Hey!

I just wanted to tell you guys that english isn't my first language. I learned english in school and also spent a year in Canada. My first language is german thus I wanted to apologize for any mistakes. I also don't have a beta reader.

There won't be a pairing as of now but that might change in the future. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 1

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that it stank. The air smelled dusty and he was pretty sure that something was rotting somewhere. Still lying on the couch he reached up with his left hand and rubbed over his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Faded light shone through the dirty curtains but it barely managed to light up the room. From what he could tell it had to be early in the morning but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of a lot of things recently. He didn't even know how long he slept for he always felt unrested. Sleeping was a curse and a sanctuary for him at the same time. A curse, because he had to watch and relive some of his worse memories over and over again, but then again, while asleep he doesn't have to worry about tomorrow. He could escape reality and most importantly, he doesn't have to pretend. Pretending, something he has done his whole life. Pretending to be a hero, pretending to be unfazed by the outcome of the war, pretending to be happy and finally, pretending not to wish he was dead as well. How many people must have died as a result of the war? How many families must have been destroyed, teared apart by Voldemort. But it was also his fault, if he had killed him sooner, if he just… and yet, he was not allowed to grieve for the lost for the living made his life hell. And yet, they didn't leave him alone.

Harry set up and stopped for a moment, the world was spinning around him and bright lights flashed in front of his eyes. After a few minutes of waiting he got up and walked to the bathroom. It was not far, just a few steps away from where he had laid. He made his way carefully through the mess. The flat was small but not necessarily comfortable. The bathroom door squeaked when Harry opened it. He flipped the light switch and the lightbulb flickered. A dim light lightened up the small bathroom. Harry looked at himself in cracked mirror. He was pale, one might say too pale. He had these dark purplish rings under his, what seemed emotionless, eyes. He wasn't shaved. All in all, not that bad all considered. Last week he had almost lost his job at the ministry as an Unspeakable. If he had to tell someone what happened, he would say that all stored up and bottled up feelings and frustrations overrun him at once and he just snapped. He couldn't stand the stares anymore, he couldn't stand the probing questions and comments about the war which was a regular occurrence, even three and a half years after the war. And the wariness people seemed to adopt around him, the paranoid eyes which followed him. He just couldn't stand living in a society like the current one anymore. He snapped. Poor guy who happened to be there to the wrong time.

For a week now he was alone with himself and his tortures mind in the small flat he rented in Muggle-London. Today he had to go to the ministry to determine how long his suspension will last. He hoped forever, maybe he should just quit anyways.

Harry started to strip of his clothes. He stepped out of his pyjamas he had worn for the past few days and left them carelessly on the floor. The water that came out of the showerhead was cold. It sprayed over his face and ran over his whole body. Trying to relax for once, he closed his eyes and tried to let go of the tension. It was harder than he thought. He was always on guard. The water washed away the cold nights sweat from one of his nightmares. If only the water could wash away his thoughts as easily. Wasn't water supposed to be cleansing? Yet he still felt the same. He turned the water colder and colder until he shivered. But the water couldn't awake him from the trance-like state he was living in. He just stood there some minutes, not sure how to move. His limbs were frozen and out of his control. The water spraying onto the shower floor was the only sound.

Harry wanted to stop breathing, just to not disturb the sound. Suddenly breathing seemed like a burden to him, if he could just stop, but no. He snapped out of the dangerous thoughts and quickly washed himself. Then he stepped out of the shower, almost slipping. Dripping wet he looked at himself in the mirror again. Maybe he should really shave. His black wet curls hung sadly in his face. He was definitely not looking forward going to the ministry again.

Harry hated the entrance in the underground toilets of Whitehall. Why would any serious authority put their main entrance for the employees in some old dirty toilets? A bit reluctant Harry stepped into the toilet bowl. Not even after the three and a half years he was used to it. Whenever he thought he was okay with stepping into a toilet; he was hit by a wall of reek. Nevertheless he flushed himself down. The travel was short and disorientating. It felt like he was squeezed through an uncomfortable tight tube. Another thing he was not getting used to. After a few minutes he felt hard ground under his feet. His legs gave up under him and he fell forward and out of the fireplace onto the marble floor. It was cold under his hands. He got up and straightened his clothes. Directly in front of him was the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He looked at it disgusted and turned away; he just couldn't stand looking at it. The Houseelf reminded him too much of Dobby and then his heart arched. He looked at the Centaur and thought of Fierenze. He tried to distract himself quickly. With long strides he crossed the atrium and by a guard. They knew that he worked here and didn't ask for his wand.

In the elevator he met a few familiar faces but he ignored them. He was not in the mood for the occasional chit-chat. They glanced at him warily and turned away. Typical. At level 9 he got out, long after all the others left. Level 9 was the Department of Mysteries, or in other words, where the Unspeakables work. Harry walked along the long corridor. The black bare walls were soothing for him. There were no windows or doors, except for the one on the end of the hallway. When he reached it, he hesitated. This could be the end, he thought. Then he waited, to see how he felt with that idea. He felt nothing, not even regret or sorrow. After 3 and a half years he had no real connection to this work. He had passion for all the knowledge he acquired here, he felt passion for all the secrets lying within these halls but he didn't feel that same kind of passion for his work. With that thought he went through the door.

Standing in the middle of the room with identical doors on the wall, he pulled out his wand. He took a second to block out the memories of the faithful night Sirius died. For a moment, a split second, he thought he could hear his laugh. Harry shook his head to let the thought go. It was still difficult to pass through these halls and not to think of Sirius. He made the familiar wand movement and called out "Office, Crowly". Crowly was his supervisor. The doors started to spin in a dizzy speed and finally they were so fast that they formed just one single door. The door spun another round or to lazily before it came to a stop. Harry went to it and knocked.

The office was stylish furnished. In the centre of it was a grand wood table. Behind it sat an elderly man with grey hair. He was thin and had stern eyes.

"Mr. Potter, good that you are here. Please, have a seat", he said with a raspy voice. Harry nodded and sat down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. It was uncomfortable, probably on purpose.

"You know why you are here? Yes? Good. So you know in what difficult situation I am in right now. You are good Potter, not to say very good. Your work in the Time chamber is exceptional, not to speak what you have done to the prophecy room. Impressive work. But on the other hand, Mr. Potter, you have a lot of eyes on you, especially after the war and everybody expecting that you would join the Aurors. How in the world did you think it would be a good idea to beat up the Undersecretary of the Minister? Hm, explain that to me", Crowly looked intensively at Harry.

"He looked at me weirdly and asked me to retell how I defeated Voldemort?", hearing his own words Harry knew that they sounded ridiculous. He had had a bad day when it happened. Crowly sighed deeply.

"You know, some people would like me to fire you. But, I think a four month suspension would be enough. Go pack your things you need from your desk and don't show your face till the suspension is up", with these words Crowly ended the conversation.

"Yes Sir", said Harry and left the office. He felt strangely empty. True, he didn't like his work but what else would he do in these four months? Back in the room with the doors he repeated the same procedure like last time but said "Time chamber" instead of "Office, Crowly". Again the doors spun and spun till only one was left. Harry stepped through it. He was greeted by the familiar sight of his workplace. Or, what he had worked at before he beat someone up. He walked up to his desk and gripped some parchments he thought he would need. He felt someone starring at him and looked up. Somebody was standing in front of him. His instincts screamed at him to run, to move or to hide. He didn't know the person, he was dressed in all dark and had a hard face. He knew in that moment that he was going to die. A wand was directed at him and before he could raise his own wand or dodge the spell, he heard "Avada Kedavra". The second last thing he saw was the cold and smug eyes of his killer. The last thing was a brilliant green light. Green like his eyes, how ironic. He didn't think about that he would die or that he would see some friends again. His last thought was that maybe he should have joined the Aurors after all. The world shifted. Did his mother feel the same?

He didn't see his life flashing in front of his eyes, there was also no tunnel and therefor no light. There was just black emptiness and silence. Suddenly he was weightless and filled with a deep calmness. It was dark around him, he thought it might be cold but in fact, he didn't feel anything at all. The rising panic was washed away by indifference and insensibility. It was like he was floating in ice water, everything was numb. He couldn't, just couldn't feel his body anymore. It was like he didn't exist anymore. But he couldn't bring himself to be disturbed by it. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but this eerie numbness and the creeping calmness. How odd, he thought.

"You are dead but also not, childe. Your body has been destroyed but your soul and magic are strong. Tell me Harry, are you content with the life you lead?", the voice was endless and ageless and seemed to hover over Harry. As much as Harry wanted to force his eyes more open, he could just see the blackness. What an odd question, was he content? The answer would outright be "no". All the death, the pain and the sacrifices he couldn't forget. He wouldn't forget. The memories of the war have imprinted themselves on his very soul never to be eared. But he also didn't want to erase them if only to give them a meaning. He doesn't want to forget and really wanted to escape his dreadful life. Nothing seemed to ease his pain. His friends were dead, or so it seemed to Harry, have forgotten him. They moved on when he couldn't, wouldn't. He had a job, sure, he had a flat, yes, he had food, yes, but what differed his life from merely existing? What made his life worth living, kept him going, day after day, week after week? The answer is that he doesn't know, he just couldn't give up.

"I see, boy, you have made a choice. Your body in your universe has been destroyed beyond repair. But you are the master of mine after all. I feel that you are not ready yet for your destined task as master of death. I will send you to a parallel universe where magic doesn't exist. Your other "you" would have died today, your soul will take his place. Since magic doesn't exist there, but I also can't separate it from you without damaging your very soul, it will take on another form. It will turn inwards and you will find your mind improved and you will heal faster. Outwards, your magic manifests as empathy, you may see auras and have visions of the past, the now and the future. Now Harry, does that sound fair to you?", the being, also now known as death, proposed. Harrys head won't stop spinning. A chance, a chance, a new life, a life without pain. If only he knew, but now, now it was perfect. He felt a breath on his face. He caught a glimpse of glowing red eyes, something in him shifted and then he felt a pull. The pull grew more and more until it was nearly unbearable. He wanted to scream but no sound escaped his open mouth. It was so dark, he didn't know if his eyes were open or closed. His magic expanded inside of him and filled him inside out. His head exploded with pain. And then, when he thought it couldn't get worse, it stopped. It was like time stood still. His magic pulsed within him. Then, it exploded; agony took over him, then, nothing.

When Harry woke up again everything was still black. It was another blackness, not as deep and endless. The air smelled mouldy and blood stained. He had a stale taste in his mouth. His whole body hurt and he couldn't move or even lift a finger. He laid in something wet, it smelled coppery. It must be blood, he thought, a little bit surprised. He could just lay there; he couldn't tell how much time has passed. All he could feel and concentrate on was the pain that traveled through his limbs. It was a different pain from before. His magic felt like it was burning him, changing him. Now, he felt that maybe his left leg was broken and probably a few ribs. His stomach and back felt bruised. His right hand felt like somebody stepped on it. His head hurt him and he was a little bit glad for the darkness, it soothed his eyes. Where was he? From above he could see small lines of light, also small lines of light to his right. It formed a door. A pretty small door. A familiar door. No, he thought, no this can't be true! He was supposed to have a happy life now; he wasn't supposed to feel any pain.

Suddenly his body heated up again and waves of heat traveled through his limbs. His injuries heated up the most. Maybe this could be his healing abilities? Then a wave traveled to his head and filled him up. Before he fell unconscious he thought what a pity it was that he was back in the cupboard under the stairs.