A/N: This story has been in my mind for quite a while now and decided to put it forth. I have yet to see a story that depicts a female Harry Potter as the Herald in this particular crossover, and thought I might as well write it out and post it. I have another account that desperately needs to be updated, but honestly have no motivation to do so. So, instead I write this and hopefully the motivation will come in time. Enjoy or don't, I am writing this mostly for myself (though thoughts and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated).


Chapter One: The Veil of Death


It was both her pride and the bane of her existence. It was her freedom just as much as it was her chains. It was everything she could ever love, and all she would ever hate. Her dreams and her nightmares come to life.

She had never been normal. No, merely being Hariel Lily Potter was something that could never have been- even had her parents survived. She would have been the daughter of two great magics, she was the "Girl-who-lived", "The Chosen One", "The Woman who Conquered". There was, nor ever would be, merely Hariel. Now, after everything- the war, the death, the reconstruction- there was a new title to add to her list: The Master of Death.

The title, for she had known, was merely a jest to the Tale of the Three Brothers. She didn't truly believe that the three items had been truly gifted from death, but rather heavily layered with magic over the generations they existed. She never suspected that after years of watching her friends grow, age, expand, and multiply that she would remain forever in the peak of her existence. Forever the age and look of a healthy and vibrant twenty-three year old witch. Never would have imagined that despite everything she attempted, death would not grant her release from life. Never would have imagined that by unwittingly gathering the three Deathly Hallows that she would remain tied to Death itself.

That being the Mistress of Death was more than she could have ever imagined to be.

Nor how much she wished it had never been bestowed upon her. Now after nearly a hundred years of watching and learning she would remain until the end: until the universe itself was no more.

She spend decades in denial. Learning magics long thought forgotten and delved into everything she could to find something, anything that would grant her relief.

Yet no relief came.

It wasn't until her year-mates had all passed on that she accepted her fate. She pretended to be others. Pretended to be a grand-daughter of herself to walk among old friends and their children. Her travels had expanded her magic more than she had thought possible whilst learning in the halls of Hogwarts. Metamorphmagi were not born, not truly. It was a skill that could be taught, but far easier to learn had the magic been unsealed during birth. And so she trained herself in the art- and was capable of shifting her features just enough for those around her to believe she was the descendent of herself.

It was a pitiful existence if she were honest with herself. Humans were meant to die, they weren't meant to remain and it was killing her very soul. Her humanity. As the years passed she stopped caring much for the ongoings of the people around her. Did it truly even matte? What was the point in caring- in trying to change the world if after a time all she had done, all she had accomplished would merely be forgotten or thrown away for something else? For all she did to save people, her friends, and family- what did it matter now that they were all dead and gone and she long forgotten?

Psychology would state that she was a highly functioning sociopath. She could easily pretend she cared. Pretend it all mattered and was still functioning within society but didn't actually care about them at all.

It was a hundred years after the Battle of Hogwarts that she found herself in the Ministry of Magic, specifically within the Chamber of the Veil. She had never cared to come back to this place after Sirius was lost to her, and never wanted to know that her godfather, the one that truly loved her as Hariel, was lost and nothing could be done to bring him back.

Now she stood before the arch, noticing for the first time the intricate designs on the frame. The way the shadowy veil flowed with a nonexistent wind. It reminded her of a mirror of sorts, albeit one filled with death.

She stared into the moving shadow, her eyes fixating on each ripple and fold. All she carried was her cloak, wand, and Hermione's beaded bad. It had been gifted to her "grand-daughter" in Hermione's will, and so she carried it with her now. The entirety of her fortune, from her books to her gold was in the pouch. She had a multitude of potions and herbs of all sorts within the small pockets within the bag and nearly all her worldly possessions.

There was a small smile playing at her lips as she noticed the wards she set around the room faltered and shattered under magical pressure from someone outside. She remained unchanged in her appearance, maintaining what she truly looked like as Aurors and Unspeakables flooded the room wands raised at the ready. She heard one gasp when he took her appearance, his face veiled by a hood but she knew from his magic aura that he was a descendent of Neville Longbottom. A true friend and Gryffindor if there ever was one. He was a good man, and his children followed in his footsteps.

The screamed at her, shouting to move away from the Veil and into their custody for questioning. She let out a small chuckle, smiling truly before she stepped forward and embraced the engulfing shadows around her. The shouting of the men and women behind her blurred, as did her world. Everything became grey, sound no longer reaching her ears until she was met with an explosion of green and knew no more.