CHAPTER ONE

"You don't have to do this."

Her grim tone only made Harry scoff and roll his eyes. Hermione Granger, always the voice of (the wrong) reason.

"You know that's not true," He muttered, turning towards her with an eyebrow raised. Her pale blue translucent cheeks flushed silver as what used to be her patented thick, dark brown topiary of a do floated ethereally in a halo framing her face.

"Hmph." Even as a spirit, Hermione could convey very complex emotions with barely a word. Harry didn't even have to look to know her arms were crossed. "Fine. You don't want to do this."

He couldn't help but laugh bitterly at that. "And since when has Yuni cared what I want?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "This isn't about Yuni, it's about you! All She did is tell you the situation! She said it Herself, it's outside Her jurisdiction! This is your choice, Harry!"

The glare he shot her was tired and half-hearted at best. "Hermione, the spiritual personification of The Universe came to me to deliver a task at the behest of someone or something of a higher authority than her! She's everything! Literally! NOTHING should be 'outside Her jurisdiction'! And you want me to try and deny that?" He felt a forbearing presence flood the room. Hermione 'eeped' and immediately dropped to her knees, her head turned towards the floor.

'Speak of the devil…' he smirked, before raising his voice to address the new arrival, regardless of how necessary such consideration was. "Of course, the alternative is to spend the remainder of eternity as Her slave, so why wouldn't I wish to get away?"

"'Slave?' You wound me, My Love. You would be my Husband, staying at my side or in my chambers. And there's no need for that, Young Scholar, you may rise."

"Yes, as I said," he chuckled, a playful mocking lilt in his words as Hermione scrambled back to her feet. "Hello, Yuni. You have neither chambers nor a body, so I somehow doubt that." He suddenly shivered as three pairs of soft hands glided across his neck, chest and abdomen, the latter pair trailing dangerously low before all six dispersed at the last possible second. A high concentration of cosmic energy enveloped his head.

"We'd manage. And don't think I didn't hear you, of course, I care what you want. As much as I care for my own desires." Yuni's voice rasped and echoed in his ears.

"I'm sure." He grinned at her antics, despite his trepidation. "And I know; I apologise, that's not fair to You. I've just been thrown off-kilter by Your recent revelations."

"Fair. You will visit, won't you?"

"Would I be able to? You still haven't told me where I'm going."

"Of course, why wouldn't you be able to?"

"Oh… I just assumed—"

"You know what they say about assuming, My Love."

Harry had to laugh at such an inane phrase being referenced by such a being. "That I do, Yuni. How silly of me. So where am I going?"

"My Mother is loaning you out to a different reality."

…

"Your Mother!?" "Different WHAT!?"

Harry took a breath. "Okay, Yuni, for the uninitiated, what the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Well, obviously I had to come from somewhere. Of course, I have a mother. I know you both do, so why the confusion?" He would bet that if Yuni could roller Her eyes, She would, if only from her tone.

"Right, how silly of us…" Hermione muttered sourly.

"If it helps any, imagine a residential building, or I guess it's closer to a neighbourhood. Or maybe a condo? I guess a dormitory could work…" Yuni started to go on one of her tirades, and Harry knew from experience if he didn't quell her tangent now, she would go on for hours.

"Yuni? Focus."

"Oh, right. Okay, so imagine a residential building. That's Everything. And when I say Everything, I mean EVERYTHING! Every conceivable thing, physical and metaphysical. If you can imagine it, it exists. If you can't, it still exists."

Harry and Hermione shared a look, both trying to project their confusion to the other. This was a simple explanation?

"So if the building is Everything, then I guess each flat is a reality. Some are bigger and more complex than others, some are less so, but each one is as real as the next, and there is an infinite number of them. Literally. More realities are created every second. My Mother is a Reality. She calls Herself Jo."

This floored both of them. There were multiple realities? Infinite, even? Realities were personified? JO!? And they still haven't gotten to Yuni yet!

"So each flat, or reality, has infinite rooms in it, most of the time. Those rooms are Universes, like me. The life inside those rooms is more akin to toys we play with, or maybe a computer sims game."

This made Harry hesitate. He wasn't like Yuni, but he wasn't exactly like regular life either… Not since uniting the Hallows.

"Wait, so then, what am I?" Harry asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer.

"Oh, you're like my dog."

…

Hermione tried to stifle her snort.

He really shouldn't have been surprised.

"So why me? What does Your Mother need from me? Surely your sisters have Harry's of their own they could lend?"

"Not quite. While you count as something of a pet, almost part of the family, most of my sisters treat their Harrys as favourite dolls or body pillows. In terms of the cosmic hierarchy, you have the highest autonomy."

"If one of your 'neighbours' needs help so bad, why can't Your Mother just send You to go help?"
"I figured that would be clear. If I leave this universe, it comes with me. Colliding universes can have disastrous effects, almost certainly killing everyone inside."

Okay then, definitely no.

"Alright, what about my powers over death? Would they be gone?" Harry asked.

"No, why would they be?"

Fair enough.

"So when do I leave?"

"Now."

And with that, he was alone.

"What the hell? Yuni? Hermione?" He ran throughout his entire flat, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.

"Hello!?" Still nothing.

Sinking to the floor, he crossed his legs and entered a deep mediation, throwing out his magical feelers to search for the familiar presence of Hermione.

Nothing.

Trying to steady his breathing, he sent another to look for Luna.

Still nothing.

Ginny? Ron? Neville? Malfoy?

No one from his life was present in the afterlife.

"Okay Harry, don't panic. It's a different reality, so they probably have a different afterlife. Yuni said you can visit… but She forgot to mention how. Damnit, Yuni…" he cursed, wincing in reflex, but the suffocating squeeze on his mind was absent. She really couldn't come to him anymore.

Shaking himself out of his spiral, he took stock.

"Alright, everything I had is still here, including all of the magical items. I'll have to check if those still work."

He busied himself with the labour, muttering all the while, not feeling the new presence behind him until…

"You know, talking to oneself is the first sign of insanity."

Jumping in his skin, Harry whipped around, his magic reacting violently and grabbing the astral wanderer.

"Gack! M-m-my L-Lord… please…" she hissed, slowly being crushed by the tendril of energy wrapping around her small frame.

"Oh fuck! I'm so sorry!" Harry pulled his magic back into himself, locking it tight. "Are you alright?" He took a moment to observe his new subject. She was very small, a child based on the residual baby fat clinging to her silvery cheeks, and most likely victorian from the style of her sleeping gown.

"Y-y-yes My Lord. I apologise for startling you so." She tried to cover her hacking cough, but Harry caught it anyway, feeling all the worse for causing her discomfort.

"Don't apologise to me, I'm the one that hurt you. Here," he waved his hand over her, letting his magic soothe her pain and bring the ethereal glow present in all spirits back to full shine. "Is that better?"

Her next 'breath' was definitively less shaky. "Yes My Lord, thank you, My Lord. You are too kind."

"It's the least I can do. And please, just call me Harry," he requested, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Could you perhaps give me your name?"

"Abigail, sire," she said, nervously.

Harry rolled his eyes. At least it was better than 'My Lord'. "Alright, Abigail, could you tell me where I am?"

Abigail looked shocked, and slightly fearful, before whispering, "Pardon?"

He tried to appear as patient as possible while he clarified. "I am from a distant land, and I came here through actions that were not my own. Are we still in Scotland?"

The ghost girl looked very relieved. "Oh! Um… No, sire. We are in California. Do you know where that is?"

Harry nodded. "America, huh? Okay then. Thank you, Abigail. Do you require anything of me?"

Abigail's head shook so violently, Harry half-expected it to flip off. He had spent way too much time with Nearly-Headless Nick. "No, sire! I had simply been sent by something to aid you in any way you required, and possibly give you any information you sought."

That piqued his interest. "Who sent you?"

Abigail shivered involuntarily. "I don't know, sire, but they had a crushing presence."

Another Universe, or possibly a Reality, like Jo.

"Alright Abigail, then that will be all. Please, return to your rest." As she started to disperse, Harry made sure to send a blessing her way as payment.

He figured he may as well gather some more information about where he was, starting with whether or not his money was worth anything. Yuni had said he was in a different reality, so the odds of his gold being traceable were slim.

He was wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt under his father's Cloak, disguised as a simply zip-up hoodie. Harry was very put out when he discovered that he could command the Cloak to change into any apparel he wished after his Mastery of the Hallows; he would have avoided so much trouble during his schooling.

With a snap of his fingers, a ring connected to a cord dropped from the ceiling, the polished brass flickering in the lamplight. Absent-mindedly brushing a spider away, he tugged on the rope thrice to release a folded ladder. It landed with a dull thud onto the carpet, fixed in place for that very purpose with a Sticking Charm.

He ignored the ominous creak with a practised ear and unlatched the clasps on his trunk from inside thanks to a handy Protean Charm. Bracing his shoulder, he pushed up with a heave to pop it open. Making a quick lateral sweep, he determined it was safe and climbed the rest of the way out of his luggage.

"You jursht came outta damn suit… suitcase!" A heavily slurred voice rang out in the dirty alley Harry discovered himself in. Cursing at himself for forgetting to check behind him, he reached into his pocket and ran his fingers down the familiar knots of the Elder Wand.

"Thank the stars you're pissed, but I've got to make sure. Sorry about this, Obliviate! Stupefy!" He tried to adjust the now unconscious man into a slightly more comfortable position — or at least one where he was no longer vomiting on himself — before closing his trunk with a snap and latching it shut.

Harry peered out across the street and counted no less than four different men and one woman carrying various briefcases for work.

'Alright then. Briefcase, it is,' he thought, tugging sharply on the handle. With a quiet whirr, the handle came loose and slid out, and with it came a small drawer-like attachment that had originally been flush with the trunk's lid, which split into fourths and opened up like a set of plantation shutters. Behind it was a small window over a dial, one that currently read 'Trunk' in neat, embossed lettering. He turned the dial clockwise as the revealed word cycled before finally reaching 'Briefcase' and pushed the dial in to lock his selection. The internals started to tick and whistle in anticipation, the panel sliding back into place, and Harry slid the box back into the trunk with finality.

The whistling rose in frequency as the entire trunk started to shake. He watched in awe as the trunk started to fold into itself and shrink impossibly, large volumes of geometry seamlessly gliding out of sight. Large, brass rivets were replaced with smaller studs as straps of leather-wrapped themselves around the edges of the rectangular box. Harry truly dreaded the day that magic lost its lustre, but every time he saw the elegant change he couldn't help but smile.

Within seconds, the oversized moving luggage transformed into a sleek — if still old-fashioned — briefcase, complete with his name etched into the hide: Mr H.J. Potter. He felt a twinge of sadness stab at his chest at the thought of his fallen teacher and friend, Remus, who had taught him one of his most potent protection spells he knew. Remus' trunk had a similar stamp that read 'Professor R. J. Lupin'. According to him, it had been a gift from Harry's father and their friends, The Marauders, their seventh year, both to tease and support his joy of teaching.

Harry picked the briefcase up from the handle with little trouble, waving his wand over himself with his free hand to transfigure his clothes into something that would blend in more for the hour of the day. His jeans darkened and lost most of their wrinkles, straightening into a neatly creased set of dress trousers. His trainers melted into a set of worn oxfords. The plain tee's sleeves lengthened as a seam opened up down the front, buttons fastening themselves along his torso. To complete the look, the Cloak stretched downward while the material thickened, the shape morphing into a long overcoat.

He flicked his wand to conjure a full-length mirror and check his work. After a few small adjustments, he banished it and quickly stepped out into the foot-traffic.

LB

She was late!

Kara was never late! Two years working for the most demanding media mogul west of the Mississippi and not once had she been late to her job. Even before she used her powers openly, she was able to plan for time.

"Achoo!"

Oh, and that too. Some kid had been spraying his germs across the entire bus. It's a wonder he hadn't caused the bus driver to careen off the road. She had never had to deal with germs before, so she didn't think to practice caution for what she touched.

She had only been Supergirl for a few weeks, and already she was lazy.

Stupid kid. Stupid Lane and his stupid robot.

Ding!

Kara's eyes shot over to an open elevator, one that was starting to close. With Ms Grant's coffee clutched in hand, she bolted to the sliding doors, trying her best not to spill any.

By some miracle, she kept it together, but right as she reached the door it was too late. She glared at the passenger inside who had made no effort to hold the doors for her. The man simply stood and took it, a damnable smile pasted on his face.

Stupid guy!

LB

Based on the paper he was able to fish out of a bin, Harry was in National City, a metropolitan hub and home of its very own superhero.

How quaint.

It was also over a decade in the future.

Harry's interaction with the muggle world wasn't nearly as bad as the common wizard. Sure, he lost touch a tad when he started living out of his trunk entirely, but he ventured into the muggle world for groceries and the like. But how much had changed in twelve short years since 2003 was nothing short of miraculous. He could barely believe his eyes!

Though it might have had more to do with separate realities than time. He would have to research a fair bit to find his answers, and honestly, he couldn't be bothered.

So far, he couldn't see why Jo's counterpart required his presence. He figured he might as well wait at a café or something.

But first, money.

He had a decent stash of British Pounds, and from what he could tell from the internationals in the paper, they could be exchanged for American Dollars. Thankfully, Great Britain still seemed to exist, so his muggle money was somewhat valid. He was still cautious about using too much of it, though. It was almost certain that his notes technically counted as very high-quality counterfeit.

Harry had no clue how long he was staying, so he figured he should probably get a job soon. His money wasn't exactly going to last him forever, and flooding the market with galleons under the guise of antiques was a temporary solution at best. He didn't need a place to live, and he could probably pay for a P.O. Box or something in the meanwhile.

A loose plan in mind, Harry hightailed off to the nearest bank to (hopefully) get a few hundred dollars.

LB

The young sorcerer was enjoying a pastry at a rather nice bar and eatery called Noonan's. It had a pleasant atmosphere and the wait staff were polite, so he was rather enjoying himself. It was rare that he got a moment to simply relax…

And then he felt it. Every instinct in his body, well-honed from years of constant danger, was screaming at him to move.

He reached up to his neck and lightly pinched the outside of his throat with his thumb and forefinger. Feeling the spell settle, he opened his mouth and shouted.

"EVERYONE! GET DOWN!"

Two dozen eyes jerked towards the disturbance before glazing over as the compulsion took hold. Immediately, everyone scrambled to follow his command, diving under tables and counters to take cover.

And none too soon. Barely another second passed before the entire restaurant lurched. A cacophony of smashed porcelain and glass rang out as tableware and the odd vase slid off of shelves. Tasteful art pieces swung askew, or in the case of a gentle abstract above Harry, fell from their hooks. The wooden frame under the canvas splintering as it hit the floor right where his hand used to be.

Sparks rained down from the ceiling onto a screaming mother who was clutching her child to her chest. Harry looked her over and shot a quick diagnostic her way. She was rattled, but otherwise alright.

Harry himself clenched his fists involuntarily as he felt the crushing wave of concentrated death and destruction permeate the air. He had to help.

While it was hard to trace the compulsion to him, it was doubtful that people hadn't seen his face when he made the command. Cursing his carelessness, Harry threw a quick Notice-Me-Not over his features, hopefully confusing any of the patrons who chose to take another look.

Repairing the bar would bring a multitude of unwanted attention onto himself, so he settled for a few discreet sticking charms, to help avoid any accidents from aftershocks, before stepping outside into the chaos.

It was a scene straight out of a disaster film. Pedestrians were sprinting every which way as fissures sprouted up in the concrete. Unlucky cars had swerved off the road, some completely overturning and trapping the passengers within. The rest were idle, totally abandoned as civilians ran for their lives. Black smoke was curling from shattered windows while panicking runners pushed and shoved each other in desperation to reach their families.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, tousling it up even more than usual. His decision was already made.

With barely a thought, the Cloak responded to his wishes and returned to its original form, flaring out behind him in an invisible wind, shimmering in and out of visibility. He pulled the hood up to partially conceal his eyes which were glowing with an ethereal green fire. The Elder Wand twirled as Harry conjured a face mask before securing it to his jaw. He tapped it once to layer and pitch-shift his voice. No one who didn't know him personally would be able to recognise him, especially with the Notice-Me-Not still in place.

He could imagine what Hermione would say.

"You're being unbelievably reckless Harry! You and your stupid Saving People Thing is going to get you killed or hunted by the ICW! It's not safe!"

Well, the joke was on her. The ICW wasn't going to find him anytime soon if they even could detect his cavalier use of magic an entire reality away.

Bright, vibrant eyes honed in on the screaming form of a man clutching his son. The boy in question was out cold, blood running down his pale cheek from his temple, limb in his father's arms. Harry could feel his being reaching out to the child. He was alive still, but barely.

He forced the clutches of Death to slow, if only temporarily, as he ran up to the sobbing man. "I can help," he told him, firmly. "Please, he doesn't have much time."

The father only squeezed tighter, refusing to let the boy leave his grip. As if he would break the second the child was taken.

Harry sympathised, he really did, but the kid was fading fast and he was almost out of time.

"Sorry about this," he muttered, wincing at his lacklustre apology. You'll thank me in a moment."

He reached up and tapped the grieving man on the forehead twice. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed, the sound of his head (even magically cushioned) hitting the floor made Harry grimace.

But he couldn't dwell on it any longer, Death was starting to slip from his grasp. One could only 'master' a primordial force for a little while, but never before had Harry had that much trouble holding a single Death down. In his Mind's Eye, a battle raged. Jade and silver chains were wrapped around a thrashing beast of pure destruction. Skeletal and equine in form, the raging steed would shatter the links of its bondage only to jerk more violently as additional chains replaced their predecessors, its eyes replaced with vengeful black fire. The same black fire that made up the bulk of its mass, the stark white contrast of the bones resting on the outside like plate armour.

Harry bit through the pain and worked. His hands moved with well-practised motions as he scanned the child's prone form. Two of his ribs were broken, one of which was piercing his left, now collapsed, lung. His collar was shattered, Harry would have to remove it entirely and grow him a new one. Fortunately, the kid was out like a light. Magic knew how much growing bones sucked.

The worst of it, though, was his brain. It was swelling and bleeding at an alarming rate, pressing hard against the inside of his skull.

Harry's fingers danced as if he were conducting an epic orchestra. Bones were knit back together or vanished, the pierced lung was patched and re-inflated and he supplied a surplus of magic to supplement the new collar's growth. His fingers were starting to blister as they flared an angry red. His magic had always been volatile, especially when his focus was splintered.

No one else could hear the shriek as the creature cried in anguish and anger, but it rang through Harry's head all the same. Resisting the urge to cry out himself, he refused to let his resolve waver. The building migraine was a pittance compared to the life of the young one before him.

A knot of untameable energy was winding deep into his magic, piercing his defences and stabbing into his everything. White-hot knives were digging into his skin, setting his nerves on fire as they sang in agony. His fists clenched shut, shaking in the torment, paralysed. Harry absent-mindedly compared the feeling to Riddle's Cruciatus Curse. But still, he would not let himself scream.

He was Death's Master. The Universe Herself deemed him so.

He would not falter! Not against a single, lowly reaper. No matter what reality he was in, he would not be beaten.

He gathered the final dregs of his magic into an unstable spear of chaos, the energy becoming so potent and concentrated that it flashed in and out of visibility. Neon green lightning danced across his surroundings, forming a halo of protection around him and the boy.

He grated his teeth one final time and thrust the spear with as much power he could muster. His ears popped. From the blood pooling in his mouth, he must've bitten his tongue without noticing. He felt his shoulders seize up from the effort, making his palms tremble as they glided over the boy's head.

The rational part of his brain whispered that if he spent all of his magic now, on one child, he wouldn't have any left to help anyone else. He would be useless to the suffering city.

Harry grabbed that voice and squashed it into the deepest recesses of his mind, locking it up ruthlessly with extreme prejudice.

He finished healing the brain, barely taking another second to check for anything else he missed, before throwing the rest of his magic behind the spear.

It instantly shone bright gold, sparks and flames trailing behind it as it plunged deep into the beast's flank, flying through the ivory ribs and slamming deep into the shadowy core.

The reaper seemed to swell, its eyes glowing silver as the bone armour fractured.

But before Harry could see the conclusion of his efforts, his knees gave out, dropping him onto the sidewalk.

He could almost hear the father's relieved cries at the sight of his breathing son…

… But he was so tired…

… Plus he was sixty-seven per cent sure his eardrums had burst…

Harry laid his head down on its side, globules of blood and saliva dribbling past his lips as he coughed, weakly.

His focus gave out, dispersing his Notice-Me-Not and green flames over his eyes.

'Well that was anti-climactic,' he thought snidely to himself, embracing the empty feeling of magical exhaustion. 'Luckily, Pomfrey isn't here to tan my hide for getting hurt literally within the hour of arriving.' He would've laughed if he was able.

His vision was blurring around the edges and slowly becoming less distinct. Faces and bodies started to blur together into amorphous blobs, brightening and dulling in random intervals.

Someone was shining something in his bloodshot eyes. A sudden feeling of nausea rolled over him in a wave; he was just barely able to tilt his head as he threw up over the side of… something. When did he get high up? He absentmindedly wondered where his face mask had gone, though he was grateful it wasn't still attached to his chin.

Was he moving? The world around him seemed to swerve and accelerate at inopportune times. Maybe it was just him…

… Maybe…

…

…

"—Miraculously, there are no confirmed fatalities at this time. Multiple sources have confirmed that…"

Harry realised that he was listening to a broadcast. The careful timbre of a preprepared information dump tended to be unique to a newscaster. Did he turn the radio on last night?

Something was wrong. The air smelled stale, rather than the faint scent of whatever potions he had been brewing the night before. His bed was oddly elevated, raising his head higher than normal. His eyes shot open.

He was in a bed, surrounded by cables and tubes. The Cloak was still draped around him, the familiar cooling sensation giving him some form of comfort, but it was much looser than he was used to. It almost felt like…

He looked down at himself. Yup. It was a hospital gown.

That shouldn't have been possible. The Cloak responded to his wishes, not its own. It shouldn't even have wishes.

Before he could dwell on that any further he realised that he was strapped down. Thankfully, his hands were still free; with a snap of his fingers, the binds vanished into nothing. He sat up and stretched, his muscles and tendons groaning in protest. He was shocked to discover that he was in a glass room, the walls and door were made up of panes separated by a steel grid structure. Harry looked around and saw three more identical rooms, also full of medical equipment. Workers passed by efficiently, barely giving him a side-eye of interest before they moved on with their tasks.

He appeared to be in a cavern, concrete pillars supported rough stone, as exposed wiring lined the ceiling and connected to fluorescent lights. Towards the back of the facility was what looked to be a control centre, various screens adorned the walls with rows of computers and the relevant labour surrounding them like an amphitheatre. It all screamed "covert operations", and Harry assumed he was in some secret facility, probably government-driven/funded based on the Stars and Stripes scattered every which way.

His gut told him that he hadn't been kidnapped, as all of his belongings seemed to be placed neatly on a table next to the bed, including his shoddily conjured mask, mokeskin pouch and the Elder Wand. If his "captors" had tried to take it, it would have reappeared on his person. The fact that it was resting innocently with the rest of his belongings gave them some credibility.

And then it hit him.

A sobbing dad.

A broken child.

An overpowered reaper.

Shit! His mask!

He scrambled to secure the offending covering back in place, before giving it up as a lost cause and setting the damn thing on fire in frustration. It was no use; everyone had already seen his face. Even worse, the government had seen his face. He simply donned the rest of his garb and waited, twirling The Deathstick absentmindedly around his fingers. It hummed in contentment as it spun freely across his thumb and back between his knuckles.

He didn't have to wait for long before a rather attractive woman in a lab coat rapped lightly on the glass, a clipboard tucked under her arm. She leaned over to a little box next to the door, using her free hand to press something on it.

"Could I come in?" she asked, her voice projecting from the bed. Harry jumped, not expecting to hear her from behind him.

Harry shrugged. "It's your office."

"Well, technically it's my lab," she corrected, pulling the door open and sitting down on a swivel chair. "Hello, it's nice to finally meet you while conscious. I'm Dr Danvers, I've been monitoring your recovery for the past four days."

Harry stared at her, his eyebrows raised. "Four days? I've been out for four days!?"

If Dr Danvers was upset at being interrupted, she didn't show it. "Yes. Our satellites saw you at the epicentre of what we deduced must have been a massive electromagnetic pulse. All the surrounding tech within a city block radius of you was completely dead in the water."

His eyes widened, panic creeping at the corners of his psyche.

"Normally," she continued, raising her hand to keep Harry from voicing his concerns, "this would have been the cause of the disaster and city-wide panic. Subsequently leading to delayed emergency response, and undoubtedly, fatalities."

"'Normally?'" Harry asked, hope sprouting in his chest.

"Normally." She nodded, before staring deep into his emerald eyes. "Instead, for some unknown reason, there have been zero deaths in National City for the past four days. So far as we can tell, there have been no reported deaths in America, for the same interval. A Mr Victor Zsasz was scheduled for execution in Missouri two days ago. He was put into a gas chamber, but he survived. He also survived the second attempt. As well as the third. And the forth. They even switched methods, twice. No matter what they tried, he survived.

"Even our international contacts have similar situations. Hospitals, active combat, elderly homes, even suicide attempts. It's the same story. People have stopped dying, and it seems that you are at the centre of it all. Are you?"

Was he? He tamed one reaper. There should have been millions. Death was a primordial force, existing since the beginning of time. It was given form only because of those who feared its inevitability. But different people and cultures viewed Death as a different entity, and population would rise exponentially, so Death would send reapers to do its bidding; extensions of itself that could act in its stead.

The doctor sighed. "We did this backwards," she admitted. "First off, we can't identify you, and our databases are rather extensive. Could I get your name?"

Harry considered lying, but he saw no real reason to make the situation more complicated. What good would it have done?

"Harry Potter."

Now, Harry was used to a variety of reactions from people who he would introduce himself to. Disbelief was common, as was slight awe. He was, frankly, much more comfortable with the former than the latter. Often people asked to see his scar, or sometimes if he "really defeated You-Know-Who". As if he could in any way, shape or form kind of defeat Tom. He even got the odd proposal here and there — often offered by desperate or randy women who wanted the bragging rights of bagging the Man-Who-Conquered.

What he wasn't used to was a snort of barely contained amusement.

"Were your parents fans?"

Fans of what?

"I'm… sorry?" he asked, befuddled.

She stared at him with the curiosity and astonishment one would normally save for a cannibal or someone who enjoys pineapple on pizza.

"The book series: Harry Potter."

He shook his head.

"They were made into movies. Eight of them."

"Were they any good?"

"They were okay… Are you being serious right now?"

"Well, I never actually knew my parents, so I guess it's possible?"

"No, that's not what I mean. It is, quite literally, the most famous children's book series of all time. How could you possibly have not heard… of… oh. Wait… but that doesn't explain why you would choose that name…"

"I'm sorry, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. What's going on?"

Her eyes, much more piercing than before, shot up to focus on him. "Where are you from? You aren't a Fort Rozz detainee — we checked — but we shouldn't have assumed that meant you were from here."

Harry leaned back. How did she…? Were there others like him? Was he supposed to keep his origins a secret? He decided to play it safe.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"No," she cut him off. "That's on me. 'Harry Potter' is a very notable name here on Earth."

Well, that didn't help at all. "I'm from Earth."

There was the familiar disbelief. "Mr Potter, you are in a facility operated by the Department of Extra-normal Operations. We deal with all kinds of alien life, normally in the business of detainment, but I'm sure were can get you properly situated if you're stranded here."

He amended his statement, deciding to bite the bullet. "I'm from Earth, just not this Earth."

Dr. Danvers tilted her head curiously. "Your planet is also called Earth?"

"No. Well, almost?" He didn't know how to explain properly…

… So he decided to steal Yuni's explanation.

"Imagine there's a building, and that building has infinite flats in it… no, that's not how it starts." He trailed off, running his hand through his hair. He didn't notice the doctor's eyes zoom in on his faded lightning-shaped scar, nor did he notice them flit from his almond-shaped emerald eyes to his tangled mess of raven-black hair. He never saw her trail in onto the Wand of Destiny he was still fidgeting with before focusing back in on his scar.

But he very much noticed her jump out of her chair and bolt from the room, the seat spinning precariously before tipping over and crashing into the concrete floor.

"Dr Danvers? Doctor?" he called out, rushing to the door. It was locked. Thankfully, he could see right outside. That would make his next course of action much easier.

He threw his consciousness right on the other side of the door. He pictured the room from a slightly different perspective, and how people would walk around him. He imagined his shadow on the floor, the way his hands would look when he held them up against the rocky background, the pitch shift in noise. He let every sensation fill his body from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes, and turned on his heel.

CRACK!

LB

Okay, so in hindsight, maybe setting off what amounts to a gunshot in the middle of government black-site was a bad move on Harry's part.

Dr. Danvers had been so accommodating (until she wasn't), and people hadn't been paying much attention to him anyway (until they were).

Plus, it wasn't like he expected to be detained and tossed in a cell! They took the Elder Wand, and Harry knew from experience it would take at least another minute before it returned to him. That would put the agents on an immediate high alert, so he needed to move fast if he was going to get out without things getting messy. Preferably before armed guards fired on him for having his weapon.

As for the good doctor…

"Why did you try and leave the lab?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I didn't realise I was being held captive."

She clenched her jaw. "You weren't."

An eyebrow raised, he gestured to the barren interior of his "new room".

"This is temporary."

Harry nodded sarcastically. "Right. It always is. Will there be anything else, Dr Danvers?"

The brunette seemed to be having a furious debate with herself for a solid minute before she finally blurted out: "Apparation!"

Harry blinked once. "I'm sorry?"

"What you did… in the cortex… that was apparation, right?"

How did she…?

"And… that stick. That's the Elder Wand, isn't it?"

'Oh shit.'

He felt his jaw drop, but he didn't care at the moment. Apparation wasn't too foreign of an etymology to describe what was essentially teleportation. But the Elder Wand? That was specific. Without context, the words would mean nothing to anyone, yet Harry could feel the significance in the doctor's tone. She wasn't describing the make and model. She knew. Was it possible? Another traveller from his reality? He needed more information

"And your scar. I saw it when you ran your hand through your hair. Your dad used to do that."

Harry scoffed. She wasn't trying to hide her origins. "Do I know you?" he asked, feeling his (original) wand slide from the right sleeve of the Cloak.

He made a note to buy exhuberantly expensive fabric softener.

He let the tip of his wand balance precariously on his middle finger — still halfway up his sleeve — ready to be drawn within a moments notice.

"Not quite," she admitted, reaching to her belt. Harry pinched his wand with his thumb, his magic swirling and he prepared to throw up a shield… "But I know you." She was holding a book.

Huh. His phoenix wand shot back up his sleeve while he inspected the cover.

It was very worn, obviously rather old and often read. The edges were fringing and the corners were creased and torn, but he could still clearly make out a charming illustration of a boy on a broom, hand outstretched to grab at a winged golden orb. Behind the boy was a castle, three-headed dog, and a unicorn running towards a black forest that stretched off int the horizon. Embossed into the top end of the cover were the stylised words: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

It was hard to make out through the glass, but Harry realised that the boy was supposed to be him! The scar on his forehead was the wrong way around and smack in the middle, but how common were lightning-shaped deformities? The eyes weren't coloured and the glasses were strangely wide apart, but, clearly, it was supposed to be him (in his first year based on the unicorn and dog).

"What is this?" he whispered, his breath becoming strangely shallow.

"It's a children's book. Part of a series. A franchise, actually." she explained.

"About… me?"

She nodded, solemnly. "It appears so."

Harry was understandably upset. All his pain, his loss, had been distilled down into books made for entertainment? For a profit? For kids?

Cedric. Sirius. Fred. Lupin and Tonks.

The electronics in his cell exploded in a shower of sparks.

When the flare faded from his vision, Harry realised he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Well, you're certainly full of surprises, aren't you Dr Danvers?" he asked, raising his hands in a non-threatening manner. He gestured at the warped casing. "That was my bad. I should have better control than that."

She swallowed, before stowing her firearm in its holster. "Don't worry about it, I can only imagine what you must be feeling."

"You're out of time, Agent Danvers, and you decide to have a heart to heart with the prisoner?"

Harry recognised the flare of anger that flashed across Danvers' face before she wiped it away with a blank expression and turned towards the new arrival. "General."

Harry tilted his head. "This your boss, Doctor?"

He was an older gentleman, a rough facade dressed in camouflage and a bad attitude. Harry was reminded of Barty Crouch Sr., from what he saw when perusing Dumbledore's memories his fourth year. His posture, to his sneer, to the self-righteous way he walked in the room, Harry could easily picture him condemning his own son to a life of torture and misery.

"My name is General Samuel Lane. A half dozen of my men are in intensive care, undergoing inconceivable pain whilst somehow remaining alive. One man's entire right side has been blasted off by a bomb. I almost pity him, but with effort, he will pull through for his family. We have unearthed the secret to immortality, and it all comes down to an alien with delusions that he hails from a fantasy world. As a matter of fact—" his lips kept moving, but no sound was coming out.

"That's enough out of you," Harry smirked at his predicament. He twirled his wand in a flashy manner before it shot back up into the Cloak.

Lane's eyes widened before he purpled with rage, his cheeks flushing a stark puce. He seemed to be trying to shout something to Danvers, who was (rather unsuccessfully) attempting not to laugh.

"Let me make this very clear, General. I don't like you. I don't like you one bit. So, because I find you horrendous to breathe the same air as, never mind look at or speak to, I will only speak to Dr Danvers, here. Have a nice day!"

The second he finished his missive, the portkey he laced into Lane's hat activated and glowed a vibrant blue before vanishing, Lane along with it.

Danvers let out a laugh before clamming up, her hand over her mouth. She flushed when Harry looked at her curiously.

"Sorry! It's just… that was a portkey, right?"

Harry was pretty impressed if a tad creeped out. "You really know your stuff, Doctor."

"I'm sorry, I'm being a spaz, I know, but this is so surreal! You're Harry Potter! You're doing magic! It's just insane…"

"Doctor…"

"Right. You're right. Umm, let's talk about the deaths."

Harry sighed. "I know what's wrong." He had figured it out while waiting in his cell. "I will undo it now, but every person who was supposed to die within the past four days will."

"What about the kid?" she asked. "The one you saved."

Harry scowled. "He'll be fine, that's different."

Danvers crossed her arms. "How? How is it different?"

"He's just a kid." Harry matched her posture. "Your men are soldiers. They go into the field with the understanding that they could lose their lives. It's part of the natural order of things."

"You can teleport other people and remove their ability to speak! There's nothing natural about any of this!"

"Magic has existed since the beginning of time. It leaks via small holes and causes disruptions to reality, but it is natural. More natural than anything manmade."

"I'm not talking about magic, I'm talking about you. That kid split his skull against a curb before a fifteen pound piece of concrete rubble fell onto his chest. He walked out of the hospital two days ago. That's not natural, no matter how you spin it. You saved his life, not some natural force. I'm asking you to extend that courtesy to these men."

Harry clicked his tongue. "You don't know what you're asking of me. It's not a matter of keeping them alive whilst people across the globe drop dead all at once. I'd have to actively make sure they don't die, probably heal them with magic and then erase their memories of absolutely all relevant information. Then I would have to go across the entire DEO and erase everyone else's memories as well. It's one thing to know that I can do it, but another to actually see it happen."

"That's bullshit. You mentioned the kid's age. What about the thousands of other children that would also die if you did this? They probably had long, prosperous lives to live as well. What happens to them?"

He stared her in the eye. If he flinched, he would lose all of his credibility. "They will drop dead, just like the rest of them. I can't help them."

Danvers' eyes bulged as she stepped back, appalled. "Can't? Or won't? You almost killed yourself for one child. Eyewitness reports claim you forewarned everyone inside a café, definitely saving them too. How could someone like that be so heartless!? Wouldn't you give anything to have another day with Sirius? Or Lupin? Or anyone else you've lost!? What would they think? Whatever happened to your 'saving-people thing'?"

Harry didn't even register the glass vanishing before his hand was gripping her hair, his wand digging into her throat. He ignored the frantic banging on the reinforced door as he leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. Magic was rolling off him in waves, the high concentration of energy burning the air around him, leaving the acrid odour of ozone in its wake. He couldn't tell if the trembling was from him or her. "I saved the wrong person, and everyone I loved died." He forced himself to let go. "Don't presume to know me just because you read a few fairy tales," he whispered in her ear. "You don't know anything about me."

He eyed the discarded book on the floor before summoning it to his hand and holding it up to her face. "This does not make you my friend. I don't even know what a 'Sorcerer's Stone' is." The paperback burst into flames, crumbling to ash in his fist. "Whatever caricature you seem so fond of, I am not him. Sorry to disappoint." Harry reached into the Cloak and pulled out the Elder Wand, before throwing a stunner at Danvers. With a few swipes, he completely repaired the damaged cell, save for the missing pane of glass, before apparating to his trunk.

'Welp,' he thought dryly as he kicked his shoes off towards the wardrobe. 'Next time I want a bun, I order in.'

The Cloak of Invisibility split down the centre and melted off his body, pooling down at his feet looking remarkably like a puddle. He made a note to himself to figure out what was happening to it before falling into his bed fully clothed.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.