Harry nodded as the train began to slow. He wasn't sure how long he and Sirius had been talking. It felt like forever had passed since they stepped on board, yet still not long enough.

Sirius had spent most of the time teaching Harry everything he knew about women. There was a lot Harry didn't know, having died a virgin and all. He did his best to listen to everything, but the main rule that stuck out to him was that while some witches didn't mind being talked about, Sirius had never met a witch who liked rumors being spread about her. So don't go running your mouth. That was a surefire way to cut the number of witches he would get to shag in half. Because the witches he did take to a broom closet would be telling all their friends that he was a blabber mouth.

The train came to a complete stop and the door to their compartment slid open. Instead of the hallway of the Hogwarts Express, the doorway looked more like Veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry and Sirius stood up and just like when he was walking into the forest, he wished he had more time. I don't want to leave yet, Harry thought and his face must have been an open book because Sirius tapped him on the knee.

"Don't look so sad, Harry," his godfather said, and Harry felt a strong hand on his back. "We'll see each other again, and you can thank me for all the tips I gave you!"

Sirius shoved him forward and Harry went stumbling through the doorway.

A few seconds later, or at least from Harry's perspective, the Boy Who Lived found his vision filled with a blinding white light and there was an otherworldly voice resonating around him, filling his ears and soul with an eerie melody.

"We finally meet, Master,"

Harry looked over his shoulder toward the voice. Floating in the air was a humanoid figure twice as tall as him, and covered in long robes and hooded cloaks of ripped white cloth.

"Death?" Harry asked, not sure why he even bothered. Who else would it be? He had just accepted his death after all.

Two pale white hands reached up to pull the hood back. Harry expected to see something ghoulish, like a Dementor's face covered in thin, scabbed skin, with empty eye sockets and a gaping large hole where the mouth should've been. He was ready to keep himself from reacting, even if he was here to die, that didn't mean he wanted to insult Death.

Death's hood fell revealing the pale and ashen face of a beautiful woman. "Yes master," she said, her voice was light and sweet, but it still gave him chills. "I've been waiting for you."

Harry gave a slight bow. That was something people did for death right?

"Then you know why I am here Lady Death," he said, then he registered what she said and frowned. "Could you please not call me Master? I don't like that word."

Death laughed and she floated around him forcing Harry to turn on his feels to follow. "You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."

"So it's true?" asked Harry. "All of it? The Peverell brothers —"

"—were the three brothers of the tale," said Death, nodding. "Oh yes, I granted them each one of my Hallows."

Harry was shocked. Even till the end, he always assumed that the story of the three brothers was a bedtime story, or at the very least not the complete truth. He thought the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death's own Hallows seemed to him the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

But here he was, hearing it from Death herself.

She floated closer until there was only an inch of air between their noses. Harry was once again glad she didn't look anything like how he thought Death would look.

"Did you think I would be some hideous beast?" Death tilted her head to the side. She was looking at him curiously, then she sighed. "You mortals always think that. I wonder why?"

After a moment, Harry realized the question wasn't rhetorical and that Death was waiting for him to answer.

"Um…because you're Death?" he answered, though it came out like a question. "I mean, to most people, dying is the scariest thing in the world."

"Exactly!" Death let out a little huff. "It's not like I'm killing the mortals. I don't have any control over when or how they die. That's not my power. I only come after they die, to gently sever the last ties between the soul and the body, and to guide the deceased to the afterlife. Why would I present myself as some scary terrifying beast and make the whole ordeal even more difficult?"

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted. He couldn't really argue when she put it like that.

It made sense, but it still didn't change the fact that the idea of dying was terrifying. He had faced it multiple times already, and even at the very end, when he accepted his death, walking into the forest had been the hardest thing he had ever done.

Not that he planned on arguing semantics with Death. He might be the "Master of Death" but he wasn't sure what that meant. Was it a metaphor, or was he supposed to become the new death? And if Death was just a guide, what if he insulted her and she refused to take him to the afterlife? Would he be forced back to the Wizarding World? What would happen when he died again?

Death reached out and gently cupped Harry's cheeks. Harry felt a sudden rush of peace wash over him. All his worries faded away as he looked into her purple eyes.

"Do not be afraid, Harry" she said, in answer to Harry's unasked questions. "You have nothing to fear from dying, because you can't die."


"To guide a soul to the afterlife, I must sever the ties between the soul and the mortal world, but a servant cannot harm their Master."

"I don't want to be the Master of Death," Harry protested weakly, the title sounding too grand and permanent for his liking.

"It is not a choice that can be undone. You have proved yourself worthy with my Hallows, Harry. The title is yours."

Harry's protest grew into frustration. "But why do you even need a master?" he demanded. "Why risk giving your Hallows to three mortals?"

For a moment, Death looked almost sheepish, which was odd, considering her role.

"Being Death is a lonely and thankless job, Harry," she admitted. "I wanted someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't just see me as the end."

Staring at her startlingly human expression, Harry sighed. "I'm still scared of you, though," he confessed.

"Yes, you are now. But this is only your first time," Death said with a smile. "The thing with mortals, even those who believe in reincarnation, is that they never remember their past encounters with me. They forget that there is no reason to be afraid and always come back scared."

"First time?" Harry asked. "So, I'm not going to spend eternity here with you?"

Death looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion. "Of course not," she said quickly. "I might want someone to talk to every now and then, but I don't need a pet."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit insulted by the jump straight to 'pet' instead of something like boyfriend or husband. But then again, to a being like Death, the idea of dating a mortal probably didn't even register.

"Oh?" In a sudden playful move, Death squished Harry's cheeks so that his lips puckered. She grinned at him playfully. "Do you find me attractive, Master? Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Caught off guard by her forwardness, Harry didn't know how to respond. He was about to quickly change the subject when he remembered Sirius advice: Witches liked confidence, and pretty privilege was a thing. The only difference between being a creep or a flirt was whether a witch found him attractive or not.

Boldly reaching around Death, Harry spanked her white robes taking a great big handful of her large, round arse, filling his palm and fingers with springy, bouncy arse cheek.

"Harry!" Death yelped at Harry's sudden boldness.

He was worried he may have overstepped and was about to let go and apologize when he felt her arch slightly into his touch. There was a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes as she let his cheeks go to wrap her arms around his neck.

"How bold of you, Master. Maybe you do want to be my boyfriend," she said, cheeks red as she pouted up at him. "We might have to explore that idea sometime."

Harry gave her a lopsided smile and another playful squeeze. "So, I'm just going to keep getting reincarnated, but because I'm the Master of Death, I'll remember all this?"

"That's right."

"It doesn't sound too bad," Harry said, "but it'll be weird being alone. Never seeing my friends or family."

"Who said you would be alone?"

Harry was about to ask what Death meant by that when he heard a slight flapping noise. Like a bird…like an owl.


Soaring toward him was the ghostly form of a large snowy female owl. She landed with a soft flump on Harry's shoulder and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he let go of Death's arse to reach up and touch her beak.

"Usually with mortals who refuse to let me guide them to the afterlife I just let them wander around as ghosts until they come to their senses," Death said, "but I think I can make an exception for this one, Master."

"Thank you, really," Harry said, smoothing down some of Hedwig's feathers.

"I expect payment for this gift you," Death leaned in close again. Her arms were still around his neck and her chest was against his.

Despite his earlier boldness, Harry felt his cheeks flush. "H-how?"

"Next time we meet, I want you to…"

Harry swallowed hard. What? What did she want?

"…tell me about your life. I'm really curious, you know."

"Huh?" Harry blinked. "Tell you about my life?"

"Yep," Death nodded. I've always been curious about the simple things that seem to bring you mortals such pleasure. Like eating an apple. Most mortals love them so they must taste amazing!"

"You've never had an apple?" Harry asked. "They can grow on trees and you can pick them right off."

Death gave a small wistful laugh. "I only exist on the mortal plane in the spaces between life and death, Harry. I see the end of every story, but not the stories themselves. Not a lot of time to go apple picking."

"Well, if I'm going to be popping back and forth through lives, how about I make it a point to try new things each time? And when we meet, I'll tell you all about them."

Death's face lit up. "I would like that very much, Harry."

"It's the least I can do," Harry said, lifting his fingers so Hedwig could nip at them again.

"Then I do believe this is where we say goodbye for now," Death said, and before he could ask how reincarnating worked, she leaned even closer and pressed her lips against his.

Harry felt his soul being pulled out. It was like the Dementor's Kiss, yet completely different. There was no pain at all. Death's hands were soft and light not strong and clammy. Her breath didn't smell putrid like a Dementor either. She smelled like treacle tart.

His eyes slipped close and he found his previously strong body feeling weak and uncoordinated, his mind a confused jumble as dozens of different emotions and feelings hit him at once. So many that he wasn't sure who he was for a second.

Then, from far away, he heard screaming followed by a calming voice saying unintelligible words in a comforting tone.

Harry's eyes snapped open when he felt himself being lifted. Death was gone, and the entire world was a blur no matter how hard he squinted. The only thing he could see was a blob that must have been a giant because he was being held in its arms. Harry felt himself being moved around, his body being swaddled in some rough and course material.

After a few good blinks, his vision began to return and could see a stone ceiling above him some becoming visible. Letting out an irritated sound that sounded more like a gurgle, he tried to look around so he could get an idea of where he was, only to once again find his body almost entirely unresponsive.

"It's a boy?" a female voice said jubilantly. "Your majesty it's another boy! Twins!"

Harry felt his bad mood worsening as he heard that, well of course he was a fucking boy. The idea of being reincarnated as a girl hadn't even crossed his mind, but now that it had he would have to tell Death next time he saw her that he better have a dick in every life.

A deep delighted laugh followed the woman's statement, and Harry soon felt his world turning upside down as he found himself getting passed from one pair of hands to another. That brought him face-to-face with a young man. The man was tall, with dark skin and calloused hands. That wasn't too strange. But the man's silver hair and strange purple eyes surprised Harry.

"Hello, son," the man said happily, practically beaming with pride as he held Harry up.

As his new father held him, Harry did his best to look around despite the blanket holding him hostage. There were three other people in the room. One of them, a young woman lying on a bed. Obviously his new mother. Another man and another woman were tending to her. The woman must have been a midwife. The man might be a doctor, but since when did doctors dress in black and wear heavy chains around their necks?

"Laenor?" the tired woman suddenly spoke up, getting both Harry and the now named Laenor's attention.

"Right, sorry, Rhaenyra," Laenor handed Harry to her and looked to the man with the large chain, as though he was expecting some news from him.

The man smiled and said, "The princess is doing well, my lord. The babe as well, he's quite big."

"You need not tell me that, Maester," the now-named Rhaenyra mumbled.

Harry found himself being held carefully in a pair of warm arms. A set of tired yet gentle violet eyes looking down at him. He stared back, captivated by the beautiful woman holding him. Her hair was sweaty and a complete mess, her eyes had dark rings under them, and she looked to be on the edge of exhaustion. But to Harry, she still looked radiant, not because of her physical appearance though, but because of the sheer amount of love those eyes held when they looked down at him.

No one had ever looked at him like that before.


Rhaenyra smiled tiredly as she saw her newborn son suddenly stop squirming the moment he was in her arms next to his brother. She gently reached out a hand and stroked the fine, downy dark hair on the baby's head. Her violet eyes focused on the child's dark gray eyes.

"Have you chosen names?" the maester prompted gently.

Rhaenyra looked up at her husband. "Should we each choose a name?" she asked. It wasn't necessary and Laenor clearly saw the offer for what it really was, a test to see if he would claim the boys.

"I'll name the youngest," Laenor nodded and the knot in Rhaenyra's chest unwound.

She knew the kind of man Laenor was, and how he treated Jacaerys as his own, but she still couldn't help worrying.

"Did you already have a name?"

Laenor knelt by her side and set his hand over hers so they were both resting on her youngest sons back. "Harrold Velaryon," he said, "after your mother's father."

The knot in Rhaenyra's chest tightened again. She wanted to scream and smack him. Had he gone mad?

"You may go," Laenor told the Maester and the midwife.

"Yes, my lord," Maester Orwyle bowed and left, the midwife trailing after him.

Once the doors were shut Rhaenyra glared at him. "We can't—"

"Yes, we can," Laenor said, he glanced at the door and then back to her. "What better way to show how little the court's rumors affect us."

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders slumping. She wanted to fight and argue, but how could she? This was her fault after all. She and Laenor had tried hard to have a trueborn heir. The only thing they succeeded in doing was embarrassing each other. Something that wouldn't have been needed if she hadn't gone to that damn brothel with her uncle.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't, Rhaenyra," he cut her off before she could finish. "We've talked about his before. When Jacaerys was born I claimed him as my son, I will do the same for the twins."

"I know," Rhaenyra snuggled her babes closer. "However, you cannot say that it would not be easier if at least one of them looked less like Harwin."

"Everything will be okay, Rhaenyra," Laenor promised and she wished she could believe them. But already tongues were wagging about Jacaerys and soon the court would be filled with gossip about the twins.

Laenor looked down at the babes, then up to his wife, and smiled. "At least Harwin knows his seed is Strong."

Rhaenyra gasped and Laenor scurried away from the bed laughing.


There will be a time jump next chapter!

These first few chapters will each have a time jump. Won't get all the way to the Dance, a few years before that will be when the first "arc" begins!

Hedwig will also be in the next chapter, though I'm sure everyone can guess she won't be an owl anymore!

Thanks for Reading!