The master and servant of Death herself
Alrighty, let's make some changes! Gotta love them changes! Going off movie canon, Harry broke the Elder wand and discarded the resurrection stone, except… nope! Here he keeps the two around and his dad's old invisibility cloak. Not using them, but they're just there. Anyways…
A whole year after the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry's mind had just about calmed down. Of course, this was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who the universe had decided couldn't live without his life getting thrown a curveball to fuck things up. That curveball, in this case, was Death. Not one of his friends dying, but literally the embodiment of Death knocked on his front door on a Saturday afternoon. Harry opened the door to see a nine foot tall skeletal figure wearing a night black cloak and holding a scythe. Yep, it was a day off alright. "No," Harry closed the door and sighed. This day couldn't get much worse, could it? He turned to go back to his living room and walked right into Death again. "Merlin's Beard!" he jumped back and reached for the Elder Wand. "What do you want?"
"Harry Potter, you are the holder of all three of my Hallows. Return them to me, now," A feminine American voice came from the skull of the figure. Harry lowered his wand and blinked.
"Wait, Death's a woman?" Death pushed her hood back to reveal her white skull.
"Why do you focus on that? Return my Hallows to me!"
"It's just that all the stories depict you as being male,"
"It matters not! Give me my Hallows and I shall let you live. If not, I shall claim you,"
"Look, if this is about me giving you all that work last year, that wasn't my fault. Voldemort was killing us!"
"What? No! I just want what your ancestors took from me!"
"What my ancestors took from you because you gave them to them. By rights, these belong to me," then, Death did something that genuinely unnerved Harry. She smiled.
"Of course, you are the only living ancestor of the Peverells. So, I shall make you a deal. You get to keep the Hallows, in exchange for working for me," this interested Harry. Apparently a Hogwarts dropout wasn't exactly in demand, and he didn't want to use his name to get a job.
"I'm listening," was all he said. Death's smile grew wider, and darker.
"You shall hunt wizards and witches who have evaded death for long enough. I shall not send you for those who have naturally long lives, however you do have an affinity for Horcrux hunting,"
"So you want me to do what I did when I was 17 for the rest of my life? And if one of these witches or wizards kills me or I die of old age you just get the Hallows?"
"That is part of the deal. A wizard of your level of skill should not fall to such a weakness as age, so you shall be granted immunity from it. Should you accept, you shall age to your peak level of strength and ability, then you shall remain there until you are killed,"
"So basically I'm immortal?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Partially, yes," Death nodded. He furrowed his brow.
"Pay?" Death blinked. Somehow.
"Yes, pay. I'm not going to work for free," he smirked. It was going to be a fun employment.
13 years later…
Armelion Corcaroth had been apparating across all of America, never stopping, but always looking over his shoulder. That boy, how had he found him? He made sure as to cover his tracks, but still Potter caught up to him. All this because of some stupid Horcrux? He didn't want to die! Is that so much of a crime? One more glance around him and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had lost him. Or so he thought. Thick chains wrapped around his wrists, then his ankles, then his neck, and trapped him on a wall. "No!" he screamed, and the chains tightened. Harry Potter took off his invisibility cloak, and stared daggers into the terrified man.
"Where is the Horcrux?" his voice was eerily calm. Corcaroth spat in his face. He sighed and used his sleeve to wipe himself off. "Do you know how many times me and my friends were forced to use the Imperius curse when we were looking for Voldemort?"
"Fuck off!" Corcaroth shouted.
"And," Harry continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I also know first-hand what the cruciatus curse does, and it's not exactly pleasant," he raised the Elder wand, and Corcaroth's eyes widened with fear. "So, I can only imagine what it would be like when used with the most powerful wand in existence," he pointed the wand at the helpless wizard. "Shall we find out?"
"No, please! The Horcrux is my lapel! Just, please don't kill me!" Harry delicately took the pin out of his jacket, then reached into his own pocket, and withdrew a basilisk fang. "Will, will it hurt?" the man whimpered. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Part of your soul is getting destroyed. What do you think?" and he thrust the fang into the lapel, destroying it, and the soul inside. Corcaroth screamed in agony, and fell to the floor. "Do not try to cheat Death. Ever," he turned to walk away.
"Y-you're not going to kill me?" he wheezed.
"Not now. But if I find that you have made another Horcrux I will. Don't make us meet again. He flung his invisibility cloak over him and walked away.
Harry slumped down in his armchair and sighed. It was a long chase, but he had finally caught the last 'Horcruxer' as he had dubbed them. Death appeared in the seat next to him. "I did it," he said nonchalantly.
"You didn't kill him. Again," she sounded irritated.
"Yeah, well you didn't need the paperwork. Besides, if he doesn't make more Horcruxes, he'll die soon anyway, along with the rest. They weren't exactly young, you know,"
"And if they do?" Harry picked up one of his Muggle newspapers. The headline was Iron man makes first free energy skyscraper! Iron Man? He'd have to check that out.
"That's when I'll kill them," despite everything he'd seen and done, killing was not in Harry's good books. The ending of life never seemed necessary. Well, except in Voldemort's case, of course, but that was a prophecy thing, out of his control.
"You've done well," she congratulated him. He made a 'hmph' sound and buried his head in the paper, reading about the billionaire with the most deadly suit in the world. Why British Muggles were worrying about this American was confusing. The prophet never talked about an Ilvermorny Dark Arts teacher going mental, so why did Muggles care about the Americans? "Harry, you know I like you, right?" Harry almost choked.
"What?!" Death's eye sockets widened.
"Oh jeez not like that! Like a friend!"
"Oh thank Merlin," he sighed.
"But anyway, I feel like I should warn you. There's this guy who has a crush on me," Harry raised an eyebrow.
"And uh, He's kind of insane. This one time, he killed an entire solar system to impress me, and-,"
"Did it work?"
"Were you impressed?"
"Well yeah, but that was when I had someone to do my paperwork for me, and I was, like, centuries younger then. But he's getting these weapons, and he's on his way here,"
"Well, a couple of the weapons are here,"
"Oh. So we're all probably going to die," he sighed. There's always a bigger megalomaniac.
"Ah, I dunno, I can probably stop him from killing everyone, but no promises," she twiddled her thumbs for a bit, then got up. "Well, I'm gonna go home. You can take a couple of decades off if you want to,"
"Done," she smiled and disappeared with a pop. Harry went to his modest kitchen and dialled a number on the phone.
"Ron! Get the phone!" Hermione shouted from her bedroom. Ron Weasley, Horcrux hunter, surprisingly second-top marks on his N.E.W.T exams, and now, full time Auror, ran to the living room and grabbed the phone.
"Weasley-Granger household," he answered in his most formal voice.
"It's Granger-Weasley!" Hermione shouted in a singsong voice.
"Is this the home of the best Auror in the Ministry of magic?" Harry asked in a mock-reporter voice.
"Harry? Bloody Hell, mate it's been forever! How are you? What are you doing? Actually, don't answer that, come over! I'll give you the money for the-,"
"Floo. Oh yeah, I forgot. Strongest wand ever, better apparating. Alright, Harry?" Harry shrugged.
"Yeah, alright," they stood silently for a few seconds, before laughing and embracing.
"It's great to see you, Harry!"
"You too, Ron,"
"Oh, Shh! Put on your cloak, I'm gonna surprise her," he put a finger to his lips and Harry nodded. "Oh, Hermione! I've got a present for you!" he was answered by footsteps going down stairs.
"Ron for goodness sake if this is another trick you and George put together I swear to Merlin I'll-,"
"Hello Hermione," Harry de-cloaked and smiled.
"Harry," she was surprised alright. She walked up to him and held out her arms. He opened his arms too, expecting a hug, but was greeted by a light slap to the face. "Where the Hell have you been? Couldn't send an Owl, could you? Couldn't pop in for a chat and a cup of tea in the last THIRTEEN YEARS, could you?"
"Well, no, not really, my boss is kind of strict," he admitted.
"So what are you doing, mate?" Ron interjected before anything got more heated. "What's this job then?"
"I'm not really sure how to describe it. You know how I have the Hallows?" they nodded. "And you know how they were made by Death himself?" they nodded again. "Well, it turns out Death is a woman, and has hired me to be a professional immortal hunter," two jaws dropped. "Yeah. She's given me immunity to aging and dying of old age, so until I'm killed, I'm an agent of Death, finding Horcruxes and destroying them," silence.
"Wow, and I thought being an Auror was cool," Ron laughed.
"I've been given the next 20 years off, since I just caught the last 'Horcruxer', so I thought I'd pop in," he gave a jokey wave.
"That's amazing, Harry!" Hermione hugged him tightly. "So what are you going to do? I mean, 20 years free time is quite a bit, you know,"
"I was thinking of travelling for a bit. Seeing the Muggle world. Just seeing places from a wizarding perspective can get a little boring after a while," he and Hermione laughed.
"Where's top of the list then?" Ron pried.
"America, probably. Have you read about all the weird stuff that's been happening there?"
"You mean Tony Stark? Yeah," Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you going to spy on him?"
"Maybe…" his devious smirk widened.
"Oh, Harry Potter you evil being!" Ron laughed.
"And, it'll be Muggle transport only. You know I've never actually flown on a plane before?"
"Hang on, how're you going to pay for that? Does Death pay you?"
"Yeah, 20,000 Galleons a year," two more jaws dropped.
A week later…
Harry was comfortably seated in the business class section of a British Airways long-haul. He was handed a glass of wine from a slightly too friendly waitress, who gave him a flirty wink as she walked by. He strapped in as the plane took off, and he marvelled at the fact that his wand wasn't taken off him at the TSA. I mean, it was a stick!