Chapter 1: Snap Goes the Mortal Coil

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own the source material from which this story is derived.

Author's Note: This is a new venture for me. If you have questions about this or any of my other stories, do not hesitate to PM me. If you have questions as to when I will update, please view the section in my profile with the words Self-Imposed Rules.

And before anyone questions too much this will be a Triad-Relationship Story. If you have a question about it look at the description of the story in my profile.

The prompt for this story originally came from Red Jacobson on the 3 or 4 Parts Harmony Yahoo group.

Please note that I have moved the World Cup to two weeks prior to when the original date was, this is to allow me to have a bit more slack as far as time in my buildup to events.

05/2018 Update: So here I am again trodding through familiar paths. This chapter has been edited and altered slightly as will the rest of the original seven chapters.

Enjoy

Of Death & Fate

Prologue: An Introspective Death at The World Cup

August 11, 1994, World Cup Stadium

He had been known by another name once. This was something he was most certain of at moments when he felt stillness in his conjured forms. In fact there were moments it seemed to float along the tip of his tongue, and with it a life full of family, friends, and possibly a lover. But those moments were fleeting compared to his current memory.

It had been well over a millennium since he had accepted his role. To his knowledge (passed down from the powers that be) he was little more than an observer. Because of his role at a particular time in people's lives he had been given a moniker that was quite unflattering in his opinion. Not that his opinion mattered as he was, after all, the entity most commonly referred to as Death. So long as there was life, he was there to witness its end on the 'earthly' plane. It was quite a bother that he had been labeled as such, as he considered himself quite the companion.

The odd thing was that, over his long and illustrious career, he had deviated from the rules set forth by 'the powers that be' a time or two. The governing body that loomed over him and the others like him did not seem to mind though. In fact, in some instances he felt encouraged in a way. That being said, he had not intervened with a human being's life in quite a while. Much of the time he focused on the other creatures that lived - the ones the human beings referred to as "animals". Except for cats - he hated those beasts with a passion, and the feeling was mutual he assumed.

His reasoning was that when he had interfered in human lives it usually led to problems for him. It bound that life to him in an inexplicable way that his own minders never seemed bothered enough to explain. But he was beginning to feel the need to intervene for the young man he was currently watching.

Harry James Potter.

He could remember the day he had first touched the boy's life. He had just observed the boy's parents meet their end. Unlike most souls with whom he interacted, the father had waited for the mother and then both had ignored him in favor of their infant. He had understood the parental nature of them watching over their child, but their next actions had ingrained the two in his memory. The boy's mother had gripped his cloak with an elegant hand, something very few had ever done, and forced him to meet her eyes. She had simply said in a voice that chilled the air between them, "He had best not follow us." For all the humans he had helped along their way, the woman had actually given him a cold sense of what consequences would happen should her demand not be met. It was a struggle for him to admit to her that it was not his decision to make especially after a quick glance to her hard-eyed husband.

He only 'interacted' with people under certain circumstances. Most human beings would not feel welcomed by his presence, which he understood. So a good bit of his time was spent quietly watching as they were greeted by loved ones ready to show them the next journey. To them he was never even a part of their experience in death.

The few he actively engaged usually fell into one of three categories.

There were the ones who stood defiantly against him, as if he had personally played a part in their demise. These people eventually realized the futility of their defiance. These were usually ones he had 'met' once before, but they would argue their importance. In the end they were always the ones who would claim the trickery of Death, though it was not as if he needed to play the puppeteer to the likes of them. More oft than not they were individuals who had not lived their life to its original end and had simply found their way to him as a fluke of their own making and simply returned to life moments after that initial demise.

There were the ones who simply watched him. Most of the time these individuals rarely caused a fuss, though there were some who usually circled around him in a studious fashion (which always left him feeling annoyed). But in the end they were usually very accepting and kind as he personally escorted them to their loved ones. He enjoyed the last part.

Then there were the few who greeted him happily. One of those he had met in his first century as an observer, Ignotus Peverell, would always be the most memorable member of that group for him. Though that was likely because the man had been too bloody cheeky, and had since found ways to 'visit' Death on a few occasions. And for the oddest reason the man had always looked at Death with a whimsical smile as they parted; as if he knew something beyond Death's scope of knowledge.

Death shook the head of the his conjured body to mix in with the humans. He turned his head to view the game that was going on above, below, and around them. When he turned back to the young man, he watched as the boy laughed and cheered amongst his friends. It was one of the few moments he had seen true unabidden joy on the boy's face.

In truth he had not originally paid much attention to the boy. His attention was solely focused on one Tom Marvolo Riddle. The supposed Dark Lord of his time. Death found him to be a pitiable soul…well soul would be a misnomer at the time the man came to be of interest. The man had sown his fields and his harvest would be an eternity of unknown. Death had not been able the gleam the final journey of Tom Riddle when he last conveined with The Powers That Be. A soul split once or twice could be repaired and given the ability to pass on to their journey. Riddle though- that man had sealed himself an end in which not even Death would have a direct hand.

The night when he had first met the boy, he had originally planned on just allowing the natural order of the world to pass. Then he noticed that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord had unintentionally split a piece of his soul into the boy. In anger, a feeling Death was not used to, he had found the Fates. Those cackling women had explained the role that the boy was supposed to play. Their "trail of branching paths" had taken on many different forms; many of them worse than the last. The only saving grace was that the boy would be the determining factor. Even with the Fates, the boy still had the freedom of choice in a sense. The women had even worn matching scowls at the fact that a few of the potential futures were muddled to them.

He had to, shamefully admit, that he had seen fit to take his anger out on a few of Tom Riddle's followers when they made their way from life. Though he could not harm those followers directly, scaring them with their own interpretations of who 'Death' was had ended up a treat for him in the moments of their deaths.

He still did not like how those 'women' intended to 'use' the young man. But he also knew better than to blame the women, as they were not much more than the grand diviners of Magic and The Powers That Be. The boy's life seemed to be one dash of salt after another on a festering wound. And, based on his interaction with the Fates, it seemed his life would most likely only get worse. Every time he spoke to the Fates, the more it seemed the boy lost an increasing number of loved ones and would eventually be forced to play the part of a grand martyr.

It was not as if he, the watcher known as Death, actually cared for the boy. At least he did not believe that to be so, but then again his constant checking over the boy during his early years in that wretched household would speak otherwise—even to him.

It was this revelation which forced Death to appear at this stadium, surrounded by cheering fans who had gathered here so that he may watch the young man 'in person'.

He observed for quite some time, right until there was an eruption as one of the two team won the event. But it was not the cheering that really caught his attention. It was the whispered words given by one man to another. The two belonged to 'him' -his followers.

Death could see the flaxen head of hair and the ebony cane with a serpents head—Death knew that man. Lucius Malfoy. He had watched as that man attempted to harm the boy no less than a year and a half ago—if it hadn't been for that kindly little elf, Lucius may have succeeded.

The other man was also well known to him. Antonin Dolohov. A man who had been the last image of quite a few of the people he had helped along during the last Wizarding War. Death was quite sure the man had no moral base when it came to killing. The man neither enjoyed nor cared for his victims. He sought only to learn more efficiency in each life ended by his hand.

Not far from the two men stood another that Death found more deserving of the name of Death. Walden Macnair. An executioner by trade and disgustingly enough the man loved his work. He had sent many animals (though that term was broad to Macnair and his friends) past Death. The man reeked of the vaguely metallic scent of blood and looked out of place in the 'High Society' box with the Minister for Magic.

Death had taken in their hushed tones and focused until their words were as clear as if they were standing next to him. He knew their plans for after the event.

If he did nothing, Death would be forced to bear witness more people lose their lives because of the petty group's planned actions. And the path divined by the Fates would be even more solidified for Harry Potter.

He watched as the men smiled at their presumed brilliance.

They planned on garnering favor with their 'Lord' after their failures since the last war. They believed it was time for 'their right as pure-bloods' to be expressed.

Death seethed. What they had planned would bring about loss of life on a larger scale than the last time. The Fates had not been lying when they had told him of their readings and interactions with the wizarding world.

He could not allow this to happen to the boy—or to all of the others.

As Death had turned and surveyed the still cheering crowd, he noticed a few people he knew the Fates had mentioned in passing—and then it smashed into him like the charmed ball from the game that had just ended. A nudge from somewhere else had pushed against him and granted his unspoken request to help Harry Potter.

Death felt a smile of his own creep along his face at the feeling that just passed through his consciousness. He would intervene in the boy's life, but unlike certain other forces that had their hands in the boy's destiny he actually had the boy's quality of living in mind.

As his grin grew wider he faded away from the celebrating masses and made his way to visit those mischievous Fates. Those 'women' despite their best efforts could not hide their true nature from him; in the end those women loved a good 'happily ever after' and Death would do his part to make sure Harry Potter got even the smallest version of that. The fates would (quite literally) jump at the chance to join him in fixing this problem. The only real wrinkle was, he knew they would stretch the boundaries of what he felt was acceptable.

Of Death & Fate

Chapter One: Snap Goes the Mortal Coil

Part One: A Not-So-Great Event

August 11-12, 1994, Late night/Early morning at the World Cup Grounds

Harry could not figure out where he was in the valley of burning tents. One second he had been with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione running towards the forest, and the next he was being knocked nearly senseless by the stampeding crowd. He had watched for a few moments as the rush of people blurred in front of him. It only took a few moments before he realized he could not find his wand and he was lost. If he had been honest with himself, he was not surprised by the turn of events. Given his unnatural ability to find himself in situations of extreme danger, he supposed being upright and breathing was a notch in the win column.

Then he heard the scream.

He had turned his head to the noise and he could make the barest outline of a young girl surrounded by the hooded figures that had caused the entire mess.

One of the figures was busy firing off streaks of flames within a few inches of her limbs. Another was throwing minor hexes directly at her. They were toying with her like Dudley and his gang used to do to kids at the park…namely Harry. She couldn't have been more than ten or eleven years old, but these hooded marchers were effectively cats playing with a tiny, lone mouse.

Harry could not be sure how or why his body began to move towards them in an exponential pace. The closer he got, though; some deep reservoir began to boil over inside him as they picked up the tempo of their casting. He heard them saying things as he approached; things that did not bode well.

"Cyrus' daughter she is." One of them said with a gruff Northern accent.

"Yes, well…maybe now he'll realize the unfortunate consequences of his decisions." Another commented.

By the time he had made it to two tent spaces away he saw the one who looked to be leading them lift his wand and begin a curse. Harry's instincts took over instantly and the next thing he knew he had hurled himself towards the girl in a futile attempt to roll her out of the way.

He had succeeded; in theory. He heard a word starting with "Cru…", and then his entire body felt like searing hot pins were being slowly pulled out and pushed back into every nerve ending. He found, through a break in the waves of pain, that he had ended up facing the girl with his front to the ground.

Up close it was easy to see that whatever they had been casting on her was not as severe as what he dove in front of. A few small cuts and some dirt was the only damage he had time to notice in between bouts of seizures caused by whatever curse he was under. Her eyes though, were wide with fear as she watched him.

Even with all the pain he tried his best to give her a smile. It did not make complete sense, but it was the type of thing he would expect Sirius to do even in the situation of being tortured. And at that moment a bit of whimsy was desperately needed.

Then the pain got worse for a moment before disappearing.

"Oh, a dashing young rogue to play the hero!" The voice said, "Tell me young man; does our hero have a name?" A boot covered heel caught his shoulder and roughly flipped him over to face the men as the spell thankfully ended. The man gasped and then in a voice Harry found somewhat familiar exclaimed, "Oh…Brothers! We have a fortuitous turn of events!" The man placed his foot on top of Harry's chest and pressed down as he spoke, "I present to you Harry Potter…The Boy Who Lived." The others hooded marchers inched closer to Harry. "Oh the Dark Lord will reward us all handsomely for this." Harry heard murmurs and took a chance to look at the girl. She was frozen in her spot, but her blue eyes were wide and frantic.

"Brother!" Harry heard the man exclaim yet again. Harry caught sight of the speaker grasping one of the other's shoulders. "I believe you have a certain curse you've been waiting to test. Perhaps Mr. Potter here would be so kind as to allow you to try it on him." The man's foot left his chest, and Harry watched as the other lifted his wand. Suddenly there was purple spellfire flashing through him and Harry's lower right stomach felt like it had been run through with a molten hot piece of steel.

Harry gasped and saw the shoulders of the men shake in laughter. His side was in searing pain and he was quite sure he was about to die.

Then something odd happened. The tent that had been directly to the left of them suddenly collapsed and flung fresh cinders in a perfect arc onto the men surrounding him. He watched as the cloaks of at least half of the men caught fire. In the midst of their panicked casting of aquamenti, Harry felt his body move on its own accord.

The next thing he knew far from the still blazing tents, and the girl was cradled in his arms. If he had been thinking properly at that moment he would have questioned what had happened, or possibly why he was carrying the girl. But the only reverberating thought in his mind was the desperate need to make it to the forest and its safety. He knew the Weasleys and Hermione were there. His vision had begun tunneling and the blood sliding down his side started to really make itself known.

Just as he caught sight of the tree line the sky lighting up drew his attention. A green skull with a snake protruding the mouth lit up the area in a sickening pale hue. His legs had finally had enough, and though he didn't drop to his knees as they seemed to want, he did come to a complete stop.

With the blood pounding in his ears he was not really surprised that he did not hear the sound of the people that were now circling them with wands drawn. But these people were wearing the red robes of the Ministry. 'Aurors! Thank Merlin it's not more of those hooded gits!,' Harry thought as his vision tightened even more.

Then Mr. Weasley and another man had shoved past the Aurors shouting things Harry could not hear over the thrumming whoosh inside his head. The other man held out his arms for the girl. Harry saw her respond by reaching her own arms out, and Harry did not have the energy to question.

The minute she was in the other man's arms Harry noticed how the older man's eyes widened at the amount of blood on the girls night dress. He didn't hear any of the questions the man began asking even though he was standing so close to the man now cradling the girl. A woman and another girl appeared next to the man, and Harry vaguely recognized the other girl as someone from Hogwarts.

Harry's head was getting light.

His initial burst of adrenaline started crashing, and the pain in his side slammed into him again as the blood in his ears roared to a deafening level.

He watched as the sobbing girl pointed at him. Then Harry saw that all eyes turned to him. Mr. Weasley was next to him in an instant and his lips were moving. Harry tried to catch the questions, but then he felt the warm liquid saturating his shirt. As he had looked down he saw exactly why everyone looked so worried. Judging by the blood staining his shirt he was lucky to be standing, let alone conscious.

That had apparently been the magic thought as he had felt his knees buckle underneath him, and Mr. Weasley catching him as he fell.

He had been able make out the images of a screaming Hermione as she was being held back by one of the Twins. Ron was being held back by the other. Then there were the three oldest Weasley brothers, Charlie had wrapped Ginny up in his stout form to keep her from seeing him as Bill and Percy rushed to help their father.

He had looked back to his best friends. Hermione and Ron had been fighting so hard to get to him. Then he noticed a figure standing off to the side. It was a man, but unlike the other chaotic throng of people he had just stood there in a muggle suit and stared at Harry. There was a smile on his face. It was actually a comforting sort of smile.

His last thoughts before everything ceased to exist had been of how typical it was that a quidditch match ended with him like this.

Of Death & Fate

Part Two: This is the Sound of Voices Three

He had not been sure how exactly he got to where he was when he opened his eyes. He was just sure that there was very large room and people milling around him in what appeared to be an entrance of some sort. In front of him there was a portrait of a man. The man had a kind smile stretched across dark skin. His face was open and comforting.

Harry leaned in to read the inscription.

"May your pains ease and your maladies cease." -Mungo Bonham, Founder and Healer 1560-1659

Harry pulled back and sighed. He was in St. Mungos hospital.

Then it had all come flashing back. The attack, the girl, the men in mask and cloaks, and the pain. He had quickly he put a hand to his side only to find a dry shirt and no pain. When he pulled up the hem of Dudley's old shirt, Harry found the wound. It looked old though. The skin was taught where the scar went over the plane of his stomach and broached the area of his hip, but it was healed.

Then Harry felt a hand on his arm. There was a woman winding her hand into the crook of his left arm. She was pretty, very pretty. She smiled at him, almost as if she had heard his inner thought.

Then Harry noticed two more women to his right side. They looked similar to the other woman. Their hair, the same dark hue, and their eyes the same bright shade of grey. When he met the one that held his arm's eyes, he had to pull back slightly from how deep they seem to go. She had just smiled at him again with a slight shake of her head.

Harry prepared himself to ask them something when the one holding his left arm began to sing. Well to call it singing would not be right. Harry was not sure of the term, but she was sort of vocalizing a song without words. It did not detract from the beautiful sound she crooned out.

Harry looked around to see the attention she must be drawing, but no one seemed to notice them.

Then she turned him and made him walk alongside her. Each step seemed to bring them directly down a hallway in a blur of motion. Down close to ten hallways and up five flights of stairs; all the while the woman kept to her song and the other two followed.

Harry had just regained his wits when he noticed where they were. In a semi-cramped room filled with people. People he knew and a few he did not.

The feeling of the room was clear even with the song the woman crooned drowning out all other sound, worry and tension. Most everyone had a sombre expression. Even the Twins were sat next to Percy with slightly bowed heads and sans their usual grins.

Ginny sat in between her parents and Ron. The oldest two Weasley brothers were in a corner watching over the room.

Hermione was cushioned between two people. Harry faintly remembered meeting the two before second year. Her mother and father. He felt like he should have remembered their names.

Remus sat next to Dumbledore at a table; both washed of color. Remus looked to be nearly breaking the tea cup he had palmed in his right hand. The stark outline of his scars were nearly as bad as when he would return to teach after the full moon the year before.

Harry noticed the young girl he had saved from the hooded marchers. She was on the lap of the man who took her from Harry, her dress no longer bloodied. The man had his free arm around the woman who was, Harry assumed, his wife and the mother of the girl. Then Harry saw the other girl. He recognized her then. Greengrass, that was her name. Daphne Greengrass. She was a Slytherin in his year. And quite obviously the sister of the younger girl he had helped if their looks were any indication.

He made to speak, but noticed that no one paid attention to the woman currently fastened to his arm even though her voice was clearly loud enough for them to hear. He looked to the woman and she gave a sad shake of her head as she continued to croon.

Harry stood there for quite a long time watching the people in the room. There seemed to be an odd passage of time. One moment the room was a flurry of abrupt, small movements as time blurred. The next moment Harry could literally count the seconds as they passed. Then it would start all over again.

There were moments when someone would move around every so often or talk. Harry unfortunately still could not hear them. He was not sure if it was because of the woman or if something else was wrong. They obviously could not see him as someone would look his way every now and again. The first few times someone had he tried to step forward only to be held in place by the woman.

The oldest Weasley men, ending with Percy, had made their way to Remus and Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley had stopped to speak with the father of the girl he had helped. The two knew each other if the way Mr. Weasley had offered (and received) a handshake to the other man indicated anything.

Ron and Ginny were just held by their mother as she rocked them both. Ginny had fallen asleep thankfully. The Twins kept close to their younger brother, but did not speak.

Remus did not seem up to speaking either from the looks of it. Harry worried about Sirius when he saw the look of grim anxiousness on Remus' face.

Hermione was alternated between her mother and father every once and a while. At one point the young girl he had helped walked over to her and gave her a hug. The room had warmed a bit at that, but the small effect dwindled not long after.

The woman next to him appeared to have endless lungs as she never actually quit her singing. The other two just watched the room. Each of them focused on two points, but Harry was interrupted from figuring out where they were looking when Dumbledore stood and made his way to the relative centre of the room.

Harry watched as the man spoke. Dumbledore's eyes were wet and red, despite his efforts with the handkerchief he had been using. The man was making small gestures with his hands. Seemingly making a futile attempt to alleviate the thick tension from the room.

The man looked to be at the crescendo of his speech when suddenly Harry saw Hermione stand. Harry watched as his female best friend said words to the Headmaster, and judging by her body language and multiple deep breaths her words were particularly forceful. Whatever it was seemed to shock everyone else in the room. Molly Weasley's eyes were round. Ginny had woken up and openly gaped at Hermione. Ron sat doing a mix of what both his mother and sister had done. Remus' eyes had narrowed towards the Headmaster.

Then Hermione rushed from the room despite her parent's attempts to grab her. She ran right past Harry. He made to leave as well only to be held by the woman a moment longer. Then Daphne Greengrass passed within a hair's breadth of him as she followed Hermione's path.

One of the other women suddenly started mimicking her crooning sister. Their voices connected in harmony and the sound washed over him; momentarily distracting him from his worry.

Harry then felt the woman pull him again. They moved right behind Greengrass as she rounded corner after corner until she found Hermione.

Harry stared slack jawed at his best friend. She was sobbing openly in an empty corner of a deserted hallway.

Then he watched as Greengrass approached Hermione and placed a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met briefly before Hermione buried her head into the other girl's shoulder, and began to shake them both with the force of her sobs.

The fact that Hermione allowed the girl to console her was surprising to Harry, but that the other girl looked to be whispering to Hermione as she tightened her arms in a comforting way threw him completely off kilter.

He saw the way that Greengrass gripped hard to Hermione as well; it did not seem to be for just Hermione's sake. Both of them were crying and seemed to connect on a level that Harry could physically see. His head spun as he watched them.

Harry had never been much for open emotion. Even in the moments he lost control, he still felt more, deep below the surface that always scared him. Between the two of them though, his best friend and a girl he had never spoken to before, he witnessed something that actually made him want to be free with himself.

He made to edge himself closer, but the first woman held tight to his arm. Then the third woman met the other two's voices in a blended harmony. The second woman released his arm and moved over to Hermione's back. The third woman mimicked the second as she stood behind Daphne. Then they each placed a hand on the centre of each girl's back.

Harry felt his eyes widen as both girls suddenly lit with a glow. A brilliant wash of colours radiated from the two of them in eldritch arcs. Every happy moment, the few he had, almost paled in comparison to the way watching them made him feel. The song the women were singing only compounded on his emotional state at that moment. He felt a few wet lines make their way down his face.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his chest. Harry looked down and saw the first woman's hand had moved from his arm to lie over his heart. And suddenly, he both felt and saw the glow come from him as well. The same brilliant crash of colours. Then he watched as an ethereal chord stretched from his chest, and then split ever so slightly as it connected to both Hermione and Greengrass. He heaved in breath as he felt his pulse meet the rhythm of the pulsating glow.

Something must have caught the girls' attention because they broke their hug briefly, and in that moment Harry witnessed that a chord stretched between the two of them as well.

A tug on his arm brought his eyes to meet the first woman's gaze. Then he felt an odd shift in the air around him.

Of Death & Fate

Part Three: This is the Sound of One Voice

August 12-13, 1994, Time indeterminate St. Mungos Hospital

He found himself in a room where a group of healers, if their green robes were any indication, furiously worked on someone. He could still hear the women singing, but they were nowhere to be seen

Harry felt his stomach drop as he caught sight of his own face, pale and ashen, on the table in front of him.

A healer poured potions and smeared dittany onto the slow-to-close wound on his body's stomach. Another poured multiple potions into his mouth, forcing as much down his throat as possible. There was a third one who wiped and scrubbed at copious amount of blood from his forehead.

"I apologize for making you see this." A voice caught Harry's attention. It's the same man he saw right before- "I'm especially sorry for being the one who placed you in this situation." The man turned to him, "and before you ask, I wish to apologize for my abrupt actions. My name, as most know me, is Death."

Harry felt himself freeze in a literal state of shock. The man directed his attention back to Harry's body on the table. From the side Harry could see that the man was young. Early thirties at the most and resembling an American actor with dark hair and bright eyes Aunt Petunia had gushed over with one of the other ladies from Privet Drive.

"You have to understand that this is an unusual situation for me as well—Harry." The man—Death smiled as he turned back to Harry. "I do not usually interact with your kind in this way."

Death took a step towards Harry.

"Umm" Harry felt it slip from his mouth. His stiffened shoulders did not go unnoticed by Death. He sent a forgiving smile towards Harry and moved back.

"Am I—dead?" Harry asked.

"Well, that is a complicated question—with an equally complicated answer." Death motioned towards Harry's body on the table. "You are both, and you are neither." Death gave him a tight smile. "Your body, as you can see, is still alive—if barely. And you are also here with me." Death moved to lean against the empty cabinet, no doubt its empty state was due to the mess of phials that littered the floor next to the table his body lay on at the moment.

"Oh—okay?" Harry tilted his head as he stared at the healers working on his body; he wondered how long he had been on that table with them working on him given the fatigue they seemed to be dealing with as they focused on their task.

"There are many things that will be able to happen now." Death's voice brought Harry's attention back to him. "My companions —" Death motioned to the door, where Harry saw the three women from before stood curiously smiling at him, "and I have seen fit to that—these are the Fates Harry." The women giggled slightly and curtsied. "They're not much for speaking—especially to your kind. That's for good reason though; it would most likely do odd things to you in the long run to converse with them in such a manner." Death turned and gave an odd look to the women. "Though I'm sure with their propensity for theatrics, they made bringing you here quite the spectacle in your eyes." The one who had lead Harry to this point stuck her tongue out at Death, who gave a long suffering smirk as he rolled his eyes.

Harry felt lost at this point, and a bit angry.

"Sir!—erm Death?" Harry tried to intone as much courage into is voice as he could. "Why...Why am I here?" Harry met Death's eyes and waited for the response.

"You are here to die, and then live." Death smiled at what Harry was sure was the confused look on his face. "Cryptic—I know, but it is how things must be explained." Death moved from leaning on the cabinet to stand in front of Harry. "From this point forward your life will be your own—if you so choose." Harry was set to question this, but Death raised his hand. "Your life—has never been yours—at least not completely. I have seen every horrible thing that has passed. I have seen those happy moments; too few there were for you." Harry noticed an odd look pass over Death's face, and from his peripheral he could see the women—Fates—soften in their own expressions. "I've seen what happened that night; I was there when your parents move on." Harry snapped his head back to meet Death's hazel eyes, but did not speak. "I've witnessed every moment of pain you felt at the hands of so many people, your relatives." Harry stiffened instantly. "I've seen every moment since your received your letter to that school—since you found out about the other part of your world." Death smiled and stepped closer, but this time Harry did not flinch. "I've seen all those moments—Harry. I'm not known for spending that much time with a human—but for you I made an exception—and now—" Death moved a hand to Harry's shoulder, "now I see fit to make another—with the help of my companions."

"An exception?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but that will have to wait to be explained, as even I cannot stop time...at least not completely." Death turned Harry towards his body on the table. "And we are nearing the moment I started all of this."

Harry was about to ask what he had meant, when suddenly his body convulsed on the table and the healers fought to hold him still. The putrid looking substance boiled from his body's head and then spewed forth a black haze that shrieked loudly, but apparently not loud enough for the Healers to take notice. Harry watched as Death raised a hand towards the amorphous dark cloud and seemed to vanish it. Then his body went limp and the healers began to cast spell after spell on his body.

"What—" Harry tried to ask, but then noticed the small, shriveled form that lay next to the table. It was grey and was reaching out to him. Harry met the small infant-like figure's pale red eyes.

"Not even I can help him Harry. That is what is left of Tom Marvolo Riddle." Death said quietly.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked in a whisper as his eyes were torn between watching the supposed form of Voldemort and what he could only guess was his own death.

"Yes—the things people strive for and what they achieve can be similar, but have unforeseen consequences." Death looked at the small body as Harry noticed it began to grey and float away in pieces like a burnt piece of paper. "Tom Riddle achieved his greatest ambition; he is beyond my ability to interact with. I'm not actually the one who determines death Harry, I am merely the witness and guide to those who wish for one. And yet I know the things he has done to his soul can never be undone. The acts gave him greatness, but at the cost of his sanity and eternity." Death pulled Harry to look at his own body on the table.

His body was limp on the table and the healers and ceased in their frantic motions.

"From this point forward Harry you will be making your own choices, and you will notice quite a few things are different." Death smiled again and Harry heard the women—Fates—giggle. "I cannot explain exactly how we are involved in your world Harry, but I can tell you this: you are the writer of your life. All decisions are yours, and while I may have sent a wind that altered the course of your life…it is your life to sail into, embrace that journey."

"But aren't I—dead—now?" Harry asked.

Death chuckled slightly.

"Yes, but you won't be soon." Death grinned. "I would tell you more—so much more—but you won't even remember our conversation. At most whatever those three-" Death tilted his head towards the Fates, "-did before they brought you here; you might remember that."

Harry felt just as confused as before, but the Fates started to hum that song again and his mind jumped back to the hallway with Hermione and Greengrass.

"Hermione—and Daphne Greengrass—there was this light—do you know what that was?" Harry felt himself stutter out.

Death smiled again as he nodded. Harry watched as Death moved a hand from his shoulder to cover Harry's heart, much like the woman (or Fate) had done earlier. Then once again he watched as light emanated from his body, and then the tethered chords shot from his chest and stretched past the Fates and the door out into the hallway.

"I'd rather not ruin the chance for you to learn yourself—but it's something that neither I nor my companions could have done—it's something only the three of you can understand; something that could only be a blessing of Magic should you choose to pursue it,and only the three of you could build should you choose. It is simply what is possible." Death stepped in closer to Harry and whispered. "From here on out it's up to you. Do good, Harry Potter, do good and enjoy your life."

Harry then felt Death push him. He fell past lights and images that were foreign, but seemed familiar. In an instant he believed he knew everything, but then as quickly as it came, it left. The world went dark and silent.

Of Death & Fate

Death allowed himself a moment of wistful thought, he had done something new, and for him, that in itself was a novel idea. He watched the boy fall and the healers prepare to leave the room. He then enjoyed the way the healers heads all snapped back to Harry as he suddenly gasped for air.

He turned to the still humming Fates.

"Shall we ladies? Our part is done for now." He said. He felt a curious feeling as the three stepped up to him and two of them looped their arms through his. The third moved towards the door and smiled at him as they faded away from the room. He had learned early on to never trust the fates when they smiled in that way. It never boded well for him.

Of Death & Fate

A/N: Next up will be a wake up, conversation, and interesting developments for Harry and those in his room.