Author's Note: This is my first fiction posted, but not necessarily the first one I've written. It will follow mostly canon ideas, and will contain a couple somewhat major OCs that is referenced are this chapter. Said OCs won't be doing much in the way of actual fighting and are more for comedy and minor guidance purposes than much else. Said OC will be strong, but so will Harry (due to time travel and actually caring about training). I'll be following canon closely at first, but every new action will lead to new situational possibilities, and the introduction of someone who wasn't around at first will be one such action. I will not be focusing on Harry's romance life, although that will be mentioned, and I will be trying to go through all his years at Hogwarts until the point where Voldemort is dead. Speaking of Voldemort, I will be trying to make him intelligent, not just crazy. He was winning a guerrilla war against a superior force while being the most intimidating and powerful Dark Lord in a long time. That takes brains, cunning, and a lot of strategic thinking. Every time he was faced, right up until the end, he seemed overly arrogant - although he was probably rightfully so, but someone like him would still have some sort of contingencies, or even contingencies on contingencies. I will try and update at least once a month, hopefully twice, but may update more often should I have a large streak of inspiration that has me writing chapters a lot, which is liable to happen.

The Harry Potter series is the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I do not own anything aside from Original Characters introduced.

Harry looked at the corpse of Voldemort as it fell backwards, the Elder Wand and Draco's hawthorn wand in his hands. The battle had fallen silent before the final duel, and it was silent still. Nobody on either side appeared to move. It then was suddenly alive with both the cheering of the students and DA and the cries of angered defeat of the Death Eaters. It was because of this raucous celebration that Harry never heard the spells launched by the Death Eaters. He only saw Hermione and Ron look at him, their eyes wide in fear, and the ensuing fiery explosion between his two friends. He felt shrapnel from the blast tear into him, his body spinning to the side, and then a sharp cutting pain from the side of his neck. A blurry haze fell over his eyes, and the sound of terrified yells from the explosion faded out. Harry could still barely make out the colors of spells firing between the students and Death Eaters, as the battle raged again, despite the death of Voldemort. As he felt his eyelids slowly begin to close, and his vision blur into darkness, a single thought went through his head. 'I guess this just couldn't be avoided.'

Light. Harry could see the telltale pink on the inside of his eyelids as light poured against them, yet he couldn't feel anything. Not the hardness of a stone floor, or the softness that one would expect of a bed. He did not even feel any clothing of any form against him. Puzzled at this, he opened his eyes and saw… nothing. Not in the sense of an empty field, or unending darkness. He saw an endless white of nothingness. He felt no gravity, but he didn't feel as if he was floating. As he moved to feel his face, he noticed that they were clean, as if he had been scrubbed of the dirt of his final fight with Voldemort. When he touched his face, he felt no warmth from his skin, and yet it was not cold. It was merely there, like touching a pad of some sort. It did not feel like it was alive. He tried to turn to get a better look at the nothingness, to perhaps see if he was back in Limbo once more and find Dumbledore waiting to take him to the afterlife. Instead, he saw more nothing.

Was this what the afterlife was then? Was he just to float in this empty whiteness for all eternity? "Harry Potter." An ethereal, echoing voice called out to him. It was soft at first, and it seemed to come from everywhere. He spun around once more, feeling the ground beneath his apparently bare feet. "Harry Potter." It called out for him again, this time, coming from above him. He looked up, but saw nothing. Yet it called again, louder this time, and from behind. "Harry Potter." He turned one more time, and still saw nothing but the same overwhelming white light that pervaded every corner of this strange existence. He tried to call out to the voice, his voice trembling and somewhat raspy, as if he had not spoken for years. "H-Hello?"

The voice called out to him, this time sounding as if it were right next to him. "Harry Potter." He turned and was gazing into two olive green eyes, a strange ring of gold around the pupils. The owner of the eyes had their face practically right up against him, and Harry stumbled backwards in surprise, falling onto his back. Harry looked up and saw a tall, young man who seemed to be in his twenties wearing a tailored Muggle business suit. The suit jacket and pants were a solid black, and his shoes were brightly shining in the white space. The man had straight, short, black hair that was swept to the side. A well-trimmed, reddish-brown beard and mustache that connected was on the man. He was leaned forward slightly, hands clasped low behind his back. His eyes looked down at Harry, his lips pressed together as if contemplating something, most likely the Boy-Who-Lived sprawled before him.

Harry took in a breath to speak, but was stopped by the man before him. "Are you going to get up off the floor any time soon, Mr. Potter?" His voice still echoed throughout the area, but now it had less of an ethereal effect to it. It only sounded as if he were somehow speaking in rounds. Harry quickly scrambled to his feet, stuttering out a quick apology, only for the man to raise his hand to silence him. "There is no need for apologies, Mr. Potter. I did surprise you. It is I who should apologize to you. Now then, please sit. We have much to discuss." He motioned behind Harry, who looked and saw a simple looking chair that one would expect in a Muggle office building for meetings. As he looked back at the man before him, he saw him proceeding to sit down as a highly ornate throne rose out of the ground, covered in turning gears, clock faces, hour glasses, sun dials, and other assorted time pieces. A similarly ornate desk slowly followed in front of the man, made of a very dark wood, with hour glasses carved to act as the legs, and the top surface carved to be the face of an old Grandfather Clock.

"I guess you really like clocks, sir," Harry joked, attempting to still his growing nerves in this strange meeting, his voice strangely having that echoing effect the other man's did.

The man's lips turned into a smirk, not quite like Malfoy's trademark ones, but close enough that it left Harry somewhat unsettled. "I guess you could say that. Time is typically on my side." His voice was level as he spoke. The two seemed to stare at each other a long silence reigning supreme, with the mysterious man leaning forward and placing his hands in front of his mouth in a sort of bridge, his olive-green eyes boring into Harry's bright green ones. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the man's scrutiny before the uncomfortable silence was broken by the man once more. "We have business to discuss, and you have questions to ask. Ask them, and I will answer you."

Harry's back straightened slightly before he spoke starting with what he felt was the most pressing of questions, "Where am I, sir?" The man leaned back in his chair, drawing his hands over his stomach as he continued to scrutinize Harry, somewhat reminding him of a bored predator watching uninteresting prey.

"You are where you are." The man was apparently not going to be helpful.

Harry tried again, trying to keep the mild irritation out of his voice. "But where is that sir?"

The man quirked an eyebrow up at that. His voice betrayed nothing of what the man may've been thinking regarding his scrutiny of Harry. "For lack of a better term, Harry Potter, you are in the Void, where all the Masters go should they be unable to pass on." The man was still as he spoke, almost like a statue.

Curiosity prickled at the back of Harry's mind, and he asked the obvious continuing question. "Pass on, sir?"

"To the afterlife, Harry." He blinked at that. So he was dead, or somewhere in between again.

"But what about Limbo?" The man chuckled at that, his lips curling into a faint smile.

"Limbo is not a place for the Masters. A Master is either dead or alive. There is not allowed to be an in-between."

There he was about the Masters again. What did that have to do with him right now? Was he talking about the Deathly Hallows? What would they have to do with anything? "A Master, sir?" The man simply looked at Harry, as if he had grown a second head, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat once again.

"It just occurred to me that I have not properly introduced myself. You may call me Bishop. I am the Master of Time, a member of the Masters, and the one assigned to... introduce you to a few things." He paused, letting what he said sink in before continuing. "The Masters are individuals or small groups of individuals who have somehow obtained complete power over an aspect of Magic or existence by fulfilling certain pre-requisites, effectively controlling that aspect like one controls a car."

Harry looked at Mr. Bishop, the gears in his head churning to process the information before he spoke up, somewhat confused. "But Mr. Bishop, I thought the title Master of Death was a myth." Bishop chuckled, whether at his confusion or how quickly he appeared to understand it, Harry had no idea.

"It both is, and it is not, and please call me Bishop. We are of equal rank. You are the Master of Death, and I am the Master of Time. To answer your unspoken question, Mr. Potter, my planned explanation will address the veracity of the legend pertaining to the Peverell brothers." The man brought up his right hand, and flicked his wrist slightly, a glass of water appearing in front of the both of them followed by a bowl of crisps that slid towards Harry on its own. "Before I begin to explain, do you have any questions? I will not tolerate interruptions if you forgot to ask anything." Bishop leaned forward, once more bridging his hands in front of his mouth, his glass of water between his elbows.

Harry leaned back into his chair, and thought for a few moments. What did he have questions about that he wanted answers to right now? He was obviously dead, or somewhere between life and death, but what about his friends? Who killed him in the end? Those might not come up in the explanation, it was probably best to ask them right away. Harry opened his mouth to speak, "What abo- "and was promptly cut off by Bishop raising a finger out of his hand bridge.

"Your friends are dead, Harry. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were killed by a Blasting Curse fired by Travers. Ronald died quickly to it, having taken a large amount of shrapnel from the blast, while Hermione died from blood loss and complications of heavy burns during the ensuing fight between the remaining Death Eaters and the Hogwarts students. You yourself were killed by Walden Macnair using Sectumsempera. In the end, the Death Eaters still died, but the casualties were greater than they should have been…" Bishop seemed to trail off in thought, his eyes going off to the side, before snapping back to look at Harry. "Do you have any further questions?" Harry shook his head, and Bishop nodded. "Good, then get comfortable." They both leaned back in their chairs.

"Now, to explain the title Master of Death, you must know of the power behind Magic itself. Magic has never truly been tame, as it seems to be. It usually flows like a raging river, but the Masters guide it and control it. We are that which guides the flow and have the greatest control of our areas. That said, we do not have Masters over elements, and we have overlap between our areas of influence." His eyes fell on Harry's, and they seemed to brim with life and amusement, a Dumbledore-like twinkle appearing in them. "Our areas are two such overlaps. Death, Time, and Life all have overlap. While your domain deals with passing, and you can take that which lives, so too can Life bring the dead back like you can… but neither of you can do so without my assistance and approval. I, on the other hand, must receive your approval to reverse time should it bring the dead back to life, and the permission of Life should it cause the lives of some to be undone. We do not approve of each individual death to occur, but we have some say in if people die or the like. We are essentially watchers of existence as it passes, mortal men and women ascended beyond it all and watching as things pass. There is no good and evil among us, and there is no plan among us. Morality has little effect or implication to us, as we stand outside of it." Harry's eyes widened minutely at hearing this. They essentially had power over Life and Death, and they did nothing. People died and suffered because they did nothing. They simply stood by. Bishop continued.

"That said, that does not mean we do not take special interest in some events that afflict humanity. Our apathy stems from us having become eternal, and we only pass on should certain conditions be met: The first condition is that someone new takes the helm of our position, and the second possible condition is that mortals remove us without a replacement. From time to time, this happens by accident. An unknown consequence to rituals that Wizards use." Bishop paused to take a breath, and Harry raised his hand, as if he were in class. Bishop sighed, "I thought I told you I would not answer any questions until the end."

"Sorry sir, it's a question because of your explanation." Bishop looked at Harry, mild confusion appearing on his visage, and he nodded, prompting Harry to continue. "You're the Master of Time, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes… I am the Master of Time, with all that titles brings," Bishop answered, mild confusion leaking into his voice.

"Are the Masters like nobility of some kind?"

"I-I guess you can say that?" More confusion leaked into his voice.

"And there have been many in the position of Master of Time?"

"Yes." A simple, firm answer.

"Why not just call yourself a Time Lord then?" Bishop seemed to slacken in his chair, his muscles releasing, and his eyes were looking at Harry, an expression that easily translated into 'Are you serious?'

After a long, drawn out silence, Bishop spoke again, schooling his features into a straight face before they dropped into a scowl to rival Snape. "Because I'm not some juvenile gallivanting around time and space in a Police Box. I am the Master of Time." Bishop paused for a moment before asking, "Now, do you have any other questions or may I continue? There is an offer I may make at the end, but if you irritate me further, I will not give it." Harry nodded slowly, surprised at the anger over a simple alternate title. Bishop cleared his throat and continued again. "As I was saying… From time to time, a position becomes empty. Your position, as well as several of the positions of my colleagues, has been empty for the last thirty years relative to me. I say relative to me because I am a Master of Time. I know who my successors are, and have spoken to each of my predecessors. We always are, just as we always are not, because of the nature of Time. You, on the other hand, are the Master of Death. Your title places you as the Reaper's manager. You may use him as a weapon against your enemies, or you would be able to if you were alive." Bishop paused again, letting his words sink into Harry's mind. He, Harry Potter, had the essence of Death itself at his command during the final battle. He could decide who lived and who died, and yet he failed even in that. He couldn't keep his friends alive, or even himself. He was broken out of his somber thoughts by Bishop's voice again. "That said, there is a third condition. The passing of the position to another Master until such a time as a new, proper holder comes along, should certain complications occur. Typically, a Master lives a certain period after achieving their position before being made aware of the job waiting for them at their end. You, however, were killed during what could be called a formation period. While your very soul was being prepared to control the Reaper, you were killed. These are complications that open the third option to you. You may pass your title of Master of Death to another Master, though you run the risk of being destroyed in doing so, or you may have me attempt to correct the problem. The correction of the problem would take what feels like no time for a Master, but could be decades in the life of a mortal."

What was Bishop suggesting? He was giving Harry a chance to pass on and be with his friends and family. It wasn't a certainty that it would work, but would it really matter one way or the other? "What would I have to do if I wanted to pass the title to you or another Master?" Harry looked down at the top of Bishop's desk. He didn't want to look at the man's eyes and see that twinkling that reminded him of Dumbledore.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the man's lips were twisted into a disturbing smile. "The same thing I would be asking for as payment for the offer I will make you." Harry looked up at the man again, Bishop's smile having changed, looking to Harry like a grinning cat who just found a pinned rat for himself. "My offer is this, Harry. I am the Master of Time, he who controls its flow. Just as I can speed it up and pause it, I can rewind it. The Master of Life has already allowed me to give you this offer, and I am sure you will not refuse. I will rewind time for you. I will bring you back to just before your introduction to the Wizarding World, no earlier and no later. In return, you will make sure that the Master of Time who has control during your time period becomes the Master of Death. He will know what to do when the time comes, and he will assist you." Bishop let out a deep sigh, his eyes closed. "If you choose this option, I apologize well in advance for his behavior." His eyes snapped back open, glaring at Harry with a strange intensity, the twinkle gone. "That said, if you chose to simply give up the title, you would be sent back to moments before your death instead, only to die again, this time for good. The result would either destroy you, or send you to the afterlife, to your," Bishop looked as if he were going to be sick as he spoke, "next great adventure." Bishop visibly shuddered, as if the phrase itself were a nasty curse or hex. "Now, the choice is yours. Call for me when your decision is made." Bishop stood, his desk and chair fading from existence, leaving the glasses of water and bowl of crisps floating in front of Harry, as if the desk was still there, and he left, leaving Harry alone in the empty white space.

Harry sat in the chair, staring at his clenched hands as he thought over his decision. He could continue as the Master of Death, living an apathetic existence with no real fulfillment that separates him from his friends and family for eternity. He could also take the gamble of giving the title up in what seemed like the standard process for the Masters... or he could take the offer and go further back in time. He would have to endure the harsh treatment of the Dursley's again, but he would have a chance to keep his friends alive this time around. His thoughts traveled to everyone he lost thus far: He thought of Cedric, killed when Voldemort first returned; To Sirius, killed by Bellatrix in the battle at the Ministry; to Remus, killed by Antonin Dolohov; of Dumbledore and his guiding hand in Harry's life, despite how manipulative he may've been; of Fred Weasley and the Weasley family in general, who he considered his own family; and of Hermione, who stood by him throughout everything even when everyone else turned against him; and even of Snape, who gave his life to protect Malfoy and himself. What would they say he should do? To Sirius and the Weasley twins, they'd probably tell him to go for the long run and pull one over on Voldemort, Sirius saying he should have had a long life. Remus and Hermione would probably try and weigh all the pros and cons of each option, with Hermione wishing she could possibly research anything about the Masters. Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasley's would probably tell him to take the long option, saying they'd still be there right with him again and again. He thoughts moved to Ginny, his last thoughts before he thought he'd die by Voldemort's hand. Those thoughts alone might've normally motivated him, but if he did go back in time to try and fix things, he would have to deal with her shy fan girl stage, something he would not look forward to, should he make that decision.

After a long time deliberating, Harry finally sighed, really only coming up with one real option. He may not like the Dursleys, but he could save the most people by going that route. He would save Cedric, he would save Sirius and Remus, Fred Weasley wouldn't die, and neither would Ron or Hermione. He was determined to keep as many of them alive as he could. Standing, Harry called out for Bishop, who stepped out of the bright white light ahead of him like a phantom. "You have come to a decision." It wasn't a question. Bishop was smirking, reminding Harry too much of Malfoy. He nodded, not needing to say anything more. Bishop knew what he gave him, seemed to know about his 'saving people thing' as Hermione called it. Bishop straightened up, his arms seeming to tense behind his back as he stood tall, towering over Harry, noticeably taller than Ron. Emerald green met Olive green, and Bishop nodded once. "You will be meeting with the Master of Time relative to your own time shortly after you arrive. As I stated before, I am sorry about how they will act. While I am centuries old, they have only experienced decades. Follow their instructions, and you should be fine." He held out a hand for Harry, the ethereal echo gone. "Good bye, and good luck, Mr. Potter." Harry firmly grasped the man's hand and shook it, before Bishop stepped back and Harry was surrounded by swirling sands and ticking clocks. The sand flowed upwards, while the hands of the clocks moved backwards, each tick echoing through his head continually, the sand burying him until all he saw was darkness.