"Oh, Harry, what have you done?"

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Dumbledore's face. He was looking at him over his glasses, eyes so wise and disappointed. Harry didn't understand, was this real? His last memory was of an fast approaching green light and him embracing his destiny. Wasn't he meant to be dead? Because of the horcrux? Was he mistaken? Did he die in vain?

A baby's cry sounded in the distance, but he ignored it. Dumbledore's words still stinging his heart. A mild panic attack spreading through him.

"You foolish, foolish boy", said the Headmaster shaking his head, no longer looking at him but beyond the fog that seemed to surround them. Ever present and almost hungry.

He was tired. Maybe he didn't understand Dumbledore's final message and he had screwed up by dieing when he shouldn't have. But if it was wrong, it didn't matter. It was done. He was here, and he was going to finally join his parents. That was something he was looking up forward, deep down… past the weariness and the mild panic attack he was pushing to ignore.

"Where are we?", he asked, searching around, changing the subject.

It was nowhere Harry knew. It looked like King's Cross station without trains, if the station were ever to have a big black hole in the middle of the floor with ominous darkness swirling inside it.

He cringed at the sight of the void, his fear growing at the sight.

Harry felt misplaced. Like he was supposed to be here, but at the same time he shouldn't. It was not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, as he had felt the same thing every day of his life. Like he had long forgotten a precious memory, and it was kept just outside of his grasp. Yearning for something he didn't know about. Part of him empty, never complete.

So very much like that black hole in the middle of the train tracks.

It was the story of his life… and now, it seemed, the story of his death.

"Only you would do something like this", said Dumbledore with fond exasperation, standing up from the bench where they were sitting. A smile spread across the Headmaster's face, only for him to shapeshift into a beautiful woman, with long black hair and pale skin, dressed in a simple long black dress, An aura of otherworldliness and power surrounding her.

Death, supplied Harry's subconscious. She was Lady Death.

Be glad She is not pissed.

"I am not pissed," confirmed Death, reading his mind, a sweet smile on Her lips. "It only amuses me, my child." Her hand touched his cheek, a cold numbness spreading from Her fingertips. Not uncomfortable, but it certainly didn't feel motherly like, only a mimicry of it. Her hand caressed his hair, showing out the sowilo rune in his forehead, shaped as a lighting bolt scar. She leant in to kiss it, never losing the small smile.

Harry let her. Seeing her expression tied knots in his stomach. He didn't even know why.

She was not supposed to be here. To greet him.

Not now, at least. Not like this.

"You were so desperate to be normal, that you risked every universe for your obsession... Why am I not surprised, Harry?", She whispered. Quiet words never sounded this reproachful. Like a mother scolding her child, after a terrible mischief that could have gone horribly wrong, but didn't.

Thankfully.

"Not quite," She admonished. "You will just have to exist with the consequences of your actions. Both of you," tone said as if punishment hasn't been doled out yet. "We will see," Death finished with tight lips.

Harry felt torn. Confused, not understanding what was happening. However a sense of relief invaded him, as well. It felt so alien, not of himself. But at least She was not mad.

He opened his mouth to ask what She meant, but the entity just shushed him, and no sound escaped his throat.

"This time around there is no choice. You can't move on, Harry. You already made your decision," an impassive glance sent his way. "Besides, I doubt you would like to fall through the void again, little trickster."

Not allowing him to speak, Lady Death picked up the crying baby that Harry kept ignoring. She didn't even spare a second glance to the bundle. "Follow the pull, Master," Death mocked smiling. "You will find your answers at the end of it. Or perhaps more questions? We shall see."

Afterwards, everything was like a dream. Or a nightmare. He couldn't decide. He woke up... or maybe fell asleep. His memories were a bit jumbled and quite missing in parts. All that mattered was that the mighty Lord Voldermort was vanquished. Harry himself cast the killing curse at him, after realizing he had claimed the Elder Wand as the last of the Deathly Hallows and Death wouldn't let him lose. After all, she just called him Master during his vision and she seemed fond of him, however wrong that made him feel.

In the end, the Dark Lord fell for his illusions like most of his opponents, and defeating him was almost child's play. A bit boring, really.

The aftermath was a bit more difficult, as he had to explain to his friends how he didn't die and why did he know so much about Illusions, a subject not taught in Hogwarts. Harry chucked everything to being the Master of Death, even though he knew that was not the way it worked. He just didn't want to make his life more difficult. It was already hard as it was.

The official story for the press was that Harry had received secret training from Dumbledore in the Illusionary arts, and that's how he fooled Voldemort about "dying".

Everyone seemed content with his lies. That is, everyone but Luna. She kept sending him these strange looks, as if she was trying to focus on something beyond him. Not quite figuring what was wrong but knowing that nothing was the same.

Given enough time, Harry didn't doubt that she would be the first to figure out the truth (or as much as the truth he himself knew at this point). Luna was keenly perceptive in the weirdest of senses.

It's not like him to flee, but he needed to get out of England as fast as possible.

Not even he knew what was happening anymore, all the tricks and the lies, all the knowledge that just kept bubbling up in his mind. He would damn himself if he exposed this mystery to Hermione of all. She would enter into a research spree, denying herself the rest they all deserved. The war was over. It was the time to bury the dead, mourn and rebuilt their lives. Not go looking for another adventure. Not now, when he only had vague inklings and phantom memories.

The meeting with Death had changed him. Instead of the gaping hole in his soul, that made him depressed all these years, there was now a pull. He planned to follow it, and get some answers. Or plenty of questions, as She said. At least it was something to do, and after just knowing that being Master of Death meant that he was now immortal, he felt that being involved to the Magical British community was not in his best interests. He didn't want to be dissected in one of the many rooms from the Department of Mysteries.

Harry was also a Master of Being in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time, so it was no wonder that when he was searching through New York city, a big wormhole opened in the sky and hundreds of aliens invaded the Earth.

Or maybe it was the right combination of circumstances, as this event worked itself to intensify the focus of the pull. Now Harry could pinpoint where exactly he needed to go, instead of roaming the streets with no real direction.

He had spent the last few months travelling and following his instincts. Contact with his friends back in Britain was maintained through muggle means, as he didn't want to be seen with an owl while he cruised through mundane cities. Also he was now invisible to all tracking spells and traces, something that he felt was very important as you never knew who was watching. Turns out that his father's invisibility cloak did more than turn you invisible, and he didn't even need to be wearing it. Death herself couldn't find him if he wished so.

Not that he bar Her from knowing where he was, as he felt She was the only one who could give him hints and tips as to what was happening. She sometimes appeared in his dreams, when he was remembering pieces of a life not of Harry. She rarely said anything, preferring to shadow him through these memories as if inside a pensive.

The not-Harry life was bittersweet. He had had a family. A stern father, a doting mother, and an annoying but kind brother. They loved him, but could not protect him from the mocking and harsh words others would throw at him. Not-Harry wasn't kin by blood, either. Which only served to earn them bonus points in Harry's book. He knew all about blood and bonds. His own aunt despised him, and would have murdered him if she could. Harry didn't have any memory of a loving family, but knew all too well about neglect and persecution. So, he cherished his memory-family, and if given the chance, would forgive them anything. If only to feel his brother's bear hugs, receive his mother's sound advice and see the twinkling eyes of his father after an innocent mischief.

He had lost them. He wasn't sure how, as he hated to go over the memory, but he could tell it was his own doing. The first and only time he consciously focused on this event, there was just endless despairing darkness. Harry recoiled from it, and never tried again.

Glancing up, he saw the Stark Tower in all its glory. It has been on the news as the pinnacle of clean sustainable energy, so it was hard to miss. And it seemed that it was his destination, as the pull pulsed and twisted and all but screamed for him to hurry. The proximity was affecting him, though he had no time to understand exactly why or how. He felt it in his thoughts and in his soul, washing away blocks and snapping together pieces of himself he didn't know existed.

When had he become so broken?

Sounds of explosions and battle cries surrounded him. He donned the Invisibility Cloak and was now impervious to all the violence that happened around. Harry knew that people were getting hurt and dying, he could feel it. Death waves expanding and souls departing, even from the aliens. However, he didn't move to defend or attack. As Master of Death, eons ago he decided not to overly involve himself on mortal matters.

Though he still did, sometimes. To amuse himself and kill boredom, if anything else.

Getting closer to the tower, Harry saw that he would need to climb to the top. Not sure that the elevators would still work, and not fancying himself getting trapped inside the metal boxes, Harry unshrinked his firebolt and took to the air.

It was exhilarating.

Dodging projectiles and aliens, trying not to get hit... It was a nice pace for a change. He almost felt like himself again, as if he could remember how that felt like. A shy smile appeared on his face, though no one could see it.

It was when the wormhole in the sky closed and all the aliens dropped dead, that Harry decided to take his quest more serious. He landed on the balcony at the top of the tower not a few moments after, storing his firebolt in his pocket. Curiously, he looked around, for what was calling him here.

It turned out not to be a what. But a who. A very damaged and defeated who, if being embedded into the ground gave any indication. The person's magic was very desperate, busy trying to heal all his internal injuries. It was making such a poor job of it, probably already spent from the battle. The degeneration was happening faster than the healing. Organs would start to shut down any time now.

He would lose him if he did nothing. And he couldn't lose him.

He is the missing piece.

Approaching the figure, Harry removed his invisibility cloak, crouching besides the body. There were others in the vicinity, but he paid them no mind.

The mage on the floor was half unconscious, with his eyes half-closed. Probably focusing all he had on not dying.

If there was one thing he learned as a Master of Death, is that while he didn't have the power to resurrect people (his association was with Death, not Life), he could keep someone from crossing over. Sometimes that caused more trouble than it was worth, upsetting the balance, and coming back to screw him over... but he wasn't above cheating Death.

Besides, it was She who brought him here.

It was useless.

He was useless.

Nothing like having another of his plans fail spectacularly to teach him to be humble. The Hulk really did a number on him. Broken bones, internal injuries… He couldn't even move, lying pathetically in pain. His magic was going crazy, putting everything he knew about healing spells into his body. A good bit of it was only instincts; as he was no healer. Fear and desperation, spurred him into dipping into his hidden reserves. The ones he didn't want to use, because he knew it was the point of no return. Those energies didn't regenerate, and it would probably cripple him permanently.

His eyes half-closed in concentration.

He couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood beating through his eardrums, trying to catch his breath. The Avengers were the last of his troubles now. He was drowning, and there was not enough air. A pressure in his chest. Crushing. Weighting him.

He clawed up the rabbit hole based on will alone. Enduring. He needed to. He couldn't go down. Not again.

Since the Void, Loki felt lost. His stay with the Other wasn't exactly gentle. What with the torture and the games played with his mind. His sense of self and peace of mind were forever skewed. If he were sane, he would be worried about himself. About not being whole. About what it meant for his future.

As it was, he knew he was doomed anyway. He was already gone. Half mad with grief and tearing himself at the seams.

Abandoning yourself to the Void does that to you, he deduced with what little of logic he had left. The Nothing should have completely unmade him, not even allowing him to cross over to Death's realm. But, he still existed, so he guessed the process for liquefying his existence would have taken a few centuries or eons to complete. Like being slowly digested inside a stomach, all acid like and shredding him apart. It certainly felt as crude and damaging as that.

The Other rescued him from that fate.

And he was happy about that. Because if being awake and living was torture… being in the Nothing was worse. His brain completely shut down the memory, leaving impressions and shivers. He didn't care about unearthing the horrors, not even remembering. He planned never to experience something similar again.

He was scared of dying. Of ending in total Darkness, and realizing he never really left that terrible place, and everything was just a figment of his imagination. A desperate cry for salvation. No, this suffering was better than Nothing.

Loki coughed blood, trying not to suffocate with it.

Who cared anymore? Try as he might, he knew that he was still falling. His magic was not enough. He had lost. And it was such an effort to keep it running.

A raspy breath escaped his lips. Tears pooled in his eyes. It was futile.

Regrets?

Only Frigga. Even if she was not his own mother, he honoured her as if she were. He deserved it to himself to be honest in the end. Incomplete memories of happier times brushed to the front of his mind.

"Everything will be alright, my son," her smiling memory spoke with a sweet voice.

No mother, it will not. I'm... sorry.

He was grasping at loose ends, and they kept fading through his fingers. The effort was too much. There was no more magic. No more fuel to burn. Just empty. Like the Nothing. He tried to sigh, but blood just filled his lungs and dragged him down. Coughing just set all his nerves on fire. But the air was not enough. He was so heavy.

His mother's voice was calling him, a loving smile in her lips. Realizing it was time, he asked his magic to stop. And just gave up. He let go.

Again.

A part of him found petty pleasure in imagening Thor's reaction to finding him gone.

In his mind, Loki released Gungnir all over again, darkness rapidly swallowing him whole.

He fell again.

He kept falling for days, months, years... eons. Suspended in the air, or going up. Down. Loki didn't know. It felt like forever, and at the same time he knew time didn't exist in this vacuum. He thought that it would have been a quick death. A painless journey into not existing. How mistaken he was.

He had no senses here. No sense of direction, nor could he feel his own body. However his thoughts still raged. Incessantly and ever present. They were full of regrets, of longing. How he wished they would shut up, so he could cease to exist. In peace.

It was not to be.

Letting his grief take hold of him like that might not have been the greatest idea, looking in retrospect. He wanted to impress Odin so much, he acted rashly. He wanted to make him proud, show he could be as purposeful as Thor. He was a true Odinson, after all. No, not the Trickster, the Liesmith, the Silvertongue, the one who fought without honour. He was trustful. He was worthy.

It was no surprise his thoughts began to take a darker tone. Turned upon himself, he tormented himself with what ifs and regrets. A raving mad Loki was ready for it all to end, to find release in whatever form he could find. He even pleaded to Death to take him. To erase him. He didn't care.

In the Void, the Nothing was absolute.

At some point in his unchanging eternity, Loki began to dream. Or was it hallucinate? It didn't matter, as it was an escape his mind was all very willing to take. Hungrily he hauled himself deeper and deeper into it, unwilling to let it go.

A young man appeared before him. He was dressed in midgardian clothing, though his aura was out of that realm. Ancient and deadly. It sucked the nothingness around him. His pale face had a fake smile, like he didn't feel joy anymore but was going through the motions, anyway. Upon discovering Loki's presence, he glanced at him with total apathy, as if he were but a bug in the overall weave of the universe. His dead green eyes looked through him, judging his worthiness. He nodded to himself, continuing his false cheer.

From the Nothing, this strange being pulled Something. A chair materialized in the middle of the darkness, and he slowly sat on it.

Suddenly, Loki found he had a body and he was sitting across the powerful entity.

"I came to offer you a deal, Loki Not-Odinson," announced the man. His voice grave and whisper-like. "I could take you out of here."

"To let me die? To cease?" asked a guarded Loki, lest his hopes be for nothing. He was ready for death, oh, he was so much yearning and ready for it. This loneliness and prison and despair and longing and regret and knowing he must have deserved to be punished to be in this place, he wanted out. Anywhere. Anyway. Anyhow.

His thoughts were scattered and broken. Though having a body and grasping the chair with white knuckles gave his mind some stability. He started clearing his head. This was real. It has got to be real. He could feel it, his hands rubbing over the chair and his clothes and his face and hair, hands roaming everywhere There was pain, physical pain when he pinched his arms.

It grounded him.

"I could. But no, this offer is for you to live," answered the entity, a hint of pained amusement in his voice. His dead green eyes reflected the suffering Loki felt, like he had found a kindred spirit. "This universe is dead. Wiped out clean, like so many others before and so many others after," explained the man. "I am burdened to be a witness to the end of all, a companion to Death until the time where Nothing becomes All." He gestured all around them. "I found you picking up the pieces of what remains in this dimension."

"Everything is dead?" Loki couldn't believe it. He had difficulty grasping the notion. His thoughts organizing themselves more, but still scrambled all over the place.

"No. If that were so, we wouldn't be having this conversation," the entity shaked his head. "There are infinite numbers of dimensions in the Multiverse. Which is why I believe Death will never cease. And so, I will never cease. Universes keep popping up like rabbits," joked the man in a whisper, a tired smile gracing his face. "It's such a chore."

There were other universes out there. Of course Loki knew about that. His mind providing memories of another time. He had been a scholar, and had always been fascinated with the Multiverse when he read about it in Asgard's library. Travelling through Yggdrasil's branches across the realms was one thing, but between universes? He could only hope he could one day be able to.

He closed his eyes to clear his thoughts. Everything was starting to focus. It felt less like a continuous ramble of never ending scathing words and memories, and more like a directed controlled flow. Like turning on the lights after being wandering an unknown place in total darkness. He rubbed his eyes, glad to have hands to move around. Anywhere was better than the Void, he concluded. He couldn't go back to the dark.

Loki opened his mouth to agree, but the man spoke before he could say anything. "Hear me out first before you say 'yes'. My name is Harry Potter, and I am the Master of Death," the entity introduced himself. "But I am tired of this existence. I never wanted to be immortal, to live forever. It's been too long without respite. Death has been created for this purpose and She may not feel it such a burden, but I was born a mortal human. It was not until Lady Death got it into Her head She wanted to be a Mother, that I came about." the immortal grimaced. "I don't blame Her, though. Given enough universes, you are willing to do everything and anything to stave off the boredom and loneliness. I understand her need to make Herself a family." Harry shaked his head. "What I am offering, however, is for you to take my place. You get to be Master of Death, and I get to cease."

"You want to be here? In the Void?" Loki couldn't understand. What he feared the most is Nothingness, and continued existence in the manner he had been being, which has been a long time, if his universe not longer existed. It was the worst not-existence unceasing he could imagine.

He wouldn't ever wish it on his worst enemy.

"We wouldn't just be switching places, if that's what you are wondering about," said Harry with more energy than he had showed previously, his eyes beginning to glint alight. It was the first time he had an idea like this, and he was eager to move forward to experiment with it. "We are lucky in that we are in my original universe. I would send you back in time… though, since here is outside time, it would be more accurate to say I would send you to a particular time. You would be taking over my life. From my birth, to the event that gave me the Master of Death title. Your soul would be mine, and it would live my life as if it were your own. You would essentially be me. That is the way I will escape Death's claim," he proclaimed. "If everything goes right, I will cease to exist when you become Master of Death, as there can only be one in all the Multiverse. My soul would never have existed in the first place."

Loki wasn't sure what kind of powers the title of Master of Death granted, but dominion over the souls didn't sound so farfetched. He worried for a moment that in another creation, he would grow so weary as to be desperate to offer the same to another Loki-like being. To escape the Void, only to fall into another wretched existence again.

"Not all souls are created equal, Loki Not-Odinson," the Master of Death read his mind. "Asgardians have more sturdy souls than mortals, so I wouldn't worry too much about that," Harry grinned, eyes reflecting new energy in them. "And no, I am not quite sure I can get away with this, but I am willing to try."