Chapter 1

A black haired man stood before the shimmering veil, its surface rippling like liquid shadow. His emerald eyes, once vibrant, had dulled with time. Now they were calculating, weary and filled with sadness. This was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Master of Death.

He had seen much. Too much.

Now he was ready to leave it behind.

Decades of War, Betrayal and Power

The war had ended. Voldemort had fallen and the wizarding world had hailed Harry as its savior. But in the aftermath he found himself more alone than ever.

At first he had tried to go back. To reclaim the life he had fought for.

But something had changed within him.

Voldemort's soul piece had died in the Forbidden Forest but it had left something behind.

Not darkness, not corruption, but a shift in perspective. His mind once filled with raw emotion and reckless impulsivity had sharpened. He saw things differently now—people, politics, power.

He saw through lies, through illusions.

The Weasleys drifted from him. Fred was gone and though they still called him family, he felt like an outsider. At Remus and Tonks' funeral, Andromeda Tonks politely told him he was not welcome around Teddy.

He had understood. He had accepted it. But he had never forgotten.

Hogwarts reopened but he did not return.

Instead he had locked himself inside Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the whispers of the dead. The Black family's library was vast and for the first time in his life, he had the patience, the clarity, to learn.

And so, he did.

He mastered Occlumency, sealing his mind like a vault. His magic refined itself, sharper, more controlled. The impulsive boy who had once charged into battle became something else.

Something more.

When he finally took his N.E.W.T.s, he passed effortlessly. Kingsley Shacklebolt had personally invited him to join the Aurors, even offering private training with the Unspeakables.

Harry had accepted without hesitation.

At first, he had tried to maintain his friendships.

Ron and Hermione still visited, but he noticed the jealousy in their eyes when they learned of his rapid rise through the ranks. The bond between them slowly began to fade.

And then there was Ginny.

She had insisted on rekindling their relationship. Harry, out of habit more than desire, agreed. They had married and the world celebrated it as the wedding of the century.

But soon, Harry realized the truth.

Ginny had never truly loved him—only the legend of Harry Potter.

Their marriage was passionate but empty. She thrived in the limelight, a Quidditch star, a celebrity, always away, always chasing glory. He was merely an accessory to her fame.

Then came the final betrayal.

During a routine checkup at St. Mungo's he encountered Hannah Abbott, now a Healer. She hesitated before revealing the truth: Ginny had aborted their child. Twice.

It was worse than Voldemort's cruciatus curse. She had never told him. Had never asked him. She had simply erased their future, over and over again, without a word.

Their marriage crumbled. He felt nothing. No sadness, no anger. Only cold realization.

It was over.

Harry became the youngest Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was revered, feared, admired.

His name commanded respect across wizarding Europe.

But with power came temptation.

With his marriage in shambles, Ginny absent more often than not, he found himself in the arms of another.

Gabrielle Delacour.

It started as a moment of weakness. A stolen night at Victoire Weasley's birthday party. Ginny was away, as always. He and Gabrielle flirted, drank and eventually ended up in bed together.

He should have felt guilt. But he didn't.

It became a pattern. Soon, Gabrielle was not the only one.

Daphne Greengrass. Susan Bones. Demelza Robbins. Katie Bell. Women came and went, drawn to his power, his reputation.

He fathered a child with Daphne Greengrass. He left her wealth, security—but never love.

He had changed.

Perhaps he had always been meant to change.

By the time he was thirty-five, he had seen enough.

He was tired of Britain.

The endless bureaucracy. The petty politics. The people who once worshiped him, now jealous of his power.

He resigned. Ginny had a fit. She begged, pleaded, even offered him children—but it was too late.

He walked away.

He left behind his money to Teddy Lupin, wealth for his son with Daphne and his past to history.

For decades, he traveled, learned magics. Even the darkest magics in the hidden corners of the world. It was in Egypt he discovered forbidden knowledge—the secrets of the Veil of Death.

And there, he found his answer.

The Veil was not merely a gate to death. It was a door to other worlds.

A chance at something new.

He returned to Britain one last time.

He watched from the shadows. Hermione was content in her ordinary life. Ron, a loyal husband and father, yet forever trapped in his own mediocrity.

Ginny? Dead.

Killed in a Quidditch accident—a poetic irony. The very thing that had driven them apart had claimed her life in the end.

He felt nothing.

Finally, he walked into the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables did not stop him. He was still one of them, even now.

It was Samhain, the night when the barriers between worlds were weakest. If there was ever a time to cross, it was now.

He took a breath, exhaled slowly, then stepped forward.

The veil embraced him.

Darkness. Endless, consuming nothingness.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He saw black void stretching endlessly, a silence so profound it pressed against his very soul.

For a moment, a horrible thought struck him—was he blind?

But no. Slowly, the darkness shifted, parted. A presence emerged, cloaked in shadows, standing just before him. A hooded figure.

Harry knew before he even asked.

"We finally meet, Master," the figure said in a raspy voice that echoed through the void.

A strange calmness settled over Harry as he met the figure's gaze—though he saw no face beneath the hood.

"Hello, Death."

Death chuckled, the sound both amused and ancient.

"I suppose I'm not dead," Harry mused.

"Yet," Death responded.

"So what happens now? Am I going to die?"

Death's hood tilted slightly, as if considering the question.

"Now, now, Master. We cannot have you die so soon. You have only just become the Master of Death."

Harry's eyes widened. "What?! Master of Death? I thought that was just a legend."

"All legends are born from some form of truth, Master."

They stared at one another in silence. A strange understanding passed between them.

Finally, Harry asked, "So what happens now?"

"You intended to travel to another world, didn't you, Master?" Death mused, voice laced with amusement. "Hmm… Perhaps I can help you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Just like that?"

"Yes, Master," Death replied, the hint of a smirk in its voice. "I will transport you to a new world, where great achievements await."

Harry frowned. There had to be a catch. "And what's the price?"

Death's smirk widened.

"Your body will not survive the transition. Only your soul will travel."

Harry exhaled through his nose. That made sense. "So I'll be reborn? At least tell me—will I keep my memories?"

"Your wish is my command, Master."

"Can you tell me about this world?" he asked.

"It is a medieval world of swords and sorcery. Of war, prophecy, and fire. You will have to discover the rest yourself, Master."

Harry nodded once. "Then I'm ready to go."

The void began to shift, collapse. Tendrils of shadow curled around him, pulling him deeper.

As his vision dimmed, Death's voice echoed one last time:

"Goodbye, Master. You will find I have left many gifts for you in this world. Remember—life rarely grants second chances, but I do. I hope the next time we meet… it will be after a long time."

And then, Harry Potter ceased to exist.