Re:HP-A New Life

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

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Chapter Two: The Shadow at the Crossroads

The air at King's Cross felt heavy, almost alive. It pressed against Harry's chest, filling his lungs with something more profound than breath. He turned, searching for the voice that had called his name, his hand instinctively brushing the wand holstered at his side.

That was when he saw it.

Emerging from the endless white was a figure cloaked in tattered black robes, its form reminiscent of a Dementor. But unlike those harbingers of despair, this being exuded something far more profound—a presence that Harry felt deep in his bones. The edges of its robes billowed softly, though there was no wind. Beneath its hood, where a face should have been, was nothing but a void. A perfect, infinite nothingness.

And yet, Harry knew immediately what it was.

"Death," he murmured.

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if amused. "You always were perceptive, Harry Potter."

The voice wasn't a sound so much as a sensation. It resonated in his mind, calm yet absolute, like the toll of a great bell.

Harry stood his ground, though his heart pounded in his chest. "Why am I here?"

Death took a step closer, its presence both chilling and strangely familiar. Harry realized why—it felt like the Deathly Hallows, the same eerie pull he had felt when he held the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility. It was as though this being had always been there, waiting.

"You are here because fate has summoned you," Death said.

Harry frowned. "Fate?"

Death raised an arm, its skeletal fingers barely visible beneath the tattered sleeve. "Fate, the weaver of the threads of existence, is not infallible. It made a mistake with you."

Harry's stomach twisted. "A mistake?"

"Yes," Death replied. "The prophecy that shaped your life was flawed. Fate did not account for Tom Riddle's horcruxes, for the unnatural anchors he forged to cling to life. He was meant to die that night in Godric's Hollow, at the hands of a child no more than a year old. Fate adored the irony—a baby defeating a tyrant."

Harry felt his blood run cold. "But he didn't die. Because of the horcruxes."

"Precisely. That oversight altered the balance of the world," Death continued, its voice devoid of judgment. "The chaos, the suffering, the scars left on the fabric of time—it all stems from that error. The balance has never fully recovered."

Harry shook his head, his mind reeling. "So, what? I'm just some cosmic accident?"

Death's void-like face seemed to regard him. "No. You are far more than that. You are fate's champion, the subject of its prophecy. The mistake was not in your existence, but in the circumstances surrounding it. And now, fate is preparing to meddle in your life once again."

Harry clenched his fists. "Why? Haven't I done enough? Haven't I suffered enough?"

Death did not answer immediately. Instead, it raised its hand again, gesturing toward the endless white expanse. Images flickered to life, like memories pulled from the ether: Harry cradling Dobby's body on the beach, the gleaming Elder Wand in his grip, the flash of green light as Voldemort fell.

"You have done much," Death said at last. "But the balance is still fragile. Fate cannot resist tilting the scales when it deems necessary. You are its tool, its champion, whether you wish it or not."

Harry felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. "So, I'm just a pawn in some cosmic game? What gives fate the right?"

Death's voice turned colder, sharper. "Do not mistake me for fate, Harry Potter. I do not weave the threads, nor do I decide who lives and who dies. I am merely the end of the journey."

Harry took a shaky breath, his mind racing. "Then why are you here? Why now?"

"Because fate's meddling will soon bring you to a crossroads," Death said, its voice softer now. "And I offer you a gift, a boon to face what lies ahead."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "A gift?"

The figure extended its hand, its skeletal fingers curling open. In its palm, something began to take shape, glowing faintly in the endless white light.

Harry stared, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what this gift was, but he could feel its significance, its weight, even from a distance.

"What is it?" he asked.

Death's voice echoed around him, final and undeniable.

"Choice."