Hello again!

To those of you that've supported me in the past with The Final Horcrux and Trading Mistakes, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This is something that's been rolling around my head for ages. It will probably only be 3-4 chapters long, each about 10k or so, and I have it all worked out. Originally I planned to finish it and release all the chapters at once but I just can't wait. So glad to be dipping my fingers back into the world of Harry Potter.

Finally, I would like to dedicate this story to the wonderfully loyal NVCiel, whos kind words of encouragement have become a Muse of their own.

Ta,

Majix

The laws of magic were not so complicated as many would like to believe. They existed as a guideline, steady and rippling, never quite the same for each witch or wizard.

Transfiguration for example. Any magical being could take a match stick and Transfigure it into a quill, that much has always been obvious, but how many witches or wizard's could take that same match stick and turn it into a full grown Oak? It was virtually impossible, not because the tree was a living being, but because the offering wasn't big enough. It wasn't equivalent.

That was not to say that the offering always had to be the same, as Lady Magic was indeed generous to her children, some more so than others. However, as time passed and those of magical blood began to forget to thank their Mother, she too began to grow weary of being generous.

And so, the days of truly incredible magic began to fade. But as all beings know, there are always exceptions, to each and every rule, and on the rare days when Lady Magic thought of all her children used to be capable of, she became generous once more.

In this case, however, nobody could have guessed the lengths that the ripples of time would reach. Nobody could've known how the simple lives of the Peverells would touch those of the future. The ripples of greatness.

Terrible, perhaps, but great.

March 13th, 2009

"Do souls really exist?"

The figure across the room looked to the dark haired wizard, appearing both surprised and knowing. Truth be told, he'd been expecting to have this conversation for some time, though he had not thought to approach the subject on his own terms. The ancient being had long ago decided that it would be better for Harry to ask, and for him to answer.

Not that the immortal wished to hide things from The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was not like the late Albus Dumbledore, manipulating the secrets behind the veil, but the Ancient was also unwilling to open doors for those that had no idea of their existence. It remained much more simple to wait, to watch and learn and speak when necessary.

But the question itself was unsurprising. Harry had appeared troubled for days, rarely speaking, and the elder had mentally prepared himself. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was brave, but unlike his previous years, the youth had learned to think before his lips parted. It had taken a total of six days for the raven haired teen to speak up. It was the lengthy wait that sparked curiosity within the Ancient, and he knew without a doubt that the conversation that was sure to follow would affect the timeline like nothing else ever had.

"I thought that you of all people would know the answer to that, Harry."

The messy haired teen huffed in frustration, "For once, can you just answer my question?"

The undefined being smiled at the young wizard's boldness, staring at him with obvious endearment, "Yes, the soul exists."

It was at this point that Death expected the youngest Potter to continue on with his questioning, but it never came. The teen lapsed back in to silence once more and made his way from the room, not bothering to say farewell to his constant companion, as he knew the elder would inevitably follow.

For that was the thing about being the Master of Death, he was never far behind.

January 2003

Over the years that'd followed the end of the war, Harry slowly distanced himself from the company of those around him. It was difficult, to be as he was. His life with Ginny was not as the raven haired teen had imagined it. She was clingy, caught up in the past and what could have been. The careless young spirit that'd first stolen his heart was gone, replaced with something serious and uninspired.

Harry, victor of the war, Savior of the Wizarding world, had not sought his fame after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. It was this that lead the war against his relationship with the youngest Weasley, and the result did not disappoint.

Ginerva Weasley soon decided that they were not meant to be, choosing instead to focus on her career rather than a relationship with the-boy-who-lived. She chose to follow her dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player for the Hollyhead Harpies.

The blow had been damaging at best.

With his world turned upside down, Harry turned himself away from the world, content to drown in his misery, his confusion, until his stories, along with his very name, were more embellished legend than anything. Harry's entire life had been planned from the beginning, Severus Snape alone had proved that much to be true, and without Ginny, the teen savior wasn't sure where to go or what to do with his life.

While hunting Horcruxes, he'd held onto the idea of their love, of their life after the war and the relationship they would have, but that was gone.

From the moment Harry Potter had been introduced to the wizarding world, he'd been held up as a symbol. As the boy had grown into a teen, and later into a man, he'd been shaped for war, made to believe that he was meant for nothing else.

With the threat of Voldemort vanquished, Harry Potter had lost his purpose.

It'd been suggested to Harry on many occasions that he should become an auror. He'd entertained the idea more than once but regardless of how the Savior chose to spend his time, he could not do away with the feeling that something inside of him had died that fateful day all those years ago. Harry could not escape the unforgiving feeling that, in killing Lord Voldemort, he had killed himself as well.

And so, it began, as all things do, with an idea; a simple little idea that would change everything.

That, perhaps, killing Voldemort hadn't been the right thing to do.

Of course, at the time, he'd needed to be stopped. The sanity of his mind had deteriorated beyond anything that the dark haired teen cared to imagine, but Voldemort had not always been this way. Once upon a time, Tom Riddle was a brilliant boy with an vision to change the world. He'd been the very definition of Slytherin, cunning down to the core, brimming with charm and unshakable ambition.

He would bring balance back into the world in the form of his darkness. He couldn't help being a dark wizard any more than Harry could help being right handed, but somewhere along the way, something went wrong. The Horcruxes would always be partially to blame for that insanity, but the more Harry considered it, the more he believed that they hadn't been the only catalyst. During his journey, the Dark Lord had encountered something that changed everything that turned him to the path of true darkness.

In the eyes of this thought, curiosity grew.

He became obsessed with finding the answer to something he couldn't even name, a question that he didn't know the words for. Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for, if anything at all. There was no telling if his restless psyche would eventually wield the questionless answers that he sought, or even if the discovery of such a thing would quench the insatiable thirst within his heart.

It began small.

Harry sought out all the material he could find on the most recent Dark Lord of history, but to his surprise, there was very little to be found. For as much terror as Voldemort caused, he was mentioned very little.

Aside from the late Albus Dumbledore, next to nobody knew anything of Lord Voldemort. His name had been expunged from all newly printed history books. He was referred to only as "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named". There wasn't a single mention of Voldemort, or his lesser known name, Tom Riddle.

It was then that the true adventure began.

For the first time in five years, Harry left Grimmuald Place behind. He traced the steps of Tom Riddle, trying to piece together the broken and muddied steps of the Dark Lord's life with his own path.

The Orphanage that'd once been Tom's home was gone, just as he'd known it would be, but as Harry stood among the over abundance of dead grass, he could feel the anger. The raven haired teen could feel the subtle ripples of past magic that'd stubbornly clung to the land, turning the ground sour, making it impossible for anything to flourish there.

It reminded Harry of the Dursleys.

April 7th, 2009

"What happens to souls that've been split?"

The ever-changing eyes of an ancient immortal looked up to meet those of the Killing Curse, taking in the set look on the boy's face.

It'd been almost three weeks since Harry had last inquired about the soul, but Death wasn't surprised in the least. Very little managed to surprise the dark entity, and though Harry was amusing, and often quite unpredictable, the Ancient had been expecting a follow up since their first conversation.

"Pardon?"

Harry cast the elder an unappreciative look and crossed his arms, "Don't pretend like you don't know."

A satisfied smirk graced the immortal's lips as he laid his book flat and looked to the younger wizard.

"After death you mean?"

Pink lips thinned and the raven haired teen said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.

"You know that I can't reveal what lies on the other side, Harry."

The green eyed wizard huffed in obvious disappointment but rather than leaving as he did last time, chose to sit across from the black clad immortal, "That's not what I'm asking."

Death raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Harry sighed, almost as if he were annoyed at having to explain himself to a being that'd been around since the dawn of time.

"Does it.. you know, stay fractured?"

Understanding quickly came to the white haired immortal in an instant, and he offered the obviously uncomfortable wizard a smile, "No, it does not."

Twin brows raised in surprise, and Death couldn't help but to feel particularly amused by the dark haired teen's reaction.

"What happens to it then?"

Death cast him an endearing look before returning to his previously neglected book, his eyes taking in the words while also managing to catch the way Harry grit his teeth in unmistakable irritation, "You already know."

Aggravation lingered heavily within the air, and as Harry parted his lips to respond with something sharp the immortal sighed and looked up at him over the pages of a book that he'd no doubt already read.

"When you awoke in King 's Cross, what did you find?"

Avada Kadavra eyes darkened with thought, "Dumbledore."

Death shook his head, "Before that."

Harry considered his brief time within the startling white expanse of the in-between. Though it stood out stark in his mind and there was no mistaking it, there was also an air of surreal-like reality to it. Like a half remembered dream.

"I saw Voldemort. That piece of his soul."

The ancient immortal shook his head, laying the book flat once more as he prepared to explain the nature of souls to the teenage wizard.

"Each soul is unique, but all souls are whole and unbroken when they are received by this world."

Harry nodded in understanding and the elder continued.

"The most basic sense of the philosophy is that what goes must eventually return. This is true for magic as well, but where as magic may return in bits and fragments, souls must return whole."

"What you saw that day in King's Cross Station was not the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul that resided in your scar. It was the collective pieces of soul waiting in the in-between."

Harry stared into the face of the fire, watching as the flames licked at the wood, consuming it with heat and merciless nature as he pondered the Ancient's words.

"So Voldemort would've had to wait until all his Horcruxes were destroyed to go to the beyond?"

Death nodded and went to pick up his book, but Harry stopped him with a look, "Does that mean that his soul has gone into the afterlife?"

"It means that he is whole."

The cryptic nature of Death's answer left him less than satisfied, but rather than allowing the light haired being see his frustration Harry stood from his perched seat. Just as before, the green eyed wizard choose to make his way from the room rather than try and pry answers from the tight lipped immortal.

Time would eventually tell him all that he needed to know, regardless of whether or not Death saw fit to aid his search.

July 19th, 2004

Albania proved to be a place of magical history. Though Dumbledore had mentioned it to The-Boy-Who-Lived during one of their many conversations on the Dark Lord he hadn't gone into specifics. Little was spoken of what Tom Riddle had found during his time there, and the longer Harry avoided the foreign nation, the more his curious obsession grew.

The dark haired wizard was surprised to learn that the area was blanketed by forests and mountains. It was a land of diverse wildlife, and unquestionable magical potential.

He'd had trouble at first, navigating through the lands on his own. The biggest issue though proved to be the complications of differentiating language. There were two distinct dialects: Tosk, spoken in the south, and Ghen, spoken in the north, both Albanian in nature, but aside from that, there were also many people across the land that spoke a scatter of languages. Greek, Italian, speckles of English, as well as Macedonian, Romani, Serbian, and Aromanian. And within the more obscure parts of the nation, it made asking for directions nearly impossible.

It'd taken him quite some time to find the "cursed" mountains, and even longer to locate the forests where Voldemort had spent his time. Magical residue lingered heavily across the land, but the moment Harry set foot past the line of trees, he'd known where Tom Riddle had spent his time. The magical energy present within the wildlife there overwhelmed him, making his magical core sing with life and over-flowing excess.

It'd taken Harry over ten minutes to get past the unfamiliar flush of power.

It caressed his flesh like a living current, gliding effortlessly up and down his body with each and every step, the sheer magnetism of it drawing the teen deeper and deeper into the unending sea of green.

As time passed, darkness overcame, robbing the teen of his vision all together, but it mattered little. He'd continued on, guided only by the thick and steady thrum of pure magic.

Time lost all meaning, and after what could've been minutes, hours or days, Harry broke through the thick of the foliage.

He discovered himself at the edge of an absolutely perfect circle and there before his eyes stood the remains of a culture long lost, consumed by the passing of ages. It came in the form of a crumbling temple, the stones making up its structure, weathered with time and wear, the edges crumbled and broken, covered with moss. Sunlight streamed down on the ancient building, the sky impossibly clear above and Harry found himself unable to ignore the blissful peace that settled over him.

The magic was softer here, not as intense as before, but it held the promise of life just the same.

April 20th, 2009

"Why did you create the Hallows?"

For the first time since the questions had started, Death found himself thrown for a loop.

Of all the things Harry and the Immortal had talked about, everything from the ancient ways of the world, to the endless tales of the Roman empire, all the way to the truth behind Christianity, they had never spoken of the three magical items that brought them together and refused to leave Harry's company. It was an unspoken agreement among them, one of which that both parties were careful and considerate of. To hear the blunt question come from the teen's mouth left the ever-changing being very nearly startled.

Silence lingered between them as Death stood in the doorway, staring at the Gryffindor. He stood on the far side of the room, his back to the stunned Immortal. The teen's posture was strong, forced, as he looked to the ageless spines upon the shelves, listening for a response.

But what was there to say?

Humanity was boring, consumed with the need to seek and destroy. Below all the dignified responses, beneath the air of superiority and carefully maneuvered plans, laid a primal beast in wait, ready to take over at a moment's notice. They were animals, squabbling over territories and potential mates, struggling to come out on top.

But Harry..

Harry was something new, something beautiful to behold.

The wizard coexisted with his primal nature, in much the same way as a werewolf or a vampire would. He was a human child with the nature and the heart of a creature, a being that embraced what they were and what they could become without fear. Their encounter in Albania had proved that, but this was something different.

This was his civility stretched across the primal nature of his person.

The need for information, the quest to seek it out through basic human communication rather than manipulation and control. This was Harry taking control of himself, as well as his desires, rather than trying to control and manipulate the situation into yielding the results he wanted.

It was something that'd been lost to humanity as a whole for centuries. Millennia even.

"I didn't create them."

His companion spun around to face him, twin eyebrows raised in startled surprise at the Immortal's response, "You what?"

Death sighed, lingering on the edge of another lecture on his hatred of repeating himself. Though difficult to refrain, the Entity merely pushed himself from the doorway and approached his Master.

It was amazing that Harry managed not to run.

Even in humans, who had ignored their instincts from the moment it became convenient, the fight or flight instinct was strong.

Regardless of whether or not they knew what he was, most beings sensed that something was wrong with him, that if he was there, they shouldn't be. It was ingrained in their very DNA to flee from him, but Harry stood still, watching him approach.

Eyes the very shade of the killing curse stared up into the face of Death, and with the smile that accompanied that lingering gaze, the Ancient knew that he could not deny him the answer.

"They were made before my time, by my predecessor."

Confusion flickered across Harry's face, and a flush of amusement returned to the situation. Death would've been more surprised if his words had made sense to the teen.

"How can Death have a predecessor?"

The immortal gave his Master an endearing smile, "Not all things are as straight forward as they appear, young One."

"Isn't that the truth.."

Harry's grumbled sarcasm left the Ancient even more amused than before, "Power is a strange thing, Harry."

"Sometimes, it eats us from the inside."

The elder turned from his ward, his eyes seeking out the comforts of the flame. It danced upon the wood, working it down, turning the strong material to ash, consuming it whole.

"Is that a metaphor for greed?"

Death smirked and shook his head before claiming one of the warm leather chairs, "No. I mean it in the literal sense."

Harry seemed to move unconsciously as he moved to sit across from the watchful immortal. His confusion was obvious, written across his face more clearly than ink to parchment.

"To you, Death would be considered a spirit, a gift bestowed upon a select mortal being for the time being."

Harry frowned, "So you haven't been around since the dawn of time?"

Death laughed, "In a sense, yes, but the short answer is no." He smiled affectionately at the little mortal in front of him, "I was human once."

If it was possible for the Gryffindor's eyes to boggle any more, the Ancient was sure they would've, "Who were you?"

Mischief danced within the eyes of the elder as he took in the light of his companion's gaze, the sheer curiosity that'd consumed the mortal in a matter of seconds, "My name is Ignotus Peverell."

July 19th, 2004

It was hypnotizing, the way the magic coiled around him, caressing the Gryffindor's flesh as he made his way to the center of the grounds, keeping his eyes fixed upon the crumbling structure at its heart.

Despite the obvious decay in the framework, the ruins were enticing and all around, quite lovely. Age faded bricks were scattered with quilted patchworks of moss, coils of undisturbed ivy claiming the building for itself. The beauty of time, nature and magic had all come together to create the calm aura around the wizard, and Harry found himself pulled to the heart, the wizard's legs mindlessly guiding him through the crumbling halls of the enchanted structure.

Harry paid little mind to what laid around him, choosing instead to let the pleasant thrum of his magical core to guide his steps. Magic saturated the air as the green eyed wizard pressed on, making his skin tingle with raw energy as he drew closer to the source.

Crackles sparked and buzzed around the wizard as the gentle glow of light made itself known among the darkness. Harry quickened his pace, his chest heaving with exhilarated anticipation as he approached.

Despite being mere steps away from the piercing light, Harry couldn't see past the edges, couldn't see what was beyond. Curiosity clawed at the teen's heart and The-Boy-Who-Lived found himself unable to think of anything other than walking through the doorway, of seeing what laid beyond the darkness.

The crossing was almost painful. Harry could feel the flush of power against his magical core, the shock of raw power before everything stopped.

Green eyes fluttered open and Harry sighed in relief.

Magic still hung heavily in the air, but where as the temple had been clogged with it, making it almost impossible to breathe, the gently lit room was calm in nature. Harry could feel the healthy, full thrum of power from within, the replenished buzz from his magical core. It reminded him of Hogwarts, the feelings of warmth that washed over him in gentle waves, making him feel as though he belonged.

For the first time since entering the structure, Harry focused more on what surrounded him rather than how he felt.

Unlike the surrounding area, everything within the lit space was untouched by time. The stones holding the structure were strong, sturdy and unyielding, showing no signs of decay. It was clean and open, filled with sunlight but there were no windows, nothing that explained how the space was so brightly lit. Runes marked the wall, graphic depictions that the green eyed wizard had never seen before.

Harry had no problem admitting that runes weren't really his area of expertise but he'd never seen runes like these. They were detailed in a way that couldn't be explain, depicting a number of events. To the teen, they resembled hieroglyphs more than runes, but there was definitely an air of magic to them, a sense of purpose.

Undisturbed stretches of space made up most of the floor before abruptly coming to the foot of a small set of steps. It was what laid above them that left the teen speechless with undisguised wonder.

A rippling mirror stretched across the far end of the room. It resembled water more than glass, shallow ripples gliding across the surface and without having to approach, Harry knew that this was the source of magic he'd felt. The dark haired male could feel it as he concentrated on the ever changing surface. The urge to approach was more intense than ever, and without a thought, Harry slowly began making his way across the floor, weary of what lied ahead but unable to resist.

"I suppose that caution was never one of your strong suits."

Unadulterated panic gripped the teens heart at the unfamiliar voice, the speakers words immediately breaking his connection with the mirror, leaving the dark haired wizard alarmed and mildly confused.

Harry turned slowly, the heavy claws of worry making it hard to breathe as the teen faced his unnoticed companion.

The man before him stood within a particularly bright spot of sunlight, his features calm and nonthreatening, but there was something about the white haired male that Harry recognized as dangerous. Despite the magic surrounding them, the dark haired Gryffindor could feel the difference, the powerful aura of magic drifting from his nameless companion in thick, lazy waves.

He was, in Harry's opinion, quite beautiful. Normally, the younger wizard didn't tend to use the word beautiful as far as men were concerned, but there was really no other word to describe the stranger. He appeared absent of any and all color, making the high definition of his cheek bones and the regal curve of his nose stand out. The green eyed wizard was momentarily reminded of the Malfoys, the perfect posture combined with the aristocratic features that all purebloods seemed to share.

However, when Harry met the elder's eyes, he felt his breath catch. Small gold rings surrounded the swirling pools of his ever changing irises. Unnaturally smooth transitions shifted between warm melted amber and vibrant green, small dashes of silver and startling flashes of crimson, all dancing within his amused gaze. But under all the color, below the complexity of the stranger's gaze, Harry caught sight of something unbelievably ancient, something that'd bared consciousness across the many ages of this world.

The knowledge within those glowing orbs drew the wizard like a moth to flame and Harry found himself unable to stop from approaching his silent companion.

Gentle fingers reached out and clasped the teen's chin, turning his head to and fro as the white haired man looked him over, "I thought you'd be taller."

Despite the unusual position the young lion found himself in, Harry raised his eyebrows in question, "You know me?"

The immortal above him smirked in obvious amusement, "I don't think there's a witch or wizard that doesn't know your name, Harry Potter."

"But yes, I know you."

Harry frowned in both confusion and irritation at his fame before taking a step back from the white haired man, "Who are you?"

For the first time since his appearance, the white haired man moved from his chosen spot in the sun, walking towards the ancient steps before the mirror, "Don't be dull, Harry. You must've known that I'd come and see you sooner or later."

Twin brows knit together in confusion as Harry turned to watch the elder man, "Excuse me?"

A sigh of annoyance escaped the immortal's lips as he looked to his ward, "You possessed all three Hallows at once, and as such, became the Master of Death."

Though unspoken, Harry could hear the unspoken 'you idiot" tacked on to the end of the elder's statement, making him briefly think of Professor Snape before the gravity of his companion's words sunk in.

"You're -!"

Death smirked, "Yes," a mischievous grin capturing the immortal's lips as he turned from the gaping boy in favor of inspecting the rippling glass, "Very tricky artifact, this."

Curiosity briefly overwhelmed the teen's surprise as he quickly approached and looked up to the shifting surface, "You know what it is?"

A sharp laugh sounded beside him and the dark haired wizard looked up to find the elder smirking fondly down at him, "Of course I do, Young One."

Harry bristled at the mention of his age but quickly smoothed his metaphorical quills. To the being beside him, Harry was indeed quite young, a mere speck along the timeline of humanity. It was dizzying to think about.

"Well?"

Death considered the object for a moment before parting his lips to reply, "I believe your people would call it a Vita Vitrum. The Life Glass."

Harry took a step towards the enchanted surface, the warmth of his magical core drawn to it more than ever before long fingers wrapped unyieldingly around his wrist, "It is not wise, Harry."

The wizard in question looked up to the immortal, but his eyes were firmly placed on the gently shifting surface of the ancient glass, "You have already met one of its kin."

Brief remembrances of his encounters with mirrors and their like flashed across the teen's conscious before Dumbledore's voice drifted along his memory like a ghost, the connection instantly being made, "The Mirror of Erised."

Death nodded but said nothing.

Harry thought of his brief time with the object during his first year at Hogwarts. He remembered the flutter in his stomach when he'd first approached the ancient looking item, the breathtaking shock of seeing his parents smiling faces looking back at him as he approached the worn glass, and the startling surprise of being caught by Dumbledore.

Men have wasted away in front of it..

"So it shows you your heart's desire?"

Death cast the green eyed teen a small frown and shook his head, "I said that you'd met one of its kin, not that they were the same." Shifting eyes looked back up towards the pulling waves of the glass' surface, "This particular mirror shows the truth."

"The truth?"

The immortal hummed in agreement before crossing his arms over his chest, "It reflects the deepest truth within your heart. More often than not, it's something that you refuse to accept, something mortals push away or bury with denial. That can take many forms."

Harry nodded in understanding. It was subjective to change and managed to be exceedingly powerful by merely being so vague. Such a thing reminded Harry of a boggert, it could turn into anything, anything that you were afraid of, whether it be a giant spider, the full moon, or in Harry's case, a dementor. There's no telling what Harry would see if he decided to approach.

Though Death was holding his wrist, Harry was sure that if he so chose, the immortal would let him go, as long as the teen knew what he was getting himself in to.

He wondered idly just how many witches and wizards had stumbled upon this place. Were they still alive? And what did they see.

Voldemort himself had been here. Decades before Harry set foot in this magically intoxicating place, the young Tom Riddle walked these steps and gazed into that rippling surface. The darkest lord had wandered these woods, followed the flow of magic, he'd found the temple, found the mirror. Lord Voldemort had stared into it's surface and witnessed the darkest truth of his heart.

"You're thinking of him."

Harry tensed at the calmly spoken words but didn't contradict the immortal. There was no need to ask the ancient being who he was talking about or how he knew. Harry was almost positive that hew wouldn't receive an answer anyway, "What do you think he saw?"

Death's eyes darkened, "You already know."

The Gryffindor stared at the rippling surface of the mirror and as he thought about what he knew of Voldemort and his past, Harry was both startled and saddened to realize that he did know.

Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of their age, the most brilliant student to walk the halls of Hogwarts since the Founders, had stood before the glass as a sad and lonely orphan. He'd seen the boy that just wanted to be accepted by his peers, whether they be the cruel muggles of the orphanage or the merciless pureblood Slytherins of his own house. He saw the desire to stand out and make something of himself, to no longer be alone.

And Voldemort rejected it.

The dark realization pulled the wizard from the sadness that'd swamped his heart and just like that, Harry had the answer to his long sought question. This was what irrevocably changed Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort.

Harry looked to the glass, his emotions rolling sharply beneath the surface, "So, you now understand."

Death looked down to the form of his mortal master, "Once you have seen the truth, there is no going back."

The ancient being turned his attention back to the mirror, "He could not accept what he saw. Though I have been around for many ages, I do not hesitate to admit that much of Tom Riddle remains a mystery to me."

Death frowned at the admission as though it left a bad taste in the immortal's mouth, "I do not know if he knew the truth behind the power this mirror contained or not, but I do know that the Dark Lord Voldemort sought to purge any relation to what he witnessed behind the glass. He went to the furthest stretches of the Earth, studied the darkest magic and forcibly ripped that humanity from himself. He refused to believe that such a weak creature could be him, regardless of whether or not it was only a tiny fraction of his identity."

Silence overtook the space between the two males but regardless of the ominous warning, Harry could not draw the curiosity from his heart.

It'd often been muttered throughout the halls of Hogwarts that bravery could easily be the same as stupidity, but as Harry gazed upon the waves of glass, he couldn't resist. He had to know what laid quiet and dormant within his heart.

Though, undoubtedly brave, a Gryffindor at heart, a flicker of fear darted through the conflicted teen. Voldemort had stood before this mirror as a young man, not long after he left Hogwarts, but Harry was more than a young man now. He'd seen the horrors of war, the blood of his kin across the stones of the beloved castle, he'd witnessed what it meant to die, and what it meant to save a life. Within his lifetime, Harry had been both a freak and a hero, a champion of the light, and a malicious liar seeking to bring down the ministry, a best friend and a godson, a pawn and a key player; he'd been abused, loved, abandoned and forgiven. He'd cried, cursed, smiled, and kissed. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World, and though Harry didn't exactly see himself as the hero the public proclaimed him to be, he'd still done all those things.

They were embedded upon his very soul, a scatter of scars lining the very foundation of his being. Whatever he witnessed within the reflection had the power to change his life forever, but the more Harry thought about it, the less anxious and unsure he became.

Such was a normality in his life. Did Dumbledore not hide the truth from him his entire life, choosing to reveal half spoken answers here and there until the whole of the picture was formed? For the first seventeen years of his life, Harry remained ignorant of himself and the full truth of his life. Year after year the headmaster had thrown something new at the Gryffindor, something that would undoubtedly made his world of understanding tilt.

This would be no different.

Harry gently pulled his wrist from the grasp of the immortal, mustering every scrap of his Gryffindor courage as he made those last few steps. The dark haired wizard wanted to look back, to question his companion before taking the last step but he couldn't. There would be no strength of will if his focus broke now.

Harry took a deep breath and took the final step towards the rippling glass, his eyes firmly squeezed shut before a warm and encouraging brush of magic extinguished the last of his fear, allowing the teen to gaze freely into his reflection.

For the briefest moment, Harry was almost certain that nothing had changed, that he was seeing himself merely as he was, that he accepted all aspects of himself, but the dark haired savior held his breath as the surface grew bright, the ripples among the glass momentarily angered into action before settling on a set image.

It was him, or rather, versions of himself.

There were five in all, each relatively similar in appearance but as Harry took in the details, he realized just how different they were.

The first was easily the most recognizable, a vision of his Slytherin alter ego. The snake wore pitch black robes, the Slytherin crest high and proud on his chest and where Harry would normally find himself smiling, this version of himself seemed content to sport a permanently cunning smirk. His hair was slicked back and Harry couldn't help but to appreciate the confident way the reflected teen held himself. The Slytherin.

The next reminded Harry more of a pureblood than himself. He stood tall and proud, his normally untamable hair long and silky, pulled back into a loose ponytail. Lordship rings appeared on his fingers, making a firm and vocal statement about the purity of his heritage and the sway he held over the Wizarding world. Harry guessed that this was a more politically centered version of himself. The Aristocrat.

Harry was immediately caught by surprise as he looked to the next variation down the line. This version of himself was easily the most enjoyable so far. A warm smile stretched his reflections lips and without knowing exactly how, Harry was certain that this version of himself hadn't participated in the war. The Civilian.

The fourth was without a robe, choosing instead to appear in jeans and a T-shirt. His hands were calloused with wear, and as Harry really took the time to look at him, he noticed that the teen in the reflection didn't have a wand. If he had to guess, he would've assumed that this variation of himself had chosen to live away from the world of magic. The Muggle.

However, it was the final version of himself that stumped the teen. They appeared almost identical. His hair was still wild and unruly, his smile a bit on the mischievous side but still sporting a familiar grin. His eyes were lit with a happiness that Harry could never remember having, but as he looked closer, more details began to emerge. Fading lovebites marked his throat, his lips the faintest bit kiss swollen and he wore a ring on his left hand. The Bonded One.

Harry assumed that this is what he would've looked like had he chosen to marry Ginny, but before he could process that information, the bonded version of himself made a face, "Don't be daft, as if I'd marry the female Weasley. Ghastly."

Harry gaped at the mirror in alarm as all five of his reflections grinned, amused with his reaction to The Bonded One.

"You're all me."

Three of the five snickered at the obviousness of his statement but it was the Civilian vision that chose to speak up, "We're the choices you could've made."

Harry looked at each of them, taking in the acceptance of the given answer but found that the connection still hadn't been made, "I don't understand."

The Slytherin sighed in annoyance and looked to the other four with a pained expression, "He shouldn't have argued with the Hat."

Harry glared at his Slytherin counterpart but the other remained unaffected, looking to his reflected companions, apparently deciding that he wouldn't be the one to explain.

Judging eyes sized him up as the piercing gaze of the Aristocrat roamed his figure, a frown of displeasure maring his lips, "Good Lord, this boy knows nothing. Look at that slouch, and those clothes. Inconceivable."

Harry sighed in resignation and looked to his Muggle self, waiting for the reflection to voice his opinion. Cotton clad shoulders rose in a shrug but the being said nothing.

"I still don't understand."

The Slytherin looked as though he was physically pained, but the Bonded One silenced his incoming rant with a look, "We are what could have been had you been able to make choices for yourself."

Disbelief, and a faint flush of offense, flooded the wizard, "What do you mean? I can make my own choices!"

The Bonded One opened his mouth to speak, but the Civilian beat him to it, "Can you?"

Harry parted his lips to respond before being drowned out by the Slytherin, "Please, you've never made a single choice for yourself! You've always done what others expected of you."

The previously silent Muggle quickly voiced his own opinion, "The first time it happened, you were to small and helpless to do anything about it. You were left with the muggles, due to be raised as though you didn't have magical blood flowing through your veins."

The Aristocrat sneered at his Muggle counterpart but didn't deny the spoken statement before throwing in his two cents, "Upon entering our world, you were expected to be as ordinary as possible, never to hear of your heritage or the rights you possessed."

All five heads nodded, and the Slytherin smoothly continued, "You asked the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor even though Slytherin was its first choice, not because you felt like you didn't belong in the House of Serpents, but because you were told that it was a house of evil, and that Gryffindor was the way to go."

For the first time since their meeting, the smile fell from the Civilian's face, "And do not even get us started on Dumbledore."

Two of the five hissed at the mention of the late Headmaster, nodding in angered agreement.

"You were only eleven and you let him make the most devastating decision of your life: your role in the war and what you stood for. As things escalated, you were never once given the option to remain neutral! It was always impressed upon you that Harry Potter would fight for the light!"

The other four nodded in silent agreement before the soft, hesitant voice of the Bonded One spoke up, "The notion that you could've possibly joined the Dark Side was utterly forbidden, never to be entertained."

Soft murmurs of agreement passed between the five of them before Harry's brows scrunched in confused realization, "Hang on. If you're not the version of me that married Ginny, who did you bond with?"

The teen on the far left smiled coyly, glancing down, turning his bonding ring affectionately, "I'm Harry Riddle."

Harry somehow managed to choke on nothing as those words were uttered, the very height of shock and confusion settling upon his features as he stared down his married alter ego, "How?!"

The Bonded One smirked in amusement, "There are two ways that I would've come to be: Either you surrendered in the Graveyard during our fourth year at Hogwarts, or, if you would've successfully cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix LeStrange in the Ministry of Magic."

Harry turned to the first of the five, the Slytherin, "And you?"

"If you would've chosen to suppress other people's judgements and let the Hat place you where it wanted." The silent duh hung heavily at the end of his statement but neither chose to acknowledge it.

Harry looked to his Muggle self and he spoke without prompt, "If you would've refused your letter to Hogwarts." He frowned, "Or more likely, if you'd chosen not to return after the Battle of Hogwarts."

The Civilian met his eyes as Harry looked to the fourth in the row, "If you'd rejected The Order of the Pheonix and chosen not to go to the Department of Mysteries."

A dull throb of pain echoed within the teen's heart as he thought about that night, his lips parting shakily, "Where you come from, is Sirius still alive?"

The apperation frowned, the look being one less about disapproval and more pitying than anything, "Yes. You lived together at Grimmauld Place with him and Remus after the war. They both survived the Battle and agreed to seven years of surveillance in exchange for their lives when the Dark Lord won. They were married in the Spring of '99."

A choked sob caught in the teen's throat but he refused to let it free, settling instead for turning to the one he'd skipped, "What about you?"

The Aristocrat politely ignored the crack in his voice, "If you would've stood against Fudge and his policies by taking a hold of your heritage and all the sway that gives you. There were many opportunities for you to choose my path."

Harry hesitated before looking again to his Bonded self, "What's it like being married to Voldemort?"

His Bonded apperation blushed softly and smiled, "Like you couldn't imagine. Don't tell him I told you, but Marvolo is quite cuddly."

"The Dark Lord likes to cuddle?!"

All five reflections laughed at the shock of the spoken statement before getting serious. The Slytherin stepped forward, putting Harry under his intense scrutiny, "You've never made a single choice for yourself, Harry. You let Dumbledore, the Weasleys and the preconceived notion of your parent's ghosts make all of your choices for you."

The Civilian nodded, "You've always been afraid of making choices that those around you would deem unwise."

The Bonded One nodded sympathetically, "Your parents are dead Harry. We'll never know what they would've wanted or how they would've reacted to your choices."

"And Dumbledore had no right to try and push you towards any decision!" Harry looked to The Aristocrat, noting the slightest upward turn of his nose and the heat of his voice, "That old coot made Merlin knows how many mistakes and he had no right to tell you what's right for your life."

Murmurs of agreement sounded between the group before the soft spoken tone of his Muggle self made an appearance, "Listen Harry, if you always make choices based on other people and what they think, you will remain a shadow."

The Civilian nodded sympathetically, "What's right for others may not always be right for you."

Understanding flowed heavily within the awoken parts of his conscious, small flickering points of recognition lighting as he made the connections within his own thoughts.

They were right, of course they were.

He'd never thought there was ever any choice. Not really. From the moment Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, he'd been announced to the world as a savior, a player of the light. The endless frustrations, problems that no child should feel the need to meddle in rested upon his shoulders year after year, but the truth was, that Harry never really wanted to do those things to begin with.

He'd never wanted the fame or the attention, and it hadn't helped that he was famous for something he couldn't remember doing. Within his own mind, there was nothing to be famous for, he was a baby, a mere infant that hadn't raised a hand to the Dark Lord. His defeat was mere accident, a freak coincidence that set the balls rolling for the biggest twist of all.

But Harry hadn't done anything to stop it, even after he learned the truth.

After his fifth year, after finally learning the truth in the face of loss, Harry still let fate dictate his path, allowed Dumbledore to guide him where he may. He could've stood back, refused to fight. He could've offered a truce, neutrality in the war between the Light and the Dark. There was always the chance that Voldemort would've killed him, but that was always a risk when it came to dealing with a Dark Lord.

But instead, he'd trusted a manipulative old man. He trusted that Dumbledore had a plan and that the older wizard would solve it. Harry obayed without question, accepting the lessons on Voldemort, dropping everything to hunt Horcruxes on the word of a man who had never felt the need to be wholly and truly honest with him.

All five reflections regarded the teen with silence, watching as inner turmoil bubbled just below the surface, as recognition took hold. There was hurt there, a sense of betrayal that sat heavily on his features, but below the negativity laid an air of acceptance.

The Slytherin regarded him with a curious tone, "You're not angry."

Harry looked up, startled from his internal conflict, "What? No, of course not. Why would I be?"

Each apperation looked to the other, a silent conversation flowing between them, questions asked and answered without a sound before The Bonded One met his gaze, "Why?"

Harry's brows drew together in confusion before an easy going smile lit his features, "Because, my choices have led me here."

The remarkably simple answer felt entirely obvious but as he caught sight of five bewildered looks, he realized that they truly didn't understand.

"If I hadn't made the choices that I made, influenced or not, I wouldn't have ever found this place. I can't change the past, but I can always use what I've learned here to change the future."

The Aristocrat nodded in approval, "Very good, Harry."

The teen in question looked over his shoulder at Death and wondered for the first time if the Elder could see and hear everything that was happening. His stance was calm, watching Harry quietly from his place three steps down, his gaze open and patient.

"Harry."

Green eyes once again returned to the glass and he met the eyes of his Civilian self, "You have been granted a wonderful gift."

The Muggle nodded, "Not many people are able to see their flaws and accept them so as not to be controlled by them."

Harry considered their words with rapt attention, "I guess it doesn't hurt that I have Death to help me out."

Five pairs of eyes looked over the teen's shoulder, taking in the immortal with an ounce of amusement, "Oh yes, that one."

Harry quickly identified the Slytherin as the speaker before the other male continued, "An opportunity if there ever was one."

"Huh?"

The Bonded One smirked, casting a coy look towards the ancient being, "Things are not always as they first appear, Harry, especially where Ancient magic is concerned."

Harry snorted in amusement at the accuracy of his counterpart's statement, thinking momentarily that a truer statement had never been spoken.

He felt content with what he learned, and Harry knew that he was ready to leave but before he could say goodbye, his eyes strayed to the apperation on the far right, his Bonded alter ego. He couldn't shake the idea of being married to the Dark Lord, especially not in the way his reflection described.

"What's it really like, being married to the Dark Lord?"

His alter ego's face softened and Harry was surprised to see the utter look of adoration that settled over his features, "It's the most incredible thing, Harry. He's so incredibly brilliant, and Merlin, so intense."

The other variation of himself bit his lower lip and a soft blush dusted his cheeks, "I've never felt more treasured. Don't get me wrong, he's still a proud, arrogant and sometimes rather frightening man. He's frustrating and sometimes a little mean, but he's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Harry frowned, "What about the Wizarding World?"

The Bonded One's face morphed into one of confusion before recognition graced his features, "Oh! Right." He cleared his throat and sported a smug look, "As you know, a Horcrux resided within your scar. The close proximity of the two, and the mental link between us helped to return parts of his sanity that he lost. Marvolo still struggles with some things but we work on it."

"He eventually alters his appearance and becomes the Minister of Magic. Magical Britain is one of the most magically balanced nation in the world right now, second only to France."

"Wow," Harry breathed.

His reflected self nodded, "It's a good life."

Harry regarded each of them with a smile, taking in the differences between them, the state of their hair and the expressions on their faces. They were all him, the things that could've been and he was exceedingly grateful for their help.

"I really don't know how to thank you, guys."

The Slytherin smirked, "Just don't forget what we told you. I know it'll be quite difficult with that forgetful Gryffindor mind of yours, but do try."

Amusement danced within the teen's eyes as he looked to his reflection. The Slytherin's response could've come directly from the mouth of one Draco Malfoy, and Harry couldn't resist, "Were you and Malfoy friends?"

His serpent counterpart smiled mischievously, "Absolutely."

He'd always wondered what would've happened if he'd taken Malfoy's hand that first day, and Harry wasn't disappointed.

He waved goodbye before turning away from them, the break in their connection washing over him like a cool breeze on a warm day, waves of calm pouring over his core as the teen made his way down the steps and towards the exit.

Even then, Harry made no move to question if Death would follow, something told the teen that he always would.

April 25th, 2009

After the incident of Death's temporary identity, Harry didn't speak to the Ancient being for close to five days. No matter how many times the white haired male tried to engage in conversation, Harry regarded him with a dole look of bored irritation and returned to whatever he'd been doing. The teen had even gone as far as to snap the Elder Wand, again, despite knowing that it would reappear whole and undamaged some odd hours later.

The silence finally broke when Harry found his path roadblocked by another question that only Death would know the answer to. There was no way around talking to the man, and Harry knew it wasn't in his nature to cast away the pursuit of knowledge in favor of spite.

Harry wandered the house, poking his head into the library and the sitting room first only to be met with empty space. A quick search of all the other rooms yielded the same result and Harry had to accept, with a sigh, that the immortal was elsewhere.

"Am I no longer worthy of the cold shoulder?"

Harry jumped in surprise, spinning around to meet the white haired male's amused look. The words were said in a light tone and though Harry was sure his companion was joking, a brief flash of guilt made him frown.

The immortal offered him a smirk and lead the way towards the kitchens, "So, what can I help you with, Little Master?"

Harry ignored the question in favor of looking for Blip. The friendly elf appeared before him with a small bow, "What can I's be doing for Master Harry?"

The teen smiled as he took his seat at one of the barstools beside Death, "Can I have something sweet?"

Blip bowed once again, "Of course, Blip will be getting Master his treat right away, Sir."

The small being snapped his fingers, a bowl of strawberry ice cream appearing in a bowl before the green eyed wizard. Harry picked up the spoon, savoring the first bite with a happy grin, "I love magic."

The two sat in comfortable silence as Harry enjoyed the first couple bites of his ice cream before the teen looked to his companion, "Does the Resurrection Stone only work for people that you love?"

Death looked down at his ward, a fond warmth surrounding his person as he took in pink ice cream at the corner of Harry's mouth, and the serious look on his face. It was odd to think that despite his hardships and the sights he'd seen, the boy was still quite innocent.

"It works best with the ones you love, but only because of the emotional connection you have to them."

Harry considered the other man's words, taking another bite of his ice cream, "What about an enemy?"

The immortal hummed thoughtfully, "Hatred is fairly equivalent to love in terms of emotional power, so yes."

Open flickers of thought echoed across the younger man's face, and the immortal watched with interest as the information was processed and stored away before Harry turned his face up to his companion, Avada Kadavra green meeting the array of colors, "Does it really bring back the ones we love? Or do we just see what we want to see?"

An approving smirk graced the elder's lips, "Very insightful, Harry."

Death wandlessly summoned the rock in question, staring down at the marble like substance, taking in the faint cracks along the surface, as well as the symbol of the Hallows, "It offers a brief window between the two planes, between this world and the place where souls reside after death. The Resurrection Stone allows the selected soul to be called from the Afterlife by the emotional tether, which is ironically why it would be exceedingly difficult to call somebody from the grave that you've never met."

He offered the small rock to Harry, watching closely as green eyed wizard took it between two fingers, studying it closely, "So the soul really is momentarily trapped in the realm of the living?"

Death's smile fell, forming a slight frown but be nodded in agreement.

"Hmm."

Harry jumped down from his seat, dropping the sticky spoon back into the bowl before making his way from the kitchen, his eyes never once leaving the surface of the middle hallow.

October 2005

Harry found that, after leaving Albania, following Voldemort's footsteps was a much easier task with Death at his side. He no longer had to spend days at a time trying to find the faint magical signature of a being that'd been there decades before.

They went from place to place without incident, taking in the various cultures of different magical communities, studying the ancient lore behind each village. It was insightful, a rare look into the lives of others with the added bonus of having somebody there to help him understand it all.

As time went on, Harry found that he enjoyed Death's company more than he thought possible. The man was unbelievably brilliant and had an answer for almost everything. The white haired immortal never belittled him for not knowing something, and always encouraged him to speak up, to ask questions when they crossed his mind.

They visited countless temples, sites of utter ruin and places where magic flowed thick and heavy through the air, but Harry never quite managed to forget his experience in the Albanian forest. Nothing was ever quite as spectacular as that day, and as time continued to pass, Harry couldn't help but to accept the things he began to notice.

The first being that other magical nations took the Statute of Secrecy a lot more serious than Great Britian.

Within the smaller magical communities, muggleborns were moved from their muggle families and the parents were Obliviated with nobody the wiser. This task usually fell to the Elders of the village who had an easier time spotting magical potential in babies. When the time came, new wizards were eventually selected to take up the spot of a dying elder and we're taught the ways, sworn in to secrecy, and life went on.

In larger communities, it was not exactly uncommon for wizards to occasionally marry muggles, but each one was spelled against speaking of such things with other people under the knowledge that if they managed to find a way around it, they would be Obliviated. Though Muggleborns were not taken from their parents as infants, they were made to choose between their magic and the muggle world upon their seventeenth birthday.

There were small changes, minute differences between cultures, but as a whole, they did not interact with muggles and Muggle culture the way that those in Magical Britain did. They referred to Yule rather than Christmas, Samhain instead of Halloween. It was vastly interesting and upon realizing That Harry knew none of this, Death made it his personal mission to teach the green eyed wizard all about Wizarding tradition and the rich culture that he'd been denied.

Harry slowly began to realize why the purebloods hated muggleborns as they did. Their cultures, the ways of their people were gradually being shoved aside in favor of Muggle traditions that meant nothing to them. The practice of rituals on Summer and Winter Solstice was practically unheard of outside pureblood households and as Harry began to understand, he grew sad.

He came from a family of muggles, so upon entering Hogwarts he hadn't thought much of it when the holidays he was used to followed him, but they were not muggles. They were wizards. They were beings that'd walked silently alongside muggles for millennia, celebrating their own traditions, their own rituals, only to be shoved aside in favor of Muggle practices on the word of a man who had once been in favor of enslaving muggles right alongside Gellert Grindlewald.

The other thing Harry discovered upon his journey was that Magical Britain was the only wizarding community that housed prisoners in Azkaban.

While the Unforgivables remained unforgivable within each nation he visited, the use of dark magic was much more lax. The darker branches were still frowned upon and, mostly, avoided, but nobody batted an eye at the use of blood magic, or the long range of spells that most of magical Europe considered illegal.

Variations of balance existed within the world and it was beautiful. The freedom of magic was intoxicating and Harry found himself confiding in Death more than once that he wished Magical Britian would follow suit.

April 29th, 2009

Harry sat alone among seemingly endless shelves, each housing the ancient texts collected and treasured by the Black family, his fingers still toying thoughtfully with the Resurrection Stone. There were still questions that needed answers, bits of information that could only be acquired from the source, but as Harry gazed into the smooth surface of the dark little rock, he began to feel the slow and steady grips of doubt.

It was only a matter of time before Death figured out what he was really up to, the reasoning behind the sudden and fleeting game of questions, and Harry wasn't sure how the man would react. Depite their time together, the immortal was still a complex being and Harry often times had trouble gauging his reactions, or predicting how the man would react to certain events.

There were always certain tells that Death later denied, but most often, they occurred after the act. Harry always knew to stay clear when he found the white haired immortal pacing. Death didn't enjoy repetition, regardless of how many times he'd commented on the interesting way history always managed to loop, and to see him willingly stoop to a repetitious act almost always meant trouble.

However, such knowledge was of little help to the teen.

He'd obviously been surprised when Harry brought up the Hallows the first time. Though the green eyed wizard had received an answer, he still wasn't sure if the objects were open territory. They'd spent a lot of time avoiding the topic all together, and Harry wasn't positive if that unspoken rule was now void or not.

"Something troubles you, young one?"

Attention snapped into focus, the bright eyed wizard immediately abandoning his thoughts to snap his gaze up to the questioning eyes of his would-be mentor.

"Death! Hello, I - what?"

Death chuckled with amusement, "You appeared quite lost in thought. I merely wondered if something was troubling you."

Harry looked up to the white haired male, hesitant to speak. Despite the open and often playful nature of their relationship, Harry knew that Death took his job quite seriously. In all their time together, he had never once slipped about what was on the other side, and he always made a point to slip out at least once a day to tend to his duty. There was no guarantee that the Immortal wouldn't be angered by his question, or even worse, offended.

But at the same time, Harry found himself unable to continue without the knowledge his mentor held. Any further investigation would be coined useless and a complete waste of time.

Harry looked to the ancient being, and took a deep breath, feeling the startled flutter of his heart as anxiety induced adrenaline coursed through his system, "Would it be possible to bring a person back to life with the Resurrection Stone if you had an available body to house their soul?"

Merciless silence fell between the two companions as Death stared into the boy's eyes, his face completely closed off by a mask of calm indifference.

Of all the things he'd considered to be on Harry's mind, the Immortal had hoped that this wasn't his primary focus. It'd been foolish to think that it could be anything else, especially with his questioning about souls, and the dark Entity didn't have to be omniscient to know who Harry planned to bring back from the dead.

He should have expected it, the elder knew that. The bond between those two wizards ran impossibly deep, bound and twisted as tightly as fate would allow, and the Ancient being should've known that, in at least one universe, death would not be the end for the two of them.

The only question that remained was whether or not he should indulge the boy. There was always a price to be payed, something in exchange for something else. Nothing could be gained without first having offered something in return, that alone was the law that governed his very nature, but what Harry was asking would not be easy by any means. There was plenty of room for failure, for disaster, and there was no guarantee that Tom Riddle would wish to return from the other side.

The teen shifted restlessly in front of him and in that moment, Death realized how nervous the young wizard was. He fidgeted hopelessly, and as the elder took in the set features of his face, he realized the sheer amount of courage that would've been needed to ask such a question.

The immortal's face softened. His brave Gryffindor.

"It's complicated."

Harry frowned at the answer that didn't really answer anything, a look of well veiled disappointment hiding within his features.

Death sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "What you're asking can be done a number of ways, all of which are equally dangerous. There are a lot of variables involved."

Harry's eyebrows pulled together in confusion, "Like what?"

Death sighed in near exasperation, gently gripping the boy's arm and pulling him towards a nearby table before taking a seat across from him.

"The first thing you need to consider is whether or not Lord Voldemort wants to return to the land of the living."

Harry's cheeks flushed bright in embarrassed awe, "How did you - "

Death waved him off before he could finish, "Doesn't matter."

The dark haired wizard pulled the stone from his pocket and looked, once again, to its surface, turning it over in his fingers, "Couldn't we just ask him?"

Dexterous fingers pulled the stone from his grasp as the white haired Ancient shook his head, "The first summoning is always the most powerful. With each time that you call a spirit from the Afterlife, the connection falters. Unbound souls are not meant for this plane, Harry."

Knowledgable green eyes stared at the table's surface thoughtfully, "That makes sense, I guess." Harry drummed his fingertips quietly against the wood, "I think Tom Riddle would want to return."

Momentary silence lingered between them and the green eyed wizard was almost surprised that his companion hadn't questioned the statement. He merely nodded and offered the stone back to the Gryffindor before continuing.

"There are three possibilities. You could simply choose a body and hope that the soul bonds with it. Though the easiest option, it has the highest potential to fail. Bodies that have housed other souls don't usually mesh well with different spirits."

Death brushed something non-existant from his shoulder, lazily directing his focus back to the younger man, "The next option would be a particularly complicated potion that would simply create a body from memory, but as you destroyed a vast majority of items within the Department of Mysteries, I'm not sure where we would find the key ingredients. Not to mention that the given potion is meant for a Horcrux and that you're dreadful at Potions."

Harry scowled but didn't argue the point, "So I'm basically left with one option that probably isn't going to be very pleasant."

Death chuckled, his lips curling in an amused grin as he suppressed the urge to laugh out right, "Very clever, but not far from the truth. The last option is quite easily the hardest. It involves in-depth knowledge of the innermost workings of the human body combined with an extremely dark ritual."

The easy-going smile fell from the teen's lips, "How dark?"

"Very." Death eyed the teen wearily, "You'd need to dabble in Necromancy, and there's no way to successfully complete it without a sacrifice."

The teen's eyes darkened, and the Immortal could instantly see the change in his demeanor, the balance within his mind as the green eyed wizard weighed the pros and cons, the light to the dark. Indecision raged within his ward, clear as day to the Ancient being, but he said nothing, content to wait and watch both sides rise as fall as Harry considered just how far he was willing to go for a man that'd once been his greatest enemy.