Chapter Text
23 June 2005
Harry Potter was sick and fucking tired of Death Eaters.
The war had been ‘over’ for seven years now and, yet, here he was, responding to the godforsaken siren in the Auror office because some upstart asshole decided they needed to carry out the mission of their (dead) great and powerful Dark Dipshit.
“I think we should advertise a bigot convention, get them all in one place, and then nuke it,” Susan Bones said, jogging after Harry as they grabbed their robes and moved toward the apparition point.
He’d made the incredible mistake of explaining Muggle weapons during a stakeout a year prior and, ever since, nuclear bombs had been Susan’s go-to solution for every minor inconvenience.
“Nukes’ve got too wide a range,” Ron said, still amused by Susan’s suggestion despite the sheer number of times she’d made it. “There’s gotta be something more precise.”
“Yeah, a normal bomb,” Harry laughed, making sure his bright red Auror robes were properly secured, double checking that his Holly wand was in his forearm holster, that the Wand that Refused to Die (more commonly known as the Elder Wand) was in his back-up holster on his thigh, and that the pendant etched with Runes he had no hopes of ever understanding was secured around his neck.
He hadn’t taken it off once since Theo gave it to him a couple months prior, but running his fingers across the surface and feeling the way the metal sang with beautiful, familiar magic never failed to calm his nerves.
“Let’s get this over with,” Ron sighed, completing his own little checklist before they were given the all clear to apparate to the scene, “if we’re late for dinner again Hermione is going to murder us and any Auror that might investigate the crime would take her side.”
“Your wife’s terrifying, Weasley,” Proudfoot said, shooting Ron a wry grin as he read over the report that’d been called in. “Alright, Potter, Weasley, stick together. You’re on perimeter, catch anyone who tries to run. Bones, you’re with me, we’re going inside. Coordinates have been sent to your watches, apparate on my count. Three,” he started and Harry looked down at his Auror-issued watch, quickly memorizing the coordinates as they appeared in the upper quadrant. “Two,” Proudfoot said and Harry looked up to meet Ron’s eye, smiling a little at the familiar rush of following his first friend into battle. “One.”
Ron nodded once, a little smile on his lips that mirrored Harry’s, and then with a slight turn on the heel and a rush of pure magic, they were gone.
Harry’s feet hit the ground in an open field somewhere near Wiltshire. He immediately recognized the Manor, had half a second to think about how annoying it was going to be to tell Draco that his childhood home had been taken over by psychos yet again, and then, for the third time in his nearly 25 years on this stupid goddamn planet, he found himself engulfed by a sickly green light.
* * *
“What the fuck?” a voice said and Harry blinked his eyes open to the sight of a very familiar bright white ceiling.
He knew, without having to check, that he was dead.
The issue, though, was that he’d died on a mission. He’d died with Ron who more than likely made it out alive given the Death Eaters’ propensity for aiming at Harry first before they turned toward anyone else.
He’d died, essentially, alone.
There should not be another voice in this accursed train station.
And there certainly shouldn’t be a voice belonging to Theodore Nott.
“Where are we?” Theo asked and Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming into the void.
“Theodore,” Harry started, turning his head and taking in the sight of his chaos-magnet of a fiancé sprawled out on the floor in Limbo, “what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I go where you go,” Theo said, shrugging, obviously unconcerned with the fact that where they were clearly wasn’t on their normal plane of existence.
“You know, every time you’ve said that, I’ve just assumed you meant metaphorically.”
“Now why would you think that?”
“Because I’m not insane,” Harry replied, though he could feel a smile tugging at his lips. Theo had that sort of effect on him. No matter how shit the day had been, no matter how stupid a situation they’d found themselves in, Theo could always make him smile. “Theo, really, how are you here?”
“The pendant. It’s got a runic array on it that’s linked to my ring,” he said, showing Harry the ring he’d proposed with on their third anniversary back in March. The ring he’d apparently taken it upon himself to turn into an only vaguely legal tracking device. He looked just a little apologetic which was a sure sign that he was well aware Harry was about to tell him he was an idiot. “It tells me if you’re in danger, well, more danger than normal, and it’s essentially a two-way portkey. I felt a tug and I followed it and now I’m here.”
“You’re telling me you somehow portkeyed yourself to Limbo?”
“Is that where we are?” Theo asked, sitting up and looking around in interest. He had a little frown on his face, the one he always got when he was seeing something new, the one that made Harry’s heart feel a little like it was starting to melt. “Huh.”
“Huh,” Harry echoed, smiling entirely despite himself. “Theo, we’re dead.”
“You’ve been dead before,” Theo said, waving him off, “didn’t stick.”
“You’re impossible,” Harry said, his voice embarrassingly fond. “Right, let’s sort this shit out. Ah, Death? You there?”
“Hello, Master,” another voice spoke, a voice that sounded a little like the creaking of a cemetery gate.
“What’re we doing this time?” Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbows and taking in the sight of the deity that’d been visiting his dreams since he walked into that clearing, ready to die. “Last time I was here, I was given the chance to return or get on the train. Either way, Theo here didn’t actually die, so I vote he gets to return, especially considering the fact that we have a kid. Thoughts?”
Theo winced at the reminder of Teddy, of the kid who’d officially been Harry’s since Andromeda passed away months after the end of the war, the kid who’d been Theo’s since Teddy declared him ‘Papa’ six months after he and Harry started dating and, instead of running away screaming like any sane 22-year-old would do, he’d teared up and told Harry, in no uncertain terms, that they were never getting rid of him now.
Harry waved him off, unconcerned. He knew Theo hadn’t had one goddamn clue where he was going when he’d followed the tug of his ring, he knew that if Theo had known, he never would’ve gone if it meant leaving Teddy behind. He also knew that Death wouldn’t keep them here for no reason.
The Tale of the Three Brothers hadn’t been lying when it said that Ignotus met Death as a friend.
Harry, like his ancestor before him, knew Death as a companion, not merely as the being humanity feared. Death was quite fond of Harry and, as a result, he was quite fond of Teddy. He’d never leave Teddy alone if there were another option.
“The options are much the same, though I offer you a third,” Death said. “You can go back to the place you left, you can get on the train and carry on, or I can send you Back.”
“When you say Back?” Harry asked, his interest officially piqued.
“Back,” Death repeated, an almost excited smile spreading across his ghostly pale face.
Harry paused, his mind running over question upon question, possibility upon possibility. Going Back was a chance he’d never imagined he’d be offered. Going Back meant a chance to fix this disaster of a country before it went to the dogs, it meant returning to a point where they had a chance to fix things before Voldemort’s death simply meant the more industrious Death Eaters remained. It meant they could change things, they could make it better. They could end the war before it led to the loss of thousands of innocent lives; both Muggle and magical.
He’d miss his friends something fierce, but going back meant he could create a world where Hermione wouldn’t have to obliviate her parents, where Ron wouldn’t have to lose Fred; a world where Susan wouldn’t lose Amelia, Hannah wouldn’t lose her mother, Draco wouldn’t be forced to take the Mark, and Theo wouldn’t have to flee the country to escape it.
One look at Theo told him he’d come to the same conclusion.
“I need the terms,” Harry said, his eyes still locked on Theo’s, studying him for any sign of doubt.
“You’d return much as you are now,” Death began, “your consort could return with you,” he added and Harry couldn’t help but snort at the way Theo’s face dramatically scrunched in distaste at the title. He was Lord Nott in his own right, after all. It was a bit of an affront to call him the Lord Consort Potter. “Consort,” Death repeated, rolling his eyes at Theo’s theatrics, “to the Master of Death, Lord Nott. His title outranks your mortal peerage by far.”
“Fair enough,” Theo conceded, shooting Harry a look that said Death was treading on thin ice and Harry tried very hard to suppress his smile. There was little Theo held onto of his father’s teachings, but the power and importance of the House of Nott was something that was woven into his blood and suggesting anyone, even the House of Death, outranked them was sure to ruffle a few feathers.
“You would both return as you are, with your magic and memories intact. Your mere existence in that timeline would destroy the future you know now, meaning you’d have free reign to re-write history. All I ask is that you destroy Riddle’s Horcruxes and prevent that ghastly resurrection ritual from happening. That single ritual did such damage to the balance of magic that the world is feeling it still, years later and even after his final death and I fear that no amount of healing will truly seal that festering wound.”
“We could do a lot of good,” Harry said, scanning Theo’s face for any sign of disagreement.
“We could,” Theo said, “but-”
“Teddy,” Harry finished. Theo nodded and Harry turned to Death, “we’ll go back, but not without Teddy.”
“Of course,” Death said, looking a little affronted that they’d even suggest otherwise. “So we’re in agreement? You’re going Back?”
Harry waited for Theo’s nod before turning to Death, “we’re going Back.”