Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written for Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Round Thirteen

Prompt – Go Wild! - Because of the last few rounds and the fact it's the last of the regular rounds, we're going to let you go wild! Write whatever your heart desires :D

Seeker for the amazing Wimbourne Wasps

An Old Friend

Life was full of surprises. It was a simple fact. No matter what a person did, Life was always able to surprise you. You could make all the plans in the world, or be the most talented Seer in existence, but in the end it wouldn't matter – Life would always catch you by surprise. Life would always do whatever it wanted.

The only certainty in Life was Death.

You lived, then you died.

For many people the certainty of death was a comfort. It was like having a nice rest after a long day of work. It was peace, and they were happy to greet Death like an old friend.

Harry was one of those people. He loved Life, but he would be happy to finally greet Death for one last time and join his family in the afterlife.

He enjoyed life to the fullest – he got married to the woman he loved, and started a family – something he had always wanted.

However, by the time his second son was born he noticed something different. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before. Now though... now that he was looking at both pictures – taken three years apart – it was impossible not to see it.

Ginny, his wife, looked breathtaking in both of the pictures – joy radiating from her as she held her newborn sons. She still had the same warm brown eyes and luscious fire-red locks framing a heart-shaped face. The laugh lines that had started to appear around her eyes in the second picture only made her more enchanting to Harry. They were proof of a life well lived, and Harry was proud to have contributed to it.

Harry took a shuddering breath and looked at the pictures once more.

Ginny looked the same, though there were signs of maturing. Small, almost unnoticeable, things that showed the passage of time.

While on Harry there was just... no change at all.

Nothing.

Nothing at all that showed the passage of time.

Harry didn't even notice when his legs gave up on him, and he stumbled onto the armchair behind him. Almost unconsciously he summoned the family albums, mechanically flipping through them, while his eyes searched for something in the hundreds of pictures that littered the pages that would disprove the idea that had begun to slowly lodge itself in the forefront of his mind.

Picture after picture showed him the same thing.

Almost a decade after the final battle, he looked the same.

Witches and wizards aged slower than muggles, however they did age.

How hadn't he noticed?

How had no one noticed?

He hadn't aged since the final battle.

He tried to keep it hidden; he didn't want to worry his family.

No matter how good his intentions were, however, it wasn't something that he was able to hide.

Hermione was not only the smartest witch of her generation, she was also his best friend. She was the first to notice that something was wrong with him. It really shouldn't have surprised him that only a couple of days after Hermione found out, she and Ron cornered him in the library of Grimmauld Place – where he had gone after Ginny went to the Burrow to spend the day with Molly. He didn't know how they knew that he was there, but part of him wasn't really surprised that they had found him. They had always shared such a close bond, it was no wonder that they would know where to look.

They cornered him, and with their caring, concerned words, managed to get the story out of him.

He wasn't able to look at them, couldn't stand the look that would surely be in their eyes.

When Hermione wrapped her arms around him and he felt her tears on his neck, he broke.

He hugged her back, holding her just as tightly; and when he felt Ron's arms wrap around the both of them, the tears he had been holding back finally fell.

Words of comfort and love filled his ears – one voice soft and warm, and the other deep and strong – and for the first time in over two weeks he fell into a restful sleep.

Harry woke up, still cocooned by the warmth of his best friends.

Hermione murmured assurances, promises of help and support, while Ron grunted his agreement.

Harry smiled, feeling as if they could overcome this – whatever this was.

They had overcome everything else together, they would overcome this too.

Hermione went into research mode. She looked at everything that happened during the war, every curse he had ever been hit with, every potion he had ever taken. Nothing escaped her.

At first, Harry was sure that they would find something – with Hermione at the head of it, how could they not?

However, as time passed, Harry started losing hope.

At the very least, they had been able to keep it a secret from Ginny; a blessing in Harry's mind. Ginny was far too busy with little Al – the last thing she needed was to worry about her never-aging husband.

A year passed with the three of them submerged in research, with little else on their minds. Until Ginny broke them out of their research induced stupor by announcing that she was expecting another Potter child.

The Potter-Weasley household – Teddy being a Potter in everything but name – celebrated the new addition, while Harry broke just a little more, wondering how his never-aging curse would affect yet another of his children.

Would he be doomed to see them all grow up, grow old, while he remained untouched by time? Would he lose all his family to Death's embrace, while he lingered in Life – forever barred from his loved ones?

If that would be his future, he would rather take his own life and greet Death with the rest of his family.

In the end, it wasn't truly Hermione that found out what was wrong with him.

Ron and he were in a routine raid when a simple tripping jinx hit Harry while his back was turned.

Harry didn't remember anything aside from waking up with Ron's face hovering over his own, tears running down Ron's face and heartbreaking sobs leaving him.

Harry would never forget the hug Ron gave him when Ron saw him awake. He had never seen so much relief painting his best friend's expression.

Later, when the three of them were secluded in the safety of the library of Grimmauld Place, Ron swore that Harry had died that day. That Harry had fallen down the stairs and had broken his neck. That Ron had held his cooling body, had felt his still chest.

Harry had died, and the overwhelming sorrow of it still haunted – would always haunt – his best friend.

Hermione was far more affected by it than Harry himself.

Harry could remember nothing but being hit with the jinx and waking up.

However, once the shock of the revelation passed for Hermione, she gasped, her eyes going wide before filling with tears.

She asked for a moment, and ran towards the Floo.

An hour later she came back.

In her hand was the answer to his curse.

Harry sobbed long into the night, while his friends held him tight.

Harry sat on a chair beside the bed of his best friends.

Hermione had reached the ripe, old age of 132; ten more years than her husband.

She had held on for him, Harry knew. All the same, Harry could see the life leaving her. No matter how much she wanted to, her body just didn't have more to give.

Her last breath left her, a smile still painting her lips.

Harry had no more tears left to cry.

All those years ago they had found the reason for his curse.

It hadn't been a curse, or a potion, or anything at all like it.

It had been the same thing that had dictated his life before he was even born.

They had all been wrong about the prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

… and either must die at the hand of the other…

How could any of them have known that that little bit of the prophecy had been more than it had seemed.

How could they have suspected that it meant that no one else would be able to kill the other?

On that night, so many years ago, Harry's biggest sacrifice hadn't been giving up his life to save the Wizarding World. That night, Harry's greatest sacrifice had been giving up his humanity, his mortality.

The moment Voldemort had died, so had any and all chances of Harry ever joining his family in the afterlife.

Harry, no matter how much he wanted to, would never greet Death as an old friend.

Harry belonged to Life, and Eternity awaited him.