AN: I do not own either HP or the Dark Hunter series. JK Rowling and Sherrilyn Kenyon have those rights.

This is Harry/Acheron with top Harry, in accordance with the chapter I wrote for my other story, Top Harry Drabbles.

The instant that Voldemort's killing curse hits Harry's body, everything went black. He felt like he should be watching his life flash before his eyes but the images that showed up were not… were not his. Or they didn't look like him but… Something within him knew this was important.

The city around him was gleaming, not one speck of dirt or filth visible that he could see. There was one big gleaming stone arch in front of him, proclaiming that he had arrived in Greece. People were walking all around him, their horses gleaming, and… men and women with collars around their necks followed them. Everyone looked to be running home for dinner, the sun falling in the horizon.

One man in particular stood out among the ancient Greeks and Harry felt like he knew the guy, something within him shouting that he knew him. The man was wearing a slender set of armor underneath a long, plaid robe, along with a sword strapped to his back. As Harry watched from afar, the guy strode through the streets like a tourist. Harry followed, invisible and curious, as the man, who was maybe from ancient England, continued to walk, turning his gaze every which way.

A line of Greek soldiers walked past and one man, not a soldier, stopped the English man.

"Sir, the king would like to welcome you to Didymos. A feast has been prepared in your honor."

Harry watched as the ancient English warrior before him contemplate the invitation and again, there was something familiar about the man, but Harry didn't know what it was. The man had dark eyes, almost black, and long, wild auburn hair that was pulled back with a tie.

"Of course. Lead on."

Harry's eyes widened at the grandeur that awaited the warrior that he was following. The king of Didymos had a palace that sparkled, gold fixtures everywhere and servants to wait on the guests. Soldiers stood guard at each entrance, which made the English man hesitate. The steward pushed him forward through, guiding him towards the throne. And everyone in the palace throne room stopped to stare at the English warrior.

"Did you hear? One of my friends got to fuck the prince!"

Both Harry and the ancient warrior turned, dark and green eyes flashing in worried interest at the same time. The people around the guy who had spoken laughed knowingly and more than a little possessively. The laughter in the group turned dark and Harry shivered as more gossip spread around the great hall.

"They say he's a great bed warmer and knows his place! I would love to get a piece of both of them, you know?"

Harry turned to look at the king, who was not listening at all. There was a young man next to the king, who was most likely the prince. The ancient English warrior stared at the group of men then turned back to walk over to the throne, bowing before the king.

"My good man, where are you from?"

"Across the sea, your highness. My kingdom is very different than yours," the english warrior spoke, crossing his arms.

The king nodded. "Why did you come?"

"I wanted to meet you. My father spoke of allying with you in your struggles with Atlantis."

"Oh, I've bedded him. They say he has the most mysterious eyes and that is very true. Godborn, they say. Makes it so much easier to fuck him until he's bloody. And fun."

Harry and the English warrior both shuddered though the ancient warrior in front of him did it much more subtly, not showing any emotion. The king appeared not to notice the gossip about his son, as the person who had spoken had done it in a whisper and more than a few feet behind Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and sighed in relief when the English warrior finally stepped out of that toxic place. He would have tried to hex the men who were whispering about violating both princes but there was no magic to pull on and if he tried to move away from the ancient English warrior, something stopped him. They were connected by a shimmering thread of rope and Harry's real physical body was still back in the Forbidden Forest, having been killed by Voldemort.

Harry followed the warrior as he walked back throughout the city, dodging Greek soldiers and stopped at a building that looked like a temple. The statue in front of the temple was of a woman, a beautiful woman with womanly curves. Artemis, if Harry recalled his lessons from elementary school. There were priestesses around the temple and many other people praying to the goddess. Harry shrugged while the English warrior continued to walk, passing by other temples to other Greek gods and goddesses.

It grew darker and the English warrior had finally slowed down, taking one of the alleyways towards what Harry thought was the shady part of the city, judging by the increasing amounts of prostitutes walking down the streets. The men and women walking along the side of the streets were all scantily clad, the men only having a piece of cloth over their cock.

The English warrior shook his head to each one that offered themselves up. A strangled yell drew both their attention and the English warrior stopped in his idle wanderings and took off, heading in the direction of the shout. Harry followed too, wanting to help but he had found that when he tried to touch someone, his hand slid right through other people's bodies. But he followed and watched as the English warrior turned several corners and came upon a group of soldiers and two noblemen.

Or at least they looked like they could have been noblemen. They were dressed up like they were of high importance. The English warrior and Harry stopped behind the last corner and poked their heads around, taking in the sight before them. Harry could see the English man's hands curl into fists and Harry swore, wishing that he could help.

The soldiers were circled around a younger man, maybe 17 years old. Harry could feel the blood in his face drain as he watched one of the noblemen unbuckle their clothing at their waist. Another noblemen was already lying down over the younger man, both bare to the waist. The young man beneath the older man was still, bruised and broken, his skin covered in cuts and slashes.

Harry could even swear that he saw lash marks on what he could see of the younger man's back. The English man before him quietly pulled out his sword and stalked towards the group, impaling one soldier before slicing into another. The rest of the soldiers yelled the alarm but before they could get their act together, the English warrior had killed all of them.

The noblemen backed off, leaving the third one alone and running off. The English warrior snorted before striding over to the young man and the noblemen atop him and yanking the much older man off before slitting his throat and pushing him out of the way. Harry didn't even spare a look for any of the people that the Englishman had killed, just kneeled down beside the young man on the ground.

There was blood running from a few cuts on the guy's back, as well as old and numerous marks from whipping. The young man had long blond hair and was just now slowly waking up. Harry flinched at what that meant. The noblemen had probably knocked him out and then raped him.

The English man came closer and stood over the the guy and Harry noticed the minute but whole body flinch from the young man. Harry watched as the English man knelt down, arm reaching out to touch and knew that that wasn't a good idea so he reached out himself, touching the English man on the shoulder.

Power raced through him and then he was looking out of the English man's eyes. Harry started only a little then reached out, tentative, watching the young man opposite him. The guy peered up at him and Harry gasped at the young man's eyes. They were silver, swirling, as he gazed up at Harry. They stared at each other for a long while, almost caught in their own small world then the man went limp, his body falling back onto the ground as his wounds caught up to him.

Harry in the Englishman's body gently and carefully put his arms around the young man, one under his knees and one around his shoulders, minding the wounds, and walked off. Harry was only sharing the Englishman's body, sharing his mind, sharing his body, but he was distinctly aware of the fact that the young man in their arms was light, maybe too light. Numerous old scars littered his body and Harry didn't know a lot of the origins of them but he… could guess.

This was the Prince that the noblemen in the palace were talking of. Harry hadn't gotten a name but the eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Hey."

Acheron opened his eyes, his fingers curling and uncurling into the soft sheets that he was laying on. His eyes widened as he bolted upward, shuffling away from the strange man that was sitting down beside his bed. The man who had apparently brought him to his home for some reason. He probably wanted to fuck him. That's what they always wanted.

But this time… Acheron slowly realized that he wasn't tied down to the bed. There were no restraints chaining him to the bed so that the man could fuck him without Acheron fighting back. Though it had been so long since he had fought back… He remembered fighting the soldiers who had taken him away from his family, seeing his brother yell out for him when they had been but boys. Now he was 17 and still all alone.

The man clearing his throat drew Acheron out of his increasingly depressing thoughts and he turned to look at his host. The man had on a weird looking tunic, one that had green stripes crisscrossing black and for leggings, just had on a pair that was black and looked warm. Acheron waited as the man studied him, waited for the man to yank him into a kiss or straddle his lap. It never took very long for anyone who saw him to want him, to ask his master how much a night with him cost.

"Are you okay?"

Acheron stared, blinked. The man opposite him raised an eyebrow, his black eyes soft, worried. At least Acheron thought the man's expression was worried. It could have been something else. It had been a while since anyone had asked him if he was okay and even his sister had left him alone for the past few weeks.

The man's strange lilting accent was soft and one that Acheron had never heard. Maybe the man was the warrior prince who his father had invited to Didymos.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

The man's eyes widened then he shook his head after a minute. "No. Should I?"

"Most people do."

"Enough to knock you out and then fuck you?" The man's eyes narrowed dangerously and Acheron looked the man over, noting a dagger at the man's waist. "I'm sorry. I… What's your name?"

"Most people know about the prince who is a whore," Acheron muttered, glancing at the man then tentatively sitting up.

"I'm new here."

"Obviously."

He flinched when the man snorted, expecting… expecting something, maybe to get hit or for the man to realize that, yes, he wanted to fuck Acheron.

"I'm not going to hit you or fuck you," the man whispered. "My name is Aodhán and yours?"

Acheron stared at the man, unease stirring in pit of his stomach. If the man didn't want to hit him or fuck him, what was he here for?

"Acheron."

"Nice to meet you."

Harry watched as Acheron stared at the food on his plate while occasionally glancing at Harry, or more precisely Aodhán. He was sharing a body with an ancient English warrior. Hermione would get a kick out of this, assuming Harry went back to his own real, physical body. And assuming he was still actually alive.

"I'm not going to punish you for eating," Harry spoke, his heart clenching at the thought of what the man opposite had gone through. Acheron hadn't spoken a lot since Harry had found him last night but his body language, his scars, told one story. Acheron was used to being used as a prostitute, as a whore. He knew it was… usual, common to find prostitutes in this time, in this world, but he knew Acheron was different.

The young man's silver eyes were beautiful and haunted. The man was beautiful but it was clear Acheron didn't think that. Harry had seen the hooded robe and cloak that had been in tatters next to him on the street last night. And Acheron's assumption that Harry wanted to fuck him.

"You're…"

Harry turned to look at the young man, dropping his shoulders in an attempt to appear small. "Hmm?"

"You're quiet," Acheron finally said, his silver eyes flicking between Harry and the plate of food before him.

"I don't talk a lot, I know."

"No. You're quiet… up here," Acheron murmured, finally taking a bite of the meat and closing his eyes before gesturing to his mind.

"You…" Harry trailed off. "You can read minds?"

"It just happens. But not… I can't hear yours."

"You don't have control?"

Acheron glanced up at him, having not met his eyes for the entire meal, and shook his head.

"Would you like to learn?" Harry asked, meeting Acheron's eyes.

Acheron's eyes widened then his shoulders drooped as he stood up and walked around the table, kneeling at Harry's side. Harry stared, frozen, in shock, as Acheron reached out to start unlacing his armor then finally steadied himself. He reached out, gently grasping Acheron's wrists, loosely holding them.

"You don't have to do anything like that, sweetheart," Harry whispered, dropping down beside the chair and in front of Acheron. "You're safe here. I will not touch you if you don't want. You have my word."

Acheron settled into a routine, staying at Aodhán's place. It was like staying with his sister several years ago. He was safe. No one touched him at night especially since everyone seemed to think that the stranger to Didymos was weird. Not weird like Acheron but definitely weird enough to keep most of the commoners away.

Acheron definitely thought that his host for now was weird. Teaching him how to quiet his mind and how to build a mental wall around his own mind to block out voices. His new teacher insisted that there was nothing Acheron could do to pay him back but he would figure out something. Aodhán never looked at him like he wanted to fuck him; he never looked at him like he wanted to hit him or take out his anger or frustration at Styxx on him. He never looked at him like he was inferior or something to use.

Aodhán never punished him and never once raised his voice in front of him.

"I was in a war back home. I know, Acheron. I know how it feels to be picked on. I will never hurt you or use you."

Acheron woke up in the middle of the night one time to the noises of a sword moving through the air. It had been a few weeks since he had gotten jumped by those noblemen and in the morning, he always watched as Aodhán left to go on his personal business, but this morning the man had stayed. Acheron walked through the home and stopped in the doorway of the common area.

His host was standing in the middle of the room, his sword within his hand as it moved swiftly, gracefully through the air. Acheron watched as Aodhán moved and sighed when he couldn't hear any thoughts coming from the man. The man was a wonderful teacher and Acheron was… He thought he was a quick learner since Aodhán had smiled at him yesterday morning when he had successfully kept up a wall. Aodhán wasn't… hadn't said he was some kind of… warlock so Acheron had had to work on his own, listening to Aodhán's advice.

"Acheron? Another nightmare?"

He shook his head wearily.

Aodhán looked at him, black eyes narrowing in thought before shrugging, running a hand through his sweaty auburn hair.

Acheron blinked and then shuddered, thinking about that dream. The dream that he had a few times over the past year or so. He had dreamt of watching himself conquer Atlantis, the world dark and the ground covered in blood as he walked over skeletons. He didn't know what it meant. Aodhán had come to his bedside every time he woke up gasping and sweating to calm him down. The man had never touched him even then, whispering comforting things.

"When I have nightmares, I find it helps to talk to someone about them," Aodhán remarked, yawning and dropping his sword arm to his side. "Though, honestly, I probably should talk to people more. I have trouble with that too."

"You… have nightmares about the war?"

Aodhán nodded. "Friends who died for me. People who died right in front of me. Do you know how to protect yourself?"

Acheron started at the sudden change in subject. Usually, he could keep up with the sudden changes in personality from his host. Sometimes, Aodhán was… stranger than usual and most of the time that was often. Then others, Aodhán sounded like a noblemen, or at least talking like someone who knew this world. Who knew the ins and outs of Didymos. It was difficult and yet, Acheron enjoyed Aodhán's company.

"I usually just let whatever it is happen," Acheron muttered. "Easier that way. Less bloody."

It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound was the occasional hoofbeats outside.

"You… heal quickly," Aodhán commented.

"I don't know why. It keeps me pretty for the goddess, whenever she visits me," Acheron said, wondering when Artemis would visit him next. He was thinking about going to a play three days from now and maybe he would visit the temple afterward, assuming he didn't get a greedy customer.

"Goddess?" Aodhán echoed.

Acheron stiffened, remembering that he wasn't suppose to talk of Artemis to other people.

Aodhán blinked then sighed, his black eyes flashing with what Acheron now knew to be worry. "Alright, I won't tell anyone you're seeing a goddess. In the meantime, would you like to learn how to use a sword?"

Harry walked alongside Acheron as they both went to go see a play a few days later. The king of Didymos had apparently not called on the Englishman to help in anything since their war with their neighbor states had finished a few months ago. So Harry had accepted Acheron's invitation.

Acheron was wearing his usual robe and cloak, hiding his face and hair. Apparently the kind of… slave he had been was not allowed to go anywhere. Tsoulos. Greek slave meant solely for pleasing others. Harry had shuddered when Acheron told him what that meant. It was really too bad that he couldn't use magic here. Everytime he tried, he couldn't draw on his magic. It was like it was hidden from him or kept locked away. But he supposed it made sense, seeing as he was sharing this body with a muggle.

Harry steered Acheron away from two Greek soldiers, using little nudges to the small of the man's back.

On their way back, both smiling and Harry asking Acheron a few questions about what the play had meant and what did some word mean in Greek, Acheron stiffened and curled into himself.

"Acheron?" Harry whispered, getting in front of him and tilting Acheron's chin up with a gentle hand.

"My brother," Acheron murmured shakily, his silver eyes wide with fear.

Harry turned to look out at the crowd, spotting Styxx in an instant. The other blond haired prince stood out in the group of people as he talked, loud and arrogant. Though, Harry's narrowed as Styxx tripped over a ditch in the road. He could see Styxx stiffen minutely but not in seeing Acheron or a family member. It was more like Styxx was injured somehow, and didn't want anyone to know about it, but Harry shook it off, turning back to Acheron as his brother's posse grew closer.

"Come on," Harry whispered, cautiously tugging Acheron over into an alley. A few Greek soldiers looked their way but otherwise didn't move. "Acheron, I'm here. You're safe."

"They're going to see us and I will get punished," Acheron murmured, his eyes wide and color draining from his face. He drew his hood further up over his hair and pushed the strands further under the cloth.

Harry hesitantly reached out, nudging Acheron back up against the stone wall opposite them, taking a step to close the distance between them. "They're not going to see us."

"Aodhán…" Acheron trailed off, his eyes going even wider at their closeness. They watched as the group of Greek soldiers started to walk their way.

"Sure fire way to get people to ignore us," Harry whispered, catching Acheron's eyes. "It's just me, Acheron. Not gonna hurt you or do anything you don't want, okay?"

Acheron stared at him, for once frozen with fear and Harry froze too, hearing the soldiers call out to them, then leaned in, placing his lips against Acheron's. Acheron blinked as Harry pulled away only a little bit, silver eyes going wider. Harry raised an eyebrow as Acheron tentatively reached his arms out to pull Harry in again, their lips meeting again. Acheron whined low in his throat as Harry deepened the kiss, distantly aware that the soldiers stopped moving towards them. Sparks of warmth coiled in Harry's body as they moved. Harry wrapped his own arms around Acheron, mindful of the places that Acheron didn't like to be touched, and slowly moved his hands underneath Acheron's tunic, fingers meeting skin.

Acheron groaned, arching into his hands, digging his fingers into Harry's back. Acheron stilled and then Harry pulled back, his pupils blown with lust and his breaths heavy and fast. "It's okay. You can touch me all you want but I think the soldiers are gone."

Acheron took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Aodhán had finally kissed him and it had been wonderful. It wasn't a kiss he had been paid to do and nor had he been forced into it. That had been the first time he had wanted to kiss someone and it was the person who had been like an anchor to him throughout the past few weeks.

The next evening, Harry or the Englishman whose body he was inhabiting, stepped through the door of his home and stopped immediately. It looked like there had been a struggle and he reflexively went for his sword, yanking it from his back and walking deeper into the small mansion.

"Acheron?"

Harry walked through the home and into what had been Acheron's room and didn't see his friend. He wished he had access to his magic as he spotted a drop or two of blood by the bed. Harry's eyes narrowed as he followed the blood trail, following where it led out of the house and back onto the street.

The people on the street crossed the street to avoid him as he walked, having an idea about where Acheron was most probably taken. Harry moved to the backseat in the Englishman's mind, watching as he sheathed the sword then seemed to follow some invisible trail all the way to the palace. He stopped, took in the palace and the many servants walking about it. He idly wondered if Ryssa, Acheron's sister, knew that Acheron had been taken. Wondered what had happened.

Harry waited for an hour or two, his stomach starting to rumble for dinner. He was about to go back home, start anew tomorrow, when he saw Ryssa walk out of the palace and go towards the building to the left of it. Harry distinctly remembered that someone had said it was where the dungeons were and he stiffened, thinking about what being in a cell would do to Acheron. The images weren't pleasant but he followed Ryssa, using everything that he learned while on the run from Voldemort.

He quietly padded forward, catching the door when Ryssa stepped through it. It was dusk so not a lot of people saw him as he stepped through, quietly closing the door behind him.

Ryssa turned to look at him, her long blond hair curled up in a bun, and her pretty blue eyes calculating. "You're the man that Acheron spoke of."

"Aodhán, my lady."

"You know that Acheron was taken then."

Harry nodded.

"He's in here," Ryssa spoke, shivering a little. "Our father put him in here."

"He looks like your other brother," Harry remarked gently. "People were talking of him, weren't they?"

Ryssa shuddered and nodded. "Come on. Let's see if we can get him out."

Harry followed Ryssa as they walked through the dungeon, passing several occupied cells. The inmates all yelled out to Ryssa as they passed, wanting to fuck her, wanting her forgiveness, wanting to get her to talk to her father for them. They ended up at the end of the dungeon, awaiting a guard's approval to get past him.

"Princess, this is no place for you. Turn around and leave."

"I am seeing my brother with or without your approval," Ryssa argued.

The guard stared at the both of them then sighed. "You have five minutes."

Ryssa smiled and they both passed the guard, seeing the small door at the end of the hall. Harry's eyes widened as he saw which cell Acheron was in. He had been in here before, escorting a prisoner of war into the dungeon and… "Acheron..."

"Aodhán?"

"Brother, you're alive," Ryssa whispered, hurrying over to the cell door and dropping down to slide her hand through the small window.

"Ryssa. Aodhán, did you order her to bring you here?" Acheron retorted, his voice dry and breath shallow from what Harry could hear.

Harry grinned wearily, sliding his own hand through. "Who do you take me for, Acheron? She more or less ordered me in with her. Why… Are you hurt?"

He heard Acheron snort and grasp his hand, hoping that Acheron took some comfort from it. They had started sleeping in the same bed last night and Harry had woken up with Acheron in his arms, the beautiful young man who had caught Harry's eyes and heart.

Acheron's hand started to shake and Harry winced, his imagination not doing him any favors for wondering what kind of condition Acheron was in. Acheron was tall and Harry didn't know how he was fitting in that cell. Harry had heard that Acheron was limber but this? That cell was inhumane and cruel. Granted, Harry had yet to hear Acheron tell him a happy memory except for staying with his sister for a few months several years ago. Nothing about the man was happy now.

Harry tightened his own hand over Acheron's, feeling the various callouses from sword training, and glanced to Ryssa. "He's…

Acheron gripped his hand tighter, almost wanting to tell Harry something but not wanting to speak in front of Ryssa. "Ryssa, this is no place for you. You should go."

"We'll get you out of here, dear brother," Ryssa spoke.

Harry breathed out a deep sigh, knowing that Ryssa, Acheron and Styxx's father damn well was not going to let that happen. "I will come visit each day, okay?"

His stomach growled again and Acheron huffed out a laugh, weary and weak.

"Aodhán, go eat dinner. I'm not going anywhere. Take Ryssa out with you."

Harry flinched at Acheron's voice then nodded, standing up and tightening his grip on Acheron's hand one more time.

Harry bade Ryssa goodbye then walked off and was about to leave the palace when he heard something behind him. It was almost like a whisper on the wind and he was about to turn around when white hot pain speared through him. His knees buckled as a dagger struck him again and again, striking his back and then one struck his neck. He fell, blood gurgling out through his mouth, onto his back and caught a glimpse of a beautiful redheaded woman walking away before everything went black.

He opened his eyes, or at least, he thought he did to a ghostly train station. There were people milling about, at least five or six, and they all looked like gods. Some were dark skinned while others were pale and they were all dressed in finery from all over the world. One woman had a crow on her shoulder while a man and woman were close enough together to be lovers.

"Where am I? And what the fuck did I just see?"

"You are in limbo as the mortals call it," one of the men came forward. He had dark long hair and dark eyes but when he looked on the woman next to him, his eyes softened. "I am Hades. Roll call everyone. We finally have a Master of Death."

There were gasps from everyone in the crowd but then they all looked at him, delighted, and introduced themselves.

Hades. Persephone. Anubis. Osiris. The Morrigan. Hela. Charon. Freya.

Gods and goddesses of Death.

One woman stood apart from everyone. She was tall, beautiful and had the same eyes as… Harry's breath stuttered to a halt as he recognized her eyes. Those swirling silver eyes. "Who… Are you…?"

"Acheron's mother. Yes. I am Apollymi, Atlantean Goddess of life, death and wisdom."

Harry stared and stared, studying the woman just as much as she was studying him. She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

"They said he was godborn," Harry murmured. "They didn't know which god. I'm sorry about his… life. Mortal or not, no one deserves that and he was just an innocent human."

Apollymi blinked, her silver eyes softening a little before she grinned, a hint of mischief showing in her eyes. "It was not your fault but thank you. I know he appreciated your kindness and comfort."

"I… good. That was a shit life," Harry remarked glancing at the ghostly train as it came into the station. "I wish I could have helped him more."

"You helped him as much as you could and for that, you have my thanks," Apollymi spoke, taking a step closer towards him. "Your own mother has spoken to me of you. You have lived a rough life also."

Harry tilted his head in confusion as she took another step towards him.

"I hope the Marauders haven't given you a lot of trouble," Harry offered, smiling a little.

Persephone snorted from where she was next to Hades. "Your dogfather is quite hilarious."

Harry laughed, feeling the aches and pains that he had amassed in the last battle against Voldemort. His whole body felt like it was dying, little flares of pain shooting up everywhere. "What was that thing I witnessed anyway? I was sharing another's body."

"Ah, that was a past life," Osiris answered, his Egyptian accent foreign and low. "When people- you die, you experience your past lives. For you, it was that one."

"As Master of Death, you can call on us anytime," The Morrigan said. "For help or for advice."

Anubis walked over to stand next to Hades, followed by every god and goddess.

"You are the Master of Death, Harry James Potter. We answer to you."

"What would you like to do now?" Hades questioned.

Harry stared and stared, hearing as if from far away, the elder wand humming in his ear. He looked over to where Apollymi was, away from the group then sighed. "But I'm just… Harry."

Apollymi's lips twitched up into a small grin. "Go kick Voldemort's ass for one. You will have my blessing for that one."

Hela snorted. "You mean your hellhounds, Apollymi."

"Oh, and that too."

Harry stared out at the crumbling ruins of Hogwarts an hour after the fight. Voldemort was dead by his hand and now… He glanced down to the elder wand in his palm and at the hellhound beside his feet. The hellhound had fire spread out along its' back and a forked tail, with fiery red eyes. Cerberus was standing behind him, its' three heads sniffing around, at ease for once. The crow that had sat on the Morrigan's shoulder was on his own shoulder, cawing every once and awhile.

"Uh, Harry? What exactly happened when you were… you know…" Ron trailed off, as he and Hermione stopped well before Cerberus and exchanged bewildered looks. "Your eyes are glowing white too."

The wind picked up around them, curling around Harry and ruffling his hair. Harry grinned, remembering faintly that Apollymi was the daughter of a wind goddess. Apollymi's spirit whispered something to him on the wind then flew off. A whisper of waiting, of staying in place.

"It's a long story," Harry commented, his heart still wishing for another, for the young man who had had such a difficult life all because his eyes were silver. "You know what, I think I'll stick around for our eighth year."

Hermione grinned. "Good for you. Ron?"

Cerberus howled, loud and eerie. The hellhound joined in, creating a sad yet joyful sound.

"Sure."

Six months later, all the eight years who had stuck around were all at one table, regardless of house. The rest of the kids were at various tables and they were all looking at the eighth years, their eyes wide with awe. Harry was sitting next to Hermione and Ron and across from Draco, who was sitting next to Charlie. Ron's older brother had come for the opening ceremony, having helped rebuild the castle.

Headmistress McGonagall was standing in Dumbledore's space, talking of rebuilding the wizarding world and love winning over hate. Her eyes were sad as she looked over to where the group of eight years were sitting, reminded of who they lost.

Harry grinned at Dean and Seamus, who grinned back, and the feast began a few minutes later after McGonagall finished her speech. And just as soon as the food appeared, a big boom echoed throughout the great hall. The clouds on the Hogwarts ceiling flowed towards the great door as it opened. Harry turned to look, half expecting Quirrell to run in and say something about a troll. He snorted at the thought and Hermione raised an eyebrow. He shook his head and watched as one man stepped through.

His breath caught, stuttering to a halt, as he watched the man he thought to be dead walk in, down the aisle.

"...Harry?"

"Harry! Mate, you okay?"

He muttered curse words under his breath, with the distinct feeling that they weren't in English. He watched as Acheron glanced over towards their table, sunglasses hiding his silver eyes and instead of blond, black hair with red strands in the front. The man was wearing a black cloak and a band t-shirt and was clearly visible since everyone had stopped to stare at him. Acheron's gaze moved right over him, passing him, and as he passed Harry and his friends, Harry stood up, clumsily tripping over the bench.

"Acheron?"

Acheron stopped, frozen to the floor as he turned around.

Harry stared.

Acheron stared, body frozen, as he took in the strange young man in front of him. Green eyes, wild black hair and a scar that looked like a lightning bolt on his forehead. "Who… Do I know you?"

"You…" Harry trailed off, wandlessly casting a ward of hiding around them. The great hall around them blurred, making it so that they were alone and no one could eavesdrop. "You knew Aodhán."

Acheron's eyes widened, feeling the young wizard's power curl around them both, hiding them from view as it blurred everyone else out. "You're… You're not Aodhán. He died."

"No, I'm not. He was my past life though."

"How…" Acheron stared wordlessly, taking a step closer to… "What's your name?"

"Harry James Potter. Sorry, I forgot about that. I…"

"You did say you had a war back home," Acheron murmured hesitantly, his heart beating so quickly. The man who had taught him so much, how to fight and how to shield his mind… This was him? "Are you really who I think you are?"

"Your sister was Ryssa and your brother was Styxx," Harry whispered, taking a step closer too and leaving only a few inches between them. "Your father was an asshat. And your uncle even more so. You were such a quick learner at shielding your mind."

Acheron huffed out a strangled laugh. "That's because I had a good teacher."

Harry grinned through watery eyes.

"We only kissed once," Harry finished, wiping his eyes. "I promised not to hurt you or use you."

Acheron knew that Simi had to be very curious. He had never told anyone but his mother about Aodhán and now… Acheron closed the rest of the distance between them and peered into Harry's green eyes, seeing affection and love there. Harry smiled hesitantly and wrapped his arms around Acheron, slowly pulling him into a hug. The touch released a weight that Acheron had unknowingly been carrying for the past 11,000 years and he tentatively leaned into Harry.

"Harry," Acheron whispered, feeling tears pool in his eyes and not caring at all. He melted into the other man, his knees buckling with the knowledge that his friend, maybe lover, had followed him into the present. "Aodhán. Little fire."

Harry grinned and pressed a kiss to his forehead and then another, to which Acheron leaned up to catch it on his lips.

"Acheron," Harry whispered quietly, against his mouth. "I knew there was something your mom wasn't telling me. I knew it!"

Acheron laughed as they pulled apart. "You talked to my mom? I apologize."

"Well, I had the whole welcoming committee," Harry commented, as Acheron leaned into him, placing his ear over Harry's heart and listening to it beat.

"Hmm?"

"I'm apparently now the Master of Death."

"Oh, apparently?"

"It's a thing."

"And that's why my matera urged me to come to Hogwarts," Acheron muttered. "To see you."

"We'll have to thank her."

Gentle fingers ran through his hair and Acheron leaned further into Harry, resting his forehead against Harry's shoulder. "Love the hair, by the way."

"One of the perks of being a god."

"Which god are you then?"

"Apostolos."

"Who?"

"God of Final Fate."

"No big deal then," Harry teased.

Acheron laughed as Harry tightened his arms around him. Acheron in turn wrapped his own arms around Harry, enjoying being safe. And he knew Harry would keep him safe, like Aodhán promised and they were one and the same person.