Harry was dead. Well, sort of. Being the Master of Death confused things for him, slightly. He thought it was funny, the way he died. There was no fanfar, no epic battle, no adoring fans cheering for him on the sidelines of a bloody duel to the death, no tragic end involving muggles taking over the world, no sadistic plot. He was simply alive one moment, dead the next. That's what happens, Death told him, when you're four hundred and eighty-seven. He'd passed away in his sleep. Ginny had passed long ago, after giving him four beautiful children and watching them grow up with him. They'd both seen the next four generations attend Hogwarts where Harry had been Headmaster for over half a century. Then, Ginny had died from Dragon Pox. Harry continued with his Headmaster duties for another one hundred and seventy years, and he'd seen his youngest great-great-great granddaughter sorted into Slytherin.

Then, one night in late summer, the Great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, the Vanquisher of Dark Lords, Chief Mugwump, Order of Merlin First Class, He-Who-Has-Been-Hyphenated-Too-Much, fell asleep after gorging himself on Berty Botts Every Flavor Beans (now with new flavors!), and died.

Just like that.

It was so funny that Harry and Death ad a good laugh about it.

Being old had taught Harry many things. Firstly, that no one ever truly knows what "the greater good" is. He'd learned to be relaxed and just let things happen. But he'd also learned when to step in to keep things from going south. He learned the difference between guiding and manipulating. Harry still treasured the memory of Dumbledore, but he found that the old Headmaster had been an extreme manipulator. Harry might never found out what Dumbledore's true intentions were, but he'd long forgiven the old man for leaving him at the Dursley's. Heck, he and Dudley had made their peace centuries ago, when Daisy Dursley (Dudley's youngest daughter) was discovered to be a witch.

And now he sat looking over his life with Death by his side. And he found himself wondering what would have happened had he known, all along, what was going to happen. "You can find out, you know." Harry turned to Death, having heard him speak. "You are my Master. One cannot control the shadows without controlling the light. One cannot command Death leave without granting Life entrance. Two halves of the same coin. The Master of Death is the Dictator of Life. You can live, again, Master, should you wish it."

"Ah, but I would miss your company, old friend," Harry said, smiling. Death had visited him often in recent decades. Death only smiled at this.

"And why would I not be allowed to come as well? After all, this body is purely an idea. I am everywhere, after all, you cannot stop death. No matter where Death is." Harry found himself amused.

"And what life would I return to?"

"Yours," answered Death. "I find that four is a good number. What say you, master?"

"I would keep my soul and mind as it is?"

"Yes."

"And my magic?"

"Untouched, should you wish it."

"I do, and I shall," Harry said, clapping his hands together eagerly. Oh, the trouble he could get into. He'd not been able to indulge much in childish whims now that he had so many people counting on him, but as a child? A four year old, no less. If Harry's memory served, that was before the Dursley's really started hating him, because it was before he showed signs of magic. True, he still lived in a cupboard, but they didn't beat or starve him like they had in later years.

Death held out a hand to Harry, and Harry took it, throwing his father's cloak about his shoulders and going off into the unknown with his friend.

This was going to be fun.

***1047***

Harry Potter woke up early, the day of his fourth birthday. A tiny snake sat on his chest, coiled up and looking directly at him. He had no idea what kind of snake it was. It was pure black, an inch and a half long, not even half a centimeter thick. The snake's eyes were smokey grey, and its tongue was a rosy pink.

"Death?" Harry laughed in amusement.

"Yes," hissed back the snake. "What shall you name me?"

"Taffy" Harry said at once. Then he smiled, he hadn't known snakes could roll their eyes before then. "Don't you like your name, Taffy?"

"Why Taffy?"

"You look like a little piece of melted Licorice Taffy."

"There is truly no words to describe you, Master," hissed the snake, though 'Taffy' spoke with fondness. Harry picked up the little snake and held the little thing close to his chest. His cloak was still fastened around his neck, warm and cozy. The Elder Wand was in his holster, around his forearm. And the resurrection ring was on his hand. He briefly wondered about the copies of the Hallows in this reality.

"What about Dumbledore's version of the Deathstick, and Voldemort's horcrux in the ring?" Harry asked Death. Then, he remembered something—he was a horcrux still, wasn't he? He closed his eyes and focused on his magic.

Colors, invisible to everyone but he and Taffy, flared up around him. Splashes of every color imaginable wove in a netting of magic that covered him like a blanket. Only, there was one piece that didn't belong. Harry reached out to it with his own magic, and began to feed it with pure power.

"Are you sure that's wise?" asked Taffy?

"Not in the least" said Harry cheerfully. "But it will certainly be interesting, don't you think, Taffy?

"Oh, most definitely, Master" came the reply. "And to answer you, Master, Dumbledore will find, when he wakes up, that the Deathstick is gone. As for the ring, it still houses a small piece of Voldemort; the piece of him that feels mercy."

"Oh?" Harry asked, looking down at the ring. Now he saw it. It was dormant. But Harry smiled, thinking that it would be for long. "What part of him are in the other horcruxes?"

"In the diary is the part of him that feels fear, for he was afraid of the Muggles as a child, having been in the middle of one of their worst wars. In the locket was the part of him that could feel guilt. In the cup was the part of him that felt love, so sickened was he by the actions of Hepzibah Smith. In the diadem was his thirst for knowledge, he did this unconsciously, leaving behind only his lust for power. In Nagini was his capacity to doubt himself. In you, he left behind what was left of his humanity—his ability to understand. Each time he cut out a part of himself, he became someone else entirely. He wasn't always evil, Master. It was Dumbledore who accidently drove him away from what could have been a fruitful and prosperous future for the wizarding world."

"And is there any way to reunite the soul shard in the ring with the one in my head?" Harry wondered.

Death seemed to smirk at him. "You needed only to ask, Master. Horcruxes fall into my domain." With that, the ring and his scar began to head up. Harry watched in interest, as a plan started forming in his mind. So Tom wasn't always evil, huh? Makes sense that someone would be so…monstrous having gotten rid of all capability to have mercy, or feel any fear or guilt, to have love, even without ability to second guess himself. Worst of all was being rid of his thirst for knowledge. From what Harry had learned, so long ago in Dumbledore's pensive, that had been one of Tom Riddle's most defining traits: his need to know more. Though the final nail in the coffin was the soul piece that went into Harry. After losing all empathy, a person's natural connection to the people around him, he truly became a monster.

Maybe, if Tom Riddle was restored, 'Voldemort' would still be vanquished and the prophecy satisfied? A silvery hazy of smoky soul essence floated out of the ring. Harry felt a brief flash of pain as his scar opened up. Blood trickled down his face, but he ignored it in favor of watching the soul shard be absorbed by the piece he had inside of him. Death sealed it back away inside of him, though Harry noticed he gave it a small piece of Harry's own magic.

"I'd give it six months before it starts talking to you," Death told his Master. "The Diary needed about that long to reach full strength, and it was an entire half of Voldemort's soul. And it was feeding off of Ginny, though a powerful witch she was, at the time she was only a girl, and her magic was nowhere near as impressive as yours." Harry nodded, understanding.

He then slowly climbed out of his cupboard, knowing that his Aunt was already in the kitchen, making breakfast. Harry felt a strange pang inside of him as he caught sight of the woman preparing pancakes. She hadn't been nice to him in his original timeline, her fear of magic had been too much for her once Harry's explosive core began settling. Though, she was family, his own flesh and blood. Also, she had died a rather dreadful death in his original timeline. Rabastan Lestrange had sought vengeance for his sister-in-law, brother and Lord. So he sought out the Durlseys. Both Vernon and Petunia were tortured for information. Petunia refused to give him anything, but Vernon sang like a bird, telling them all about how Harry was planning on living in his godfather's old house as well as any other useless piece of info he could come up with. Vernon was tortured to insanity, much like the Longbottoms, before Rabastan was caught, but Petunia had been hit with Avada Kadavra.

She might not have ever liked him, but she was family. And she had died protecting him. So thinking, Harry hid Taffy in his long, messy hair (the snake was invisible up there…) and approached his Aunt. "I help?" Harry asked in a childish way, clasping his hands eagerly in front of him.

Petunia turned in surprise, then looked down at her nephew. Then, she gave a curt nod. The opened up a drawer and took out silverware. She handed him the utensils. "Lay a fork and knife at everyone's place, and be careful"

"Yes Aunt 'Tunia," Harry answered cheerfully as he set about it. Vernon was sleeping in today, apparently, as he made no appearance. Though Aunt Petunia left to get Dudley up and dressed. While she was at it, Harry used his wandless magic (so that it wasn't traced) to set the table the rest of the way with plates, cups and even got about to pouring milk for he and Dudley, and coffee for his Aunt. Luckily, though, he finished long before she came back.

Petunia entered the kitchen with Dudley on her hip, to find breakfast completely set out and her nephew seated calmly at the table, his hands folding neatly in his lap. Harry gave his Aunt his sweetest smile.

"Thank you, Harry," Petunia said softly.

Harry decided right then that if he wanted things to be different, he needed to change the way he acted. Drastically. So he did something he never did in his old life: "Love you, Aunt Tunia," Harry said shyly, looking up at her through his long lashes. He hadn't gotten his glasses yet (hopefully he wouldn't at all in this timeline), so his big green eyes were used full force. He poured all of his gratefulness he had for his aunt when he learned of her death into those four words. He really, truly, wanted to get to know his mother's sister.

Petunia then did something she'd never done in his previous life. She smiled at him before setting Dudley down in his seat. "Love you too, Harry. Happy Birthday."

Harry decided, later, that swallowing his pride was the best thing he could have done. Because later that day, they celebrated his birthday, something that hadn't been done in his last life. Petunia took Dudley and Harry to get ice cream, then to a park, then later bought Harry a small stuffed bear. It wasn't much, but it was such an improvement that Harry had given his Aunt a tear hug, thanking her profusely.

Dudley, still far too young to really develop any animosity towards his younger cousin, had been very pleasant all day. He and Harry chased each other around the park, up and down the slides, and Dudley even pushed Harry on the swings a couple times before they both got bored with it. This, more than anything, made Harry think that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind coming home for summers after all.

It was no sooner than he reflected on this thought, that night when he was in bed, then did he feel the blood wards around the house strengthen and thicken, spreading over him like a mother's hug. Vernon had been at work most of the day, and so hadn't bothered him, though Harry was optimistic that Vernon wouldn't be as rough this time around.

***1047***

(AN: Yeah, I know I've already got a bunch of stories I'm working on, but this just came to me and I had to write it down, and I thought it went well, and so I wanted to share it with you xD Hope you like it! R&R!)