Chapter Text
Hogwarts, as well as everything Harry Potter has ever loved, has been destroyed by Voldemort. For once in his life, he feels no fulfillment from his revenge, no satisfaction from finally bringing down the man he had dedicated his whole life to destroy. If the lives of all the people he fought to save had to be the cost, none of it was worth it. Maybe to the rest of the Wizarding World, but not to Harry. Harry only felt bitterness and rage. What was the point? His only purpose in life had been to defeat Voldemort, but now that he's done it, he feels no more complete than he had before. At least before, he had his friends with him. Before, he had Sirius. Before, Harry finally had people in his life who truly loved him. Now what does he have? A destroyed castle surrounded by the bodies of his loved ones?
No matter how hard he tries to dismiss it, all his thoughts lead him back to Dumbledore. The first adult in his life who actually guided him, the first person he met who he thought actually cared about him. Without Dumbledore, Harry has no idea how he would have survived half of what he went through. But he does.
Without Dumbledore, Harry could have lived a normal life instead of being forced into a prophecy that he had no say over. So what if Voldemort killed his parents? Why does that mean he has to avenge them? He never even met the pair, for fuck's sake. He could have been hid under some Fidelius charm and given private education at the very least, if not simply just given a new identity so he could live a normal life. But, of course, Dumbledore would never have let that happen. After all, who else would he have been able to manipulate into killing the demon of his own making? Harry was the perfect option; his parents' death acted as a motivator, and his weakness from the abuse led him right into Dumbledore's hands. Exactly where the man had wanted him to go. I mean, it was the perfect plan-- to raise the prophesized child as a martyr and in turn never have to lift a bloody finger against Voldemort.
Despite it all, Harry laughs. It feels like days yet seconds that he spends keeled over with his hand over his stomach, cackling almost manically. Truly, it was quite the kicker. The old man had Harry do the dirty work for him and still ended up falling out a window. How ironic. Yet, just as quickly as his rage turned into amusement, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. What does he even do now? Hogwarts is in shambles; there's no chance any of the student body is returning there for schooling anytime soon. Everyone he's ever loved has been brutally murdered by the remaining Death Eaters, and Harry only survived by some absolutely absurd luck. In fact, he almost wishes he hadn't. At least if he was dead he would be at peace. Now he's alive and feeling utterly helpless.
Is this the point where Harry is supposed to start his journey into adulthood? After watching everything he cares for get ruined by a complete madman? The idea of it feels almost unreal to him, but he knows he's right. He cannot return to school and Merlin be damned if you think he would ever return to the muggle world after what the Dursleys did to him.
With a sigh, Harry drags himself up from the ruins of the castle. As he walks out of the ward-zone, he realizes that he has no where to go. He doesn't even own a fucking house.
Harry pulls his invisibility cloak over his head, and with a sharp crack, apparates outside of Gringotts. Part of him vaguely wonders if they will get upset at a customer entering the world's most secure bank under an invisibility cloak. However, after he performed a heist on said bank and ran off with one of their dragons, he finds that he does not care much to follow their rules. The bank is just as he remembered it, with elaborate limestone pillars inside and out and smooth polished floors with gold trim. It would almost be beautiful if not filled with vicious sharp-toothed goblins. As Harry walks up to one of the tellers, he notices the goblin tense up and whisper something to the guard behind him. Within moments, Harry is somehow picked up by one of the two foot tall creatures and dragged into a heavily guarded room.
"Lord Potter. Here to cause us more trouble, I presume? Or maybe to run off with another one of our dragons?" The goblin sneered at him, not giving him a chance to reply as he yanks the invisibility cloak off Harry's head and throws it on the ground.
Harry simply frowns. "Y'know, it was kinda necessary... the whole Dark Lord hiding soul pieces in your bank thing and all, it didn't really give me much of an option. Unless you're saying the goblins would have aided me in my retrieval of his horcrux which saved the whole Wizarding World?"
To Harry's surprise, the goblin actually laughs. "No, Lord Potter, I don't suppose we would have. Although the Goblin Race extends our thanks to you for the vanquishing of the Dark Lord, it does not make up for the damages you have caused us. You might be surprised to hear that dragons are, in fact, terribly expensive." At this, Harry grins, "Then how about we make a deal, Mr...?"
"Ragnok. You may call me Ragnok. Now, tell me more about this deal you speak of?" Now, both Harry and the Goblin are looking at each other with a mischievous glint in their eyes, undoubtedly thinking about how they can use the other to their advantage.
"You see, Ragnok, I'm in a bit of a... sticky situation right now. I need a place to stay, preferably somewhere unplottable with heaps of warding, however I am unable to purchase any properties due to being a minor. If you could help me get access to such a place, I will allow you to enter my vaults and take any fees necessary to make up for the damage I caused to your bank as well as the dragon I freed," he pauses, "just preferably don't use that money to buy a new dragon. It's sad seeing such beautiful creatures chained down and abused."
Somehow, Ragnok grinned even wider, "and for the fees of my help with your legally questionable request? Paying for the damages will only earn you the forgiveness of our race; not any sort of favors."
"Ah, of course. You may take 5000 galleons on top of the other fees and the cost of the property," Harry frowns once more, "but I have one more request for you."
"And what may that be, Lord Potter?"
"I'd like an inheritance test as well as an overview of all my vaults."
Ragnok looks so happy, Harry was almost confused that he said the wrong thing. "Coming right up, Lord Potter. If you would wait here a moment, I will be right back," the goblin says as he quickly shuffles out the back door of the room. Harry just now notices that the guards have all backed off of him, and are now standing idly in the corners of the room. Within moments, Ragnok is walking back into the room with a sheet of parchment and a dagger covered in elaborate rune sequences. "Here, simply cut your palm and let your blood fall onto the parchment. It will give you a list of all your Lordships and their origins."
Harry raises an eyebrow at the words but complies in silence, drawing in a harsh breath as the dagger slices through his skin. The moment the blood drops, words begin to form all over the sheet.
Harry James Potter
Lord to:
House of Black (Inheritance from Sirius Black)
House of Potter (Inheritance from James Potter)
House of Gaunt (Conquest from Tom Riddle)
House of Slytherin (Conquest from Tom Riddle)
House of Emrys (Unknown)
House of Peverell (Magical conquest)
Death (Magical Conquest)
What the hell? Inheriting two ancient houses by conquest is one thing, but what in the absolute buggering fuck are the last three things? How is he the Lord to Death if it's not a house? House of Peverell? House of Emrys? Harry, as any normal human does when presented with life-altering information, simply sighs and decides it's not his problem. However, when Ragnok skims over the paper, that plan is immediately ruined. The goblin freezes and pales dramatically, and Harry knows he is in deep shit by the unusual display of character.
"Lord Potter, or rather, Lord Black-Potter-Gaunt-Slytherin-Emrys-Peverell, your name is quite a mouthful. Are you aware of the significance of your last couple Lordships?"
Harry frowns slightly but shakes his head, "No, I am not. And Lord Potter-Black is fine. Could you explain any of this for me?"
"Well, to put it simply Lord Potter-Black, you are recognized as the Master of Death by magic. Us goblins don't have much information on what that title entails, however we tend to know more about it than wixen due to our records with past masters. I'm not sure how you can achieve such a title and be fully unaware of it, but to our understanding, it gives you certain abilities. For the most part, you likely have a direct line of communication with Death, as well as a special affinity for necromancy that is unique from any others. We are unsure if this title gives you invincibility, but we do know that Masters of Death have an uncanny ability to avoid dying even in extreme circumstances. Some may consider it luck, but we recognize it as a special bond with Death that allows you to escape its grasp easier than others. What you choose to do with this information is entirely up to you, however we highly recommend you keep it a secret. Many people would commit extremely violent acts for that title, and others would consider you a lunatic."
Harry is at a complete loss for words. Master of Death? It sounded completely absurd but just right at the same time. It made no sense, but it explained everything. After all, he was quite literally hit with a killing curse and still stood up not even 10 minutes later. But still, Master of Death?
"I-- Thank you, Ragnok. Do you have any suggestions on how I can access this... direct line of communication with Death?"
Just as Harry finished his words, the world around him came to a harsh stop as the goblins froze. Everything felt cold and colorless, yet it was comforting to him.
"You called me, Master?"
Harry thought he was done with life-altering surprises for the day. Clearly he was very, very wrong. Turning his head around almost instantly, Harry meets a pair of golden eyes behind a dark cloak. The figure had almost no shape, the cloak flowing straight down as if it didn't have a body to hold on to, yet the hood was still suspended in the air resting on a head. Harry noticed that the cold and empty feeling was coming from the figure in front of him, and quickly came to the conclusion that it is also what paused the world around him. Yet, at the same time, it didn't feel real. How the actual fuck did he just summon the Death to a random backroom in Gringotts? He was at a loss for words.
"I-- who-- what the fuck?" Harry sputtered, taking in the surreality of the situation. To his relief, the figure laughed in response.
"Why, hello to you too, Master. I would say long time no see, but unfortunately I saw you just recently at King's Cross, even if you didn't see me. Now, what did you need?"
Harry pauses to think. What did he need? Without even letting the thought fully form yet, Harry answers Death's question
"I want to be able to live a full life with my loved ones. Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus... All of them. I just want to be able to enjoy my life again with them alive to witness it," Harry says desperately. He looks so sad and broken, the figure doesn't have the heart to deny its master.
"Very well, Master. I cannot bring back the dead, however I can do you one even better. I shall bring you back to exactly two years before you get your Hogwarts letter. Is there anything else you request?"
Holy shit. Harry didn't think that would work. "Actually, yes, if you don't mind. I'd like to never be Dumbledore's martyr. I don't want someone controlling me again," Harry declares with a sense of determination he has never felt before.
"Master, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to say that. It's written in the stars for you already, my little Merlin. You shall follow your ancestors footsteps, but they shall lead you to your own path. Now go and do honor to my name. I will always be by your side."
Before Harry can reply to thank the figure, everything goes black.