Harry Potter and the Fates of Death

Prologue

Authors Notes

This is just a new story that wouldn't leave me alone unless I type it, enjoy.

Disclaimer

Ms. Rowling was kind enough to create a world in which I could twist and transform her characters to my taste, sadly I don't receive any compensation from this but if I did, I'd cuss the hell outta my boss.

A young man sat in a plain Spartan office, as a secretary scribbled stoically on a thick roll of scrolls. The young man placed a hand on his forehead as a resounding and awful pounding thundered in his head. He groaned inwardly as the secretary's methodical scratches of her quill did nothing to alleviate his pain. The headache felt as if he had walked head first into an oncoming train.

He looked around and studied his surroundings to take his mind off the pain. The small office he was in was completely bare, outfitted with only a small chair, which he now uncomfortably sat on, and the desk the secretary was sitting behind. A small window lite the room, its sparse light shining on a pitiful plant, hanging limply on to life.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.

The secretary's writing drew the young man back to the woman. Black hair pulled back tightly into a bun, her lips were puckered into a no-nonsense grimace, which reminded the boy oddly of his aunt.

He started to feel woozy, as he swayed in his chair, forcing himself to stay upright. Gripping the arms of his chair he wondered how he got here. Through the haze of his headache he could vaguely remember fighting someone. Yet the pain in his head kept him from remembering just who?

The secretary cocked her head to the side, poised as if she was listening at something. A long thin eyebrow rose as she turned to look at the young man.

"You may enter now," she said, gesturing towards a door, which moments before hadn't been there.

The young man got up wearily, nodding in confirmation. Long fingers ran through an unruly set of soft raven hair. A long black robe of unrecognizable material adorned his six foot frame. The fierce headache pounding in his skull threatened to blurry his vision as his hands closed around the door knob.

'Here goes,' he said to himself, opening the door and walking into the unknown.

The secretary looked up, watching the young man walk through the door. Her quill stopped its writing for the first time in centuries.

"May death take us swiftly if he's our best hope," she said to herself, picking up her quill she continued writing, unimpressed with the dark haired youth.

He walked into a dark room, a wooden chair sat underneath a bright light. A desk placed in front of the chair was occupied by a man. Short black hair and beard neatly trimmed, the man was dressed in a black suit, his fingers steeped as he gestured to the chair.

"Please seat yourself Harry Potter."

Harry sat in the chair, his headache causing him to stumble into his seat. "Sir," He said as politely as he could, "Why am I here, last thing I remember is..." he thought hard, he couldn't actually remember anything.

The man eyes started to glow red as he slammed his hand on his desk. Harry winced at the sudden intrusion of sound, as the pain in his head increased.

"Silence!" The man said in anger.

Harry looked at him in confusion, why was he so angry? "Sir," he said placidly, "If you coul-"

"I said silence!" The man roared. Standing up the black suited man paced around his desk, glaring at Harry. "I did not give you leave to speak."

"How many times have we done this? How many times have you sat in that very chair, with that same stupid look saying the same stupid thing."

Harry was now even more so confused. He had never met this person a day in his life. He had never seen this place before or even been here before. The pain in his head redoubled, he couldn't even remember how he got here.

The man went back to his chair, hands spread over his desk, staring angrily at the confused Harry. "Go on and say it," he said to Harry, "Say the same damn question you say every time we meet, say it!"

Harry brought a hand to his head, rubbing his temple. Not understanding the anger of the man, "Where am I?"

The man tilted back his head and laughing sardonically, "There it is, that's the question." Sitting down the man smoothed back his short black hair, adjusting his bright red tie. A cup of a steaming liquid appeared before him; taking a sip he raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"And what is wrong with you this time."

"I have a headache" Harry replied through clenched teeth.

The man mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'of course you would'; placing down his cup the man clapped his hands. Harry bracing himself for the pain he was sure was coming was surprised to find his head completely clear, pain free.

"As to where you are," the man said, acting as if nothing had happened, "You are in one of the many auxiliary supplicant offices of the soul transition wards in purgatory."

Harry took a mental step back at the information, "What?"

The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Every time, every time you get more and more stupid." placing his cup to the side he looked directly at Harry, his eyes flickering red in the dark room.

"Harry, you are dead," all the anger leaving his voice.

Harry leaped out of his seat shocked, "What are you talking about, what kind of hoax is this, I'm not dead."

"Really," the man said tapping his finger against his desk, "Would you mind telling me what's the last thing you remember?"

Harry sat back in his seat, his mind much clearer without the headache, thinking back to what happened before he appeared in the office.

-Flashback-

He was so tired, be had been running all night. The Death eaters had found his safe house and set it ablaze, destroying everything. An anti-disapprating jinx had kept him from disapprating leaving him with only one option; he had to run.

Dragons overhead burned down the forest around him, boxing the young wizard in. Trolls and Giants appeared deep in the forest, searching. It seemed Voldemort had pulled out all the resources looking for him.

"Don't I feel special," he whispered.

He stopped running; there was nowhere else to go. Hundreds upon hundreds of Death eaters surrounded him, magically and physically exhausted Harry Potter raised his wand in a dueling stance, ready to die.

"So this is all that remains of the Order of the Phoenix," a voice said from the crowds of Death eater. Harry readied himself as a figure stepped forward.

Harry snarled angrily as the mask was pulled back and the grinning face of his friend was revealed, "Ron."

"You never understood what it was like to live in the shadow of someone, Harry." Ron said as he idly twirled his wand.

"All my life I've lived under the shadows of my brothers, and then you. The boy who lived, the great Harry Potter." Ron face twisted in to an ugly grimace as he spit out the last word as if he had a nasty taste in his mouth.

Harry looked around desperately for an escape, "Your family Ron, you betrayed your family." Harry took a step backwards, there was an opening between two Death Eaters, and maybe he could make it.

"What about them, they deserved to die," Ron grinned in triumph, "Now I'm not in anyone's shadow."

"Ron they killed Ginny," Harry said sadly remembering his girlfriend, "And Hermione, she was tortured, you're siding with their murderous."

Ron shrugged, "Necessary causalities," he said nonchalant.

Harry turned and ran, making a beeline towards the gap of Death Eaters. He had almost made it when suddenly a spell hit him squarely in the back. He hit the ground hard, shattering his glasses and sending his wand flying off into the darkness.

"Tut tut tut," a silky voice said from the shadows, Voldemort stepped out from the darkness.

"Where are you going my little Potter?"

"Master," Ron said, bowing and backing away slowly.

"Ronald," Voldemort said, a pale pasty arm lifted beckoning him closer. "Come here and deliver your justice."

"Usually Potter," Voldemort said idly twirling his wand, "I would see to your demise personally. Yet Mister Weasly here desires your death more than I do."

A malevolent glint shone in Ron's eyes as he came upon the prone form of former best friend. A concussion curse hit Harry, forcing himself face down on the plush forest floor.

"Now do you see Potter," Ron snarled as he delivered a swift kick to Harry's abdomen.

"I'm the hero now," a mud covered boot caught Harry full in the face. Harry almost passed out when he felt his nose break in a sickening crunch.

"Ron," Harry said through a mouthful of blood, "Why, are you doing this, we're best mates." The concussion curse kept him from getting up, the young Potter cursed silently to himself for letting his wand fly out his hand.

"Why?" Ron eyes flashed in delirium as another angry kick caught Harry in his side.

"I'll tell you why," Ron got on his knee, his fist raised high in the air. Voldemort gave a low dry chuckle at the antics of his new Death Eater.

"All through Hogwarts," Ron's fist caught Harry on the side of his head, "From first thru seventh year, she had only eyes for you."

Who was he talking about? A sharp piercing headache rang in his head. Blood matted his hair, veiling his eyes in a misty ruby haze. Harry struggled to stay conscience as Ron's fist repeatedly hammered his skull. He was only dimly aware he was about to die. Surrounded by Death Eater, Voldemort and his best friend, death would be a blessed release.

Ron was breathing hard as he finally stopped his assault. Sweat poured down his face in waves as he looked at what was once his only friend.

"Damn you Potter, why couldn't she love me?"

"Enough," Voldemort said in his sickly sweet voice. With all the grace of a snake he glided up behind Ron, placing both hands on his shoulders he whispered in his ear. "Finish it."

Harry was only barely able to turn his head to look at Ron. Death was coming swiftly, as his pain was fading. He relished it, he welcomed it. All his life he danced with death, now in this unnamed forest. Hunted and tracked like an animal, betrayed by his best mate he could only feel sorrow.

'Ron,' he thought bitterly, 'I feel no anger for you; I only hope you will one day see the error of your way.' The teachings of Dumbledore was so ingrained into his being that even in this dark hour he could only see the light in his friend.

Ron gripped his wand so tightly, blood started to flow from his enclosed fist. Was that pity in Potter's eyes? How can that filthy half-blood pity him, a pureblood? He, who was now standing over him, the famous Harry Potter. Damn him, damn him, damn you Harry.

Raising his wand, Ron pointed it at the pitying face of Harry.

"Do it," Bellatrix shouted from the on looking crowds, the Death Eater roared in encouragement. Voldemort eyes flashed a dark red as he gestured for Ron to finish him.

"Any last words Potter?" Ron growled.

"Just a few," Harry coughed, spitting out a few bloodied teeth.

Looking at Ron in his eyes, "What would she think of you?"

Ron roared as his wand tip glowed a bright green. His anger, his hate, years of repressed emotion releasing itself in one powerful spell.

"Who cares what she would think, Hermione only love you."

Ron's last words were drowned out as the bloods from Harry's head entered his ears. Closing his eyes, Harry relaxed his body, 'I'm coming Sirius.'

Damn you Potter, you bloody burn. Ron released his spell, cutting his final link with humanity. The bright blinding green light left his wand, echoing a vast deep rushing sound, an invisible something soaring through the air, as he said the most deplorable taboo words in wizard kind.

"Avada Kedavra"

-Flashback End-

"I see now," Harry said, his hand gripped his knee tightly as he looked straight ahead.

"Do not worry about it," the man in black said, waving his hand in dismissal. "We all get betrayed at some time or another."

"Aye, but he was my best mate," rubbing his head he looked at the man, "How could I have forgotten that?"

The man in black linked his fingers looking at Harry seriously, "The dead need not concern itself with the living."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, his mind a roller coaster of questions. "If I'm dead then what am I doing here?"

The black clothed man look intently at Harry for a minute before speaking, "Harry do you know how many times we have sat in this very room and had this very conversation?"

Harry shook his head, "No sir."

"Of course you wouldn't," the man said, "You never remember."

Suddenly a thick book landed on his desk. About five inches in width and twenty inches long, it was, Harry thought to himself, anything but a light read.

"What is that?" Harry said, glancing at the huge tome.

"This," the man in black said as he opened the first page, "Is your Death Book."

Harry raised is eyebrow at the announcement, "My what?"

Tapping his finger on the book he gave Harry a leveled look, "listen closely, because I absolutely hate repeating myself." The men in black pointy choose to ignore the fact that he had spoken those exact words countless times before.

"There are some souls born who are meant to do great things. Where the deeds of their greatness must come to pass. Sometimes, a very special soul is born, a soul whose actions must come to pass."

He tried to explain it as vague as possible; it bodes ill if Harry knew too much.

"In the great tapestry of life and death, Harry, you are perhaps the greatest work of art. Some souls, like you for instance, are sent back if you have 'unfinished business'.

Harry shook the cobwebs out of his head, maybe remembering his death affected him more than he thought, and "What are you talking about, what does all this mean?"

The man in black clicked His teeth, "You, Harold James Potter, have died about fifty four times."

Placing a finger on the death book he started to read, "Umm let's see, your first year you dodge and rolled straight into an incoming spell. Really boy, you ever heard of side stepping.

In your second year, on your thirteen death, you were crushed by a falling statue."

Harry's head started to reel with the information.

"In your third year, your twentieth death, mauled to death by a rouge werewolf. Particular nasty one if I remember correctly."

Harry placed a hand on his forehead, did he really die all those times, had he really lived this long because they were sending him back?

"Ahh here we come to the meat, it's in your fourth year is where the bulk of your death takes place."

"I get it," Harry mumbled.

"Burned alive, asphyxiation, drowning."

"Alright," Harry said louder.

"Electrocution, suffocation, blunt force trauma, stabbed in the chest with your own wand."

"By Merlin, I get it!" Harry yelled.

The man in black calmly set the book down his voice steady in rising anger, "No I don't think you do get it. Do you know how much backed paperwork I have because of you? The stress you have given me would have killed me if I wasn't already dead. You humans, especially wizards have such a callous disregard for life, it's disgusting."

The man in black raised a finger, looking critically over his charge, "Once more, I can only send you back one more time; we no longer have the power for repeated trips."

Harry sagged back into his chair, confused, "I thought you were all powerful."

The man in black raised an eyebrow, "For all intent and purposes, I am. Tell me Harry what do you know of Voldemort's ultimate plan?"

Harry thought for a minute, "To rule all of wizardkind and enslave all muggleborn witches and wizards."

"Close Harry, you are very close. But I'm afraid it's more sinister than that. Even more sinister then we were able to realize until it was too late. Harry you've been in purgatory for almost a hundred years. Your last transaction took a very long time. And in that time Mr. Tomas Marvolo Riddle has breached the walls of life and death."

Harry felt cold treacle of fear slide down his back, "What does that mean?"

"I'm afraid that Mr. Riddle seeks to challenge the creator."

"Can he do that?" He said shocked, "Is that even possible."

"We didn't think so at first either," the building rumbled almost knocking Harry out of his chair, "Ahh so it has started."

"What is going on?" Harry almost shouted, his voice shaking in fear.

"Voldemort has found the creator, come here we have not much time."

Harry got up, making his way to the desk as the building rocked and rumbled around him. A black box sat on the desk, about twelve inches long, the magical aura Harry felt coming from it felt powerful and oddly familiar.

"Harry Potter, in all your lives only one thing has remain constant. Only one thing has been with you throughout your many battles." Placing his hand on the box he started to open it slowly.

"The Fates have agreed to give you this, you are very fortunate the sisters made this for you. The Fates usually dint give out gifts." There in the center of black box rested a long eleven in wand. The man in black eyes flashed a blood red as he continued speaking, "I assume you know what this is?"

"My holly and Phoenix wand," Harry breathe as he upon the wand in wonder. He had only just realized he did have it with him.

"Magic is a very potent thing," the man in black said, "It's an always ever changing, shifting moving entity. You are very lucky indeed Harry Potter, that wand has all the collective knowledge of all your fifty four lives."

"What does that mean," Harry said in bewilderment.

"I am forbidden to give you your memories; the creator has made that quite clear. But all the spell knowledge and skill you have acclimated over you lifetimes are in that wand. And if I remember correctly in one of your lives you lived to 150. So use this wisely"

The worlds suddenly seem to stand still. As if all time had stopped. There was the unmistakable feeling of wrongness in the air.

"Something's different," Harry whispered, scared to speak higher.

The man in black frowned as he looks at the ceiling, "The top floor has fallen, and the universe is in mourning." Grabbing the wand out of the box the man in black pressed it into Harry's hands.

"It seems your Voldemort works quicker that any of us thought, he has defeated the creator."

Harry felt numb at the proclamation, if Riddle had won, then what hope did he have?

"We have to move quickly, there isn't much time." The sound of a breaking door and the shrieking screams of the secretary were heard.

Harry started towards the door, "We have to help her!"

The man in black reach out gripping his arm tightly, "Fool she's already gone, pay attention we only have seconds." Harry nodded a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"When you leave here you will have only the vaguest of memories about this place. In fact to you it will only seem as if it was only a dream of a dream."

The man in black looked over Harry's shoulder as his doorknob started to turn. "I want you to remember one word; I want you to say it over and over again in your mind. I want you to remember the word Articvatio."

"I got it," the door started to open slowly, "Come on we have to get out of here." Harry said, the word Articvatio repeating itself in the back of his head.

There was a glint of steel in the black clad man eyes as he gripped Harry shoulder's, "I'm staying here boy, this is my place and don't you come back here for another two hundred years."

The man in black's voice started to fade, "You better win this time Harry, otherwise Death is the least of your worries."

The door was violently shoved open as black robbed figures roamed in.

The last thing Harry remembered before darkness overtook him was the bright green lights of the killing curse.

Dumbledore's hand snaked out and grabbed the floating parchment. The hall was a hush of silence as he read the name out loud.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry looked up from his plate as all the teachers and students turned and stared openly at him. Did he just call my name?

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "You better get down there."

The sound of a spoon hitting a plate distracted him as he looked into the jealous face of Ron, 'Great,' Harry thought, 'Just what I need.'

Harry almost felt sick as he got up from the Gryffindor table; Dumbledore just called his name for the next Champion, there has to be some mistake.

He made his way down the rows of students, self-consciously aware of the stares directed at his back. Headmaster Dumbledore gave him a questioning look as he gestured towards the back room.

'What in the name of Merlin was going on?"

Authors Note's

Ok so here's my new story, if you can't tell by now, I dislike Ron. If that offends anyone, please feel free to let me know so I can tell you in greater detail about how in feel about him. In every Potter book, every one, he betrays Harry in some way. :(

Anyway this is my take on the Harry meets death and goes back plot, I know it's been done but I've never wrote a potter fic and this one seems interesting.

Please review and subscribe. Any tips, flames or words of encouragement would be greatly appreciated. Thank You

ObsidiansTwilight