put in a multi-decade coma, or crippled beyond any point where you could be reasonably expected to kill Voldemort, right."

"...had more snogs, over my various deaths and rewinds, with Dementors than with Hermione..."

"To be fair, the Ministry and, later, the Death Eaters don't send the Granger girl after you by way of intimidation and summary execution." His Death grimaced. "Would that they did. Would make my existence a lot easier."

"...and I'm supposed to think you shouldn't be fired?" Harry put down his file and glared across the desk. "My destiny, by your own admission, has been utterly botched. And you're the one performing resets."

"That's your fault-" his Death began to bluster, but Harry slammed his hand down on the table.

"Oh? Because I thought you told me I was under enough compulsions and potions that I couldn't be reasonably expected to fulfill what was supposed to be an easy destiny. Meanwhile, you knew everything, and had unlimited license to alter my circumstances to prevent my rushing to my certain demise. Did you never bloody think ahead? Could you not have orchestrated matters so that I broke free on my own, rather than only learning about it here?"

"My powers are limited-" his Death began, but Harry waved him off.

"And all-powerful within those limitations. Something even Dumbledore can't brag about." Harry gave an irritated sigh. "I'm not asking you to go above and beyond. This, from the sounds of it, is your job. You couldn't arrange for me, within any of the hours you rewound, to witness something that would utterly destroy my faith in Dumbledore? And made me paranoid enough not to slip up and find out?"

"Look, some of it has to be your doing. I can only do so much," his Death said in lofty tones. Harry's eye twitched.

"I'm not talking about my well-being, you tosser. I'm talking about things which would help me not get killed before my time. It's your job on the line. Honestly," he added, looking back down at his file, "I'm not sure I was missing out on too much by dying. The Wizarding world hated me whenever they didn't want something out of me, any happiness was the result of blissful ignorance, and Hermione and I seemed doomed, even if I succeeded in killing Voldemort, to be puppets dancing to the tune of a long-dead old man. Besides, it's not as though the world's entirely doomed if I die. What about Neville?"

His Death looked as though he'd be turning a lovely shade of puce if he were subject to mortal concepts of "blood pressure". "Now, see here, young man, there's no skipping out on your destiny-"

"I'm not," Harry said acidly. "Just tell me. Is Neville a valid backup candidate or not?"

His Death's eyes darted to the door and back. Harry wondered if it was his imagination, or if the entity really had grown more pale. "I-" he gave an obviously-forced chuckle. "Well, obviously, my job is to ensure you fulfill your destiny, and -"

"He is, isn't he," Harry said flatly. "I see. Out of curiosity, is Neville's Death more competent than you are?"

"The little bitch hasn't had as hard a job as I have," his Death hissed. "The worst she's had to deal with before this year were his own relatives! Dealing with someone like you would wipe that smug grin off her damned face-"

"I see," Harry said, giving his Death a smile full of teeth. "I think I see rather more clearly than you'd like, actually. She's been looking forward to your failure, hasn't she? I expect she rather likes the departmental prestige of being the Death of the Chosen One... And she's actually better set up for it than you are, actually, isn't she?"

His Death's expression was like stone.

"Yes," Harry mused, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I've already told Neville to kill the snake. There aren't any more Horcruxes, are there?"

"No." His Death spat the word.

"Right. So all she needs to do is have Neville kill both Nagini and Voldemort in some spectacular fashion, preferably before the day's out, and be hailed as the hero of Hogwarts. Then she has a Chosen One free of potions, free of any bad reputation beyond being a late bloomer, and free of Dumbledorian influence. Oh, and with a lovely reputation for being part of the student resistance, rather than camping out in a forest all year." Harry smiled beatifically. "I don't know - sounds great to me. Neville deserves his time in the sun."

"What of Granger?" his Death hissed. "So ready to abandon her, are you?"

"You mean, like I've been abandoning her for years, a sucker for every potion, manipulation, and distraction that heads my way?" Harry snapped. "Did watching me with Ginny teach you bloody well nothing? I'm not interested in the girl I love getting thrown into the line of fire because of me." An ugly suspicion began winding through his heart. "Out of curiosity, has Hermione been getting revived regularly due to my destiny? I can think of a few times when she came close to death. Let's see, the troll in first year, the basilisk in second, Remus in third-"

"That's not my jurisdiction!"

"Awfully quick response. It may not be your jurisdiction, but you know, don't you?" Harry's hands clenched into fists. "She's been dragged through this joke of a life, too. And because of me." He gave a dark laugh. "I don't know. Why don't you ask Hermione if she'd be content to live as nothing more than a blind puppet? Or as an accessory to someone else's life? I actually wish you would," he admitted, "though only after, I hope, she's gotten free of this whole mess and lived a long and happy life. I'd just like to see what's left of you afterwards."

His Death was regarding him with a murderous expression. Ironic, really. "She can only experience true happiness with you," he bit out.

"Funny, the Hermione I know could experience true happiness with books. Or campaigning for the less fortunate. Or... loads of things, really." Harry glared at his Death. "Is this 'soulmate' thing just a fancier variety of Love Potion? Because if you've done, or are planning to do, something to Hermione that makes her a hopeless addict - incapable of being happy about anything without fresh hits of her drug - I'll..." He didn't know how to finish that sentence, purely because he didn't know if he could rend Death to pieces with his bare hands. He was, however, interested and willing to try.

"Well, I, er," his Death stammered, gaze again darting towards the door. "Who can truly be happy without the one they love?"

"Good grief," Harry snarled, "for someone whose connection to me derived from Love Potions, Ginny understood me better than you do. She said I couldn't be happy unless I was hunting Voldemort, and you know something? She was bloody right! She might've put it awkwardly, but it's true! If I was with all the people I loved best in some tropical paradise, and Voldemort was butchering people back home, YOU'D BETTER BELIEVE I WOULDN'T BE HAPPY!" He took a few deep breaths, then leaned toward, glaring at his Death with utter loathing. "If I could give up everything - love, friends, family, happiness - and take down Voldemort in the process, would I? Bloody hell! That's pretty much what I've done!" His eyes narrowed. "And you know something? It's worth it! That's part of what makes us human - the ability to give of ourselves for a greater cause!"

"Dumbledore really got to you, didn't he?" his Death said archly, and Harry barely resisted the urge to throttle him.

"Of ourselves," Harry specified tersely. "Not, say, of a fifteen-month-old. Or of the children under your care. Or the people who trust you blindly. Or of your own family." He took a moment to compose himself. "You know, I do owe you that for this conversation. I understand the distinction. And, you know, I recognized that about everyone else. Just not when it came to Dumbledore." Breathing in deeply, he leaned back in his seat. "Anyway, I've gotten off topic. No, I don't think Hermione could only be truly happy with me. If anything, it seems like she'd have a much greater chance of happiness without being my best friend and having a target constantly painted on her back." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Reckon Molly will abandon the entire Love Potion thing if I'm not in the picture? Ron doesn't seem too enthusiastic about the entire relationship with Hermione, I've noticed... and I'm not too sure it's working all that well, unless it's common for Love Potions to have the side-effect of the potioneer getting punched in the face... D'you think Ron's soulmate is Malfoy, then? They get along about as well, I reckon..."

His Death's expression was comical. "I have never inquired as to whether Mr. Weasley has a soulmate, and I don't care to find out."

"Might be you - you've both got big mouths, loads of jealousy towards anyone doing a better job, and not too much an inclination to do a decent job of things yourselves." Harry stood. "Though Ron's a more interesting conversational partner. Do you even like Quidditch?"

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, his Death stared at him. "Not after multiple deaths falling from a broom or turning brain-dead from a Bludger-"

"I see. Pity." Harry turned and stared heading towards the door.

"Mr. Potter - Mr. Potter, where are you going?" There was a rustle behind him as his Death stood. "We still have this contract for you to sign!"

"Which I have only your word does what you say it does," Harry said remorselessly. "You yourself admit you wiped my memory on all previous occasions. The only thing your behavior makes me certain of is that you need my consent for me to go back. Oh, and that, no matter how much you whine, that you'd prefer to keep me on rather than have to concede the position of Death of the Chosen One to Neville Longbottom's."

"But my job-"

"I have only your word that your job is on the line. Though, I mean, obviously you're out of work if I stop going back. But this 'limited deaths' thing?" Harry snorted. "It's what I'd love to hear, isn't it? Harry Potter with his savior complex, taking pity even on his own Death. Willing to give it one last try. I wonder - is this the first time that I've heard this line?" Hand on the doorknob, he didn't bother looking back to check. "I'm a bit surprised you told me about all Dumbledore's manipulations, but maybe you're obligated to tell me about the contents of my file. Or you wanted to agitate me enough that I'd agree to 'jump back' without thinking too hard about things?"

"Mr. Potter-"

Harry smartly swung open the door, stepped through, and slammed it shut. He leaned back hard upon the external door-knocker handle, keeping it shut against the furious attempts to wrench it open from inside, and nodded at Charon. The ferryman of the Styx gazed back at him levelly, as though this wasn't anything too peculiar by the standards of Death. Perhaps it wasn't; he remembered some Greek myths about fellows who had gotten into outright brawls with their Deaths, or something along those lines. He hadn't hit that point. Yet...

"Could you please take me to the office of Neville Longbottom's Death?" Harry asked politely. "I know I'm not under her jurisdiction, but nevertheless, I'd like to congratulate her on her promotion."