1 Falling asleep and waking up
Death and Fate were never kind to humans... But there were those with enough greed to gain their favor.
Back then, when he was simply naive and tired, Harry had long since abandoned the ambition to do something for himself. The capability to be selfish was stripped from him, a man who's entire life was lived for others. That was the purpose of the chosen one; Harry Potter . He lived for others, not himself.
Thus, the day he died at the age of 130, he felt as if he had no regrets. His cold and limp hand held by his own grandchildren, and great grandchildren weep for him. Harry has outlived most of his friends. Ron had died first at the age of 97, Hermione followed him 4 years later. His beloved Ginny did not live past 100. Harry had lived for 30 years without his friends and wife.
He lived. He lived for the sake of those around him. His children were close to death as well, but he endured the pain and lived longer
Thus, when all the life he had was squeezed out of him, Harry Potter died at the age of 130, outliving even the great Albus Dumbledore.
Harry had never planned to wake up, but he opened his eyes to his seventeen year old self. He was back in King's Cross, painted completely white. It was silent, before the great hero of the wizarding world turned towards the cloaked figure waiting for him.
Death had come to grit him after Harry had not visited the entity for a century.
"Long time no see." Harry wryly chuckled. It had been more than a hundred years since he faced death. As a teenager, death was all he knew. Yet as he grew, he understood that there were many things to do besides die.
"I suppose you're here to take me to the afterlife…" Harry murmured, closing his eyes. Death was silent, not speaking to him, but Harry could feel death move towards him. He shuddered at the sensation of the entity's presence. A mixture of hot and cold, welcoming and hostile. Death could be either to others. It could be mercy or a punishment. To Harry, death was both. Death was a punishment for failure, at the same time it was his freedom.
"You're not here for that… aren't you."
It wasn't a question. He was Harry bloody Potter. Nothing was easy nor simple for him. There had to be some sort of trouble in everything he did.
Thus death outstretched its hand towards him. Death was Harry's old friend.
"Do you wish to live?" Death asked, as if knowing what the answer was.
Harry blinked in surprise, hesitant before answering. "Not particularly." He didn't need to love again. He had done everything a man could in a single lifetime. He had fought the dark lord for the entirety of his teenage years. He killed a Basilisk at the age of twelve. He helped his fugitive godfather escape from dementors, even mastering the patronus at the age of thirteen. He won the Triwizard tournament and resisted the imperius curse at fourteen. Endured the pain of a blood quill at fifteen. Witnessed Albus Dumbledore die at sixteen, and defeat the dark lord at seventeen. Became head of the auror department by the time he was 26.
His life was eventful— but that didn't always mean it was good.
"But do you wish to fulfill all the desires you could not? As master of death you have a choice…to die or to live once again."
That caused Harry to falter.
Harry was never supposed to be selfish. He wasn't allowed to be selfish. He was raised as a pig for slaughter, raised to be a child who would die for the world. He couldn't be so greedy to think of his own dreams. He lived for others, not himself. Harry was taught, raised, and born to understand and fulfill others wants and needs. The moment he was condemned to the fate of a prophecy, his entire life was not his own.
The hand offered was not held for a long time, as Harry stared at Death. Truly, death was merciful and cruel. The mere concept of greed was not part of Harry, trembling as he grit his teeth and stared at the hand in great hesitation.
He wasn't greedy.
"It is okay… to be greedy."
"I'm not supposed to be so tactless."
Harry sighed. He was accustomed to being humble, thoughtful, and absolutely mindful of the wants and needs of those around him. Being selfish ruined his image as the heroic young man that had saved the wizarding world at seventeen. He was the father of four wonderful children and grandfather of many grandchildren that those four had sired. He was… a humble and… selfless man.
"It is okay to want… Do you wish to live?"
Death once again, tone much more urging.
His hand trembled, hesitantly accepting Death's offer. Harry Potter has lived for more than a century. He had outlived so many people, yet he knew that he never lived for himself. Thus he succumbed to the greedy desire of wanting to live once more. The greed his own relatives had squashed when he was young, the greed Dumbledore had worked so hard to get rid of simply burst and all Harry could feel was the need to want everything in his hands.
"Would I get to live for myself? Will I be able to be who I am?" Harry asked, as if Death would lie to him. It was a thought that would forever be wrong. Because in the end, Death was always honest to him.
Death simply chuckled, guiding Harry towards the train. The experience was similar to when Harry had first entered Kings Cross in his first year.
"That is ultimately up to you, young master."
He has lived, over and over again, wishing to fulfill his own desires. He had grown in such a time, understanding his own greed and desires. Harry had lived as completely different people with different wants and needs. Although similar to who he originally was, Harry had grown.
In the beginning he was hesitant to show his greed. He hadn't known it would be the beginning of his own future.
Harry had discovered such a thing by the simple taste of it in his second life. His life as James Potter's younger brother, Malcolm Charlus Potter.
The first time Harry, Malcolm, was allowed to be greedy was when his parents had first asked him what kind of toys he would like. He was five that time. James had even helped him pick out what he wanted, and all he could think of was if he was even allowed.
He was allowed to want.
Harry Potter, now Malcolm Potter, had brought home 7 toys that day, content and satisfied with himself.
The next time he had felt a complete sense of greed was 6 years after that when he was eleven. His father, Fleamont, had happily allowed him to pick out any books he wished to bring with him. Malcolm had been greedy when picking out the books he wanted, a variety of potions and transfiguration books.
Malcolm had gone to Hogwarts, happily spending his time with James, who was a year older than him, and the rest of the marauders.
The next time Harry felt greedy was when he first met Lily Evans. His wish to spend time with her and James grew with every moment he had felt of his parents in his first life. He had been greedy, asking Lily for help in his lessons, treating her like family, and inevitably having her as his sister-in-law.
His greed grew more and more.
James and Lily had survived, Malcolm had been their secret keeper and never left Godric's hollow. Malcolm had lived with Lily and James the entire time the fidelius charm was active, never leaving and taking care of his nephew, his previous self.
It had been an odd experience at that time, babysitting himself.
His life as Malcolm had been happy, until he had died fighting death eaters. His death had been a catalyst to Voldemort's defeat.
Thus, in the arms of his older brothers and sister, Malcolm died with a smile on his face.
"I'll… say hi to Reggie for you…"
Malcolm Potter died, unable to keep his promise to Sirius. He couldn't say hi to Regulus, once again standing before the train and smiling at Death.
Harry had decided to live again.
His greed could not be satisfied.
In his third life, Harry woke up into the body of five year old Arcturus Black.
Harry was absolutely confused in this life. He hadn't been raised in a traditionally pureblood home in the previous two lives. Being a Black meant stricter tutorage, much more specific hobbies, and talents to be perfectly honed. His etiquette had improved well in this life, considering he was the grandfather of Sirius and Regulus. Regardless of that, Arcturus had grown to be a sort of prodigy due to Harry's memories of his past lives.
The third life of Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin, following the tradition of his family. He was the epitome of it and had learned of how the Slytherins operated. As Arcturus, he was much more greedy than his life as Malcolm. He was a Black after all, destined to be the next lord. Arcturus had been greedy, taking everything he wanted no matter the cost. He had been greedy his entire life. He was praised, worshiped, and over all treated as the future lord he was destined to be. Arcturus' grew to be rather manipulative and cruel.
Even when he began to miss the feeling of having a sibling, his greed did not disperse and like always, he had gotten what he wanted. When he was seventeen, Arcturus' mother announced she was pregnant with their second child. Arcturus became the older brother of Dorea Black, Charlus Potter's future wife and James Potter's aunt.
"Take care of her Arcturus." Hesper Black told her son, little Dorea, in her arms. "She is your only sibling."
Arcturus gazed down at the small child in his mother's arms. Only a few days old, and yet he could sense the magic forming within her. He could help but smile, slowly taking the child from his mother's grasp as he cooed lovingly at it. His mother and father sighing in relief at the sight of their ruthless son melting at the sight of his sister.
"My precious little Dorea. If you ever wish for the world, tell your older brother and I will give it to you." Arcturus said, a promise that had sent shivers down his family's spines.
As years had passed, Arcturus was still greedy, but no longer was it just for himself. Dorea was like the sun to him, a star that he protected from everyone else. It has been Arcturus who had personally sent her off to Hogwarts once his parents grew too weak to leave the comfort of their home. It had been Arcturus who pampered and spoiled her rotten. It had been Arcturus who danced with her when she had come of age. It had been Arcturus who stood beside Charlus as their father gave Dorea away, to wed his brother in law.
It had been Arcturus who his sister last saw when she died.
He had been greedy and lived longer than when he was Malcolm. His life lasted almost as long as when he had been Harry Potter, dying when he had been at 100 years old.
Once again, Harry died then chose to live another life.
In Harry's fourth life, he had woken up as Clarisse Laurent, a French muggleborn. Harry had disliked this life. Clarisse Laurent was around the same age as James Sirius, born in the august of 2004. While she was first starting Beauxbatons, Harry would be suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.
Clarisse was born into a family that reacted negatively to her magic. Her father avoided her after she turned eleven, her mother once tried to drag her to the church to be exorcised, and her older brother who mercilessly bullied her. They were a considerably religious family, his mother worse than his father.
She attended Beauxbatons and experienced the discrimination of the purebloods to muggleborns. Clarisse had despised them. She hated them all for several reasons that simply traced back to her origins. She was treated much differently, but Clarisse Laurent was a muggleborn with average looks compared to the veela-like students of Beauxbatons. There was a teacher who detested her for her blood and appearance, favoring the more influential students— purebloods.
She hated the muggles for not accepting and understanding magic. She hated the bigoted purebloods whose blood was diluted and filthier than hers. In this life, she began to understand that the lines between magical and non magical weren't too big. Muggles and purebloods were bigoted, narrow-minded, and utterly stupid when it comes to one another. On one hand, Wizards had the upper hand when it came to mystical prowess. The capability to see the future and perform otherworldly magic was something the wizards had as an advantage. On the other hand, Muggles outnumbered them and were more advanced. Nuclear weapons had already existed in Clarisse's generation, and those bombs would certainly wipe them out.
Despite that, Clarisse Laurent was ruthless and was a prodigy just like Arcturus. With a perfect mastery that even most purebloods could not surpass, she trampled on the people who had ridiculed her. Upon graduating in her seventh year, Clarisse Laurent's speech was filled with condemnation hidden within sugary words of thanks. Her malice beneath a sweet honey-like tone that had sent shivers up the spines of those who had bullied her.
Thus, Clarisse Laurent, a muggleborn, had forced several pureblood families to their knees and had them worship her like a god. Her greed was not satisfied, as she razed through the french ministry and took control. She had become minister by the time she was 27, becoming the boss of most of the people that had cursed at her for being a 'mudblood'. She had been far too satisfied in that life.
"Let it be known that blood will not matter in war. It is to be the predator or the prey. Mudblood I am, but I swear on my magic that I will have you all down on your knees begging for mercy." Clarisse had said such words when she was in her seventh year, and her promise was fulfilled.
Clarisse Laurent died at the age of 98, content with a hint of malice as she wrote her will.
Harry woke up in King's Cross again, filled with malice and excitement as he moved on to the next life. His greed and malice grew, until insanity had come to him.
In Harry's sixth life, he was reborn as Sirius Black's illegitimate son, Orpheus Black. He was Sirius' bastard child with a Russian woman, Nadia Markova. Sirius had been drunk in a bar, eighteen years old and a fool. Nadia was frustrated with work, twenty years old and drunk.
In the end, Nadia found out she was pregnant two months after her night with Sirius. Having tracked down the man when he was a year old, Sirius had found out he had a son. Fear had swallowed Sirius, almost disowning Orpheus until realization had come to him in the form of his memories. Sirius feared becoming like parents, thus participating in raising him. That is, until he was arrested.
Nadia had gotten close to Sirius, she never fell in love, but she cared for him as her friend and the father of her child. Thus, she had frequently sent letters to Azkaban about Orpheus, always stating that she believed he was innocent. Orpheus had lost his father when he was four after all.
Orpheus had been furious with himself when he couldn't save Sirius, his godfather, now his own father. Thus he attended Durmstrang in his sixth life, diligently studying the dark arts once again, just like when he was Arcturus. He was a Black once more, and determined to live up to the noble name. The Markov family was no normal family either. They were a noble house in Russia, but not on the same level as the Blacks. Perhaps the Lestranges, but not the Blacks.
"Matushka, will I ever see my father again?" Orpheus once asked his mother when he was twelve, during a quiet and calming yule. Nadia brought him into a warm embrace, caressing his pitch black wavy hair.
"One day… one day you will…"
As Orpheus, Harry was his own godbrother. With his own determination, he had gotten in contact with his other self when he was in his fifth year, making the other Harry Potter twelve. They had regularly corresponded throughout the years and when Harry was in third year, the boy had found out they were godbrothers. Harry was absolutely delighted, constantly writing to Orpheus during the summer.
The Triwizard tournament had started in Harry's fourth year and Orpheus was in his seventh year. It was the first time the two personally met, which Orpheus immediately darted towards Harry with an absolute fondness that had his younger self feeling giddy. Orpheus had been able to meet his father during that time— it had been a messy crying session between father, son, and godson.
Orpheus was Durmstrangs champion, to which he had taken advantage every way to keep his god brother safe. He had been cruel towards Karkaroff, snapping at the man when he tried to help and storming back to Harry. The two had worked together for the entire tournament, and when the maze had come, Orpheus was a mess. Over and over again, Orpheus had told Harry to run when danger came.
"Do not fight anyone head on. You are still a child, live your life to your own desires. If you're in trouble, run or look for help."
In that maze, Orpheus was the one who found the cup with Harry. It was Orpheus who landed on the graveyard with Harry. No one died, as Orpheus had mercilessly sent a curse towards Peter Pettigrew, refusing to let the man even raise his wand to him. Harry had been frightened. The boy had learned to be selfish, hiding behind Orpheus as the older boy grabbed the unconscious Peter Pettigrew, and ran back to the cup.
That day, Peter Pettigrew was arrested, and Orpheus and Harry won the tournament bringing glory to Hogwarts and Durmstrang.
In his sixth life, Orpheus Black had taken custody of Harry Potter the moment he graduated, made sure his father was freed, and promised that Peter Pettigrew would rot in Azkaban. Voldemort did not resurrect in Harry's fourth year, but returned in the boy's sixth year.
To the dismay of the death eaters, Harry Potter's skills were honed by Orpheus. Harry was capable of fighting like a veteran, and was fine with looking for help if need be.
Major events had been delayed due to Orpheus' interference. The battle for the prophecy had begun when Harry was in his seventh year. The order of the Phoenix had fought the death eaters, not children who would not battle against adults.
In this life, Orpheus Black had fallen through the veil in place of his father. In this life, Harry Potter did not lose a father, but a brother.
Orpheus Black died at the age of 21, by the spells created by Bellatrix Lestrange.
The last thing Harry had expected to wake up to in his thirteenth life was an all too familiar red canopy hanging above him. His vision was atrociously blurry, groaning as he looked around him. The Gryffindor dorms was a place he could not particularly forget, the place where he found solace in his first and second life. He had only been a Gryffindor for two of his lives, ironically.
He groggily searched for some glasses, finally realizing the symptoms of his atrocious vision. His eyes were awful. He finally felt a pair of round rimmed glasses, grimacing at the all too familiar object. He grit his teeth, shoving the glasses on his face as he swung his legs over the bed, as he sat on the edge. Face in his hands as he groaned and cursed under his breath.
"Harry? Mate, are you good?"
Harry closed his eyes, hearing the voice for the first time in years. He looked up to see the concerned expression of a ginger haired boy, frown upon his face as he tilted his head. Harry could only give him a wry grin.
He turned towards the closest mirror in the room, conveniently just by his bed. Unlike his previous life's well kept blonde hair and violet eyes, he had pitch black, messy hair and vibrant green eyes like the killing curse. There was a scar on his forehead, something that Harry had detested dearly. He had to stop himself from smashing his head to the wall, gritting his teeth as he hopped off the bed and ran a hand through his hair.
With well practiced precision, Harry smiled brightly, removing all kinds of suspicion that had been directed towards him. He chuckled quietly, patting the other boy's shoulder.
"I'm okay, Ron. Just tired." Harry said.
"Well if you say so mate." Ron shrugged, before he grinned. "Well come on now! I still want to test out your firebolt before the year ends. He wouldn't want that broom cooped up in the broom shed."
Harry smiled wryly, nodding as he ushered Ron out the room. It was just him now, sliding down to the floor as he continued to curse in different languages. He stared at his own calloused hands, unlike the unblemished ones that belonged to his most recent life. He sighed, snapping his fingers as the date appeared before him in golden numbers and letters.
June 5th, 1994, 8:36 am
He desperately wanted to scream. Biting his tongue to restrain his own voice before slamming his fist on the door. After centuries of living different lives, the master of death was finally back to being Harry Potter in his 13th life. As expected of an unlucky number, he awoke to his unlucky self. Harry was ready to kill himself at this point.
"Third year… there's still some time before that bastard Riddle comes back." He murmured, closing his eyes before slowly getting up from the floor. He moved towards the bathroom, slightly annoyed at his own appearance. It had been so long since he wore such a face, the face that belonged to a Potter.
"Wonderful… I have to deal with this bullshit again."
