1 The-Boy-Who-Died.

In the final chamber on the forbidden corridor on the third floor of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a man and a boy were standing. To be precise, the boy looked nine with his skinny body and short figure. It wouldn't be too much to call him a runt.

Harry Potter stared at his teacher - who turned out to be a servant of the Dark Lord - with wide eyes. How Dumbledore had failed to notice that when he hired Quirinus Quirrell, Harry did not know. Not that he would dare to ask the old Headmaster that later. Usually asking questions doesn't end well.

Harry's first year at Hogwarts was slightly different from the other students. From the very beginning, he had not only to learn the laws of a completely unfamiliar world but also to unravel the plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone.

This should not be done by three children, but no one listened to Harry when he talked about the possibility of theft. And so he, along with his friends Ron and Hermione, went to save the world from economic collapse due to the crush of the gold market.

It was these events that led to the bad situation in which Harry was now.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand. . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

'What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,' He thought. 'is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it - which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?'

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy. . . Use the boy. . ."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes - Potter - come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him.

'I must lie,' He thought desperately. 'I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.'

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage-

But he didn't have time to say anything. The stone in his pocket begun to shake violently and emit waves of magic. All of Harry's body hair stood up as if electrified, he had never felt anything like this before.

"Get away from the boy, you fool!!" There was a screeching sound from the backside of the Quirrell turban. "Leave-!"

Voldemort never finished his sentence.

---

In a room on the third floor of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an explosion thundered and shook the old castle to its very core. The walls themselves seemed to scream in pain, awakening students and teachers indiscriminately.

Minerva McGonagall ran out of her office and walked briskly to the room where the Sorcerer's Stone was kept.

"Ah swear tae merlin, if tis Potter's fault, he wilnae see quidditch 'till th' end o' his seventh year. . ."

She muttered to herself without even trying to hide her Scottish accent. But when she saw her colleague, Filius Flitwick, she immediately straightened her robes and stopped talking. The two professors nodded to each other in greeting and continued walking down the hallways of the old castle in silence. . . Until the half-goblin broke the silence.

"Minerva? I don't like that look on your face. Do you know what happened?"

Minerva just shook her head and sighed heavily.

"No, but I guess. If my suspicions turn out to be correct, then Potter Junior will turn out to be the same tangle of problems as Potter Senior. . ."

They turned a corner and found themselves right in front of a door behind which was a Cerberus. To Flitwick's surprise - and McGonagall's dismay - her two Lions were standing in front of the door. The faces of both were white and the two children were simply leaning against the wall as if it was their last connection to the real world.

"Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley! What are you doing-"

Hermione immediately perked up at the voice of her teacher and began to speak quickly.

"Professor McGonagall!! You have to go down there! Harry is still in danger! Professor Dumbledore is already here, but I don't know if he needs help!!"

Dread began to fill the heart of the old Transfiguration teacher. She patted the shaking Hermione on the shoulder and entered the forbidden door with Filius.

They walked past the sleeping Cerberus, levitated down through the burned-out Devil's Snare, simply opened the door from the Flitwick's room, and walked past the destroyed McGonagall chess set. The dead troll on the floor of the fifth room did not even surprise the two Heads of Houses, and they immediately entered the room with Snape's potions. Filius simply froze the fire around them and stepped over the Ward Line, giving his colleague a hand like a true gentleman should so she could step over the line too. But in the seventh room, they did not find any familiar surroundings.

The stone walls, floor, and even the ceiling were covered with soot. And in the middle of the seventh room stood Albus Dumbledore next to two human silhouettes on the soot. The first was much larger than the second. And now the two professors resembled their students on the floor above, their faces were white as a sheet.

"Al-albus. . ? What happened here?" Minerva choked quietly.

Dumbledore, without even turning around, just silently waved his wand and activated the recording Wards that were installed in this room to catch the criminal.

Quirrell and Potter appeared in front of them, forcing Minerva to gasp sharply. The boy came here at night to stop the theft of the most powerful artifact in human history. Alone. . . At that moment, Minerva McGonagall felt that she had failed as a teacher and as a person.

The translucent forms of the two people were conducting a silent conversation - the Wards couldn't record sound - and everyone could see how much Harry was afraid, but he continued the conversation anyway. Quirrell called the boy over to the mirror and he walked over. After a couple of seconds, Quirrell asked something, but before Harry could reply, the mirror emitted a visible wave of magic and a moment later exploded from the magical overload.

Minerva and Filius stared in shock at where the mirror stood a second ago, and then looked at the two silhouettes on the floor.

"Oh, Merlin. . ." McGonagall covered her mouth with her hands and began to cry.

But Dumbledore did not have time to cry, he made a plan for further action.

'Harry Potter went missing along with Quirrell and the Sorcerer's Stone. It is no longer possible to put the first plan into action, so we pass to the second plan. After all, Neville Longbottom has always been the perfect savior for the Wizarding Britain.'

A week later, the Hero of Wizarding Britain was reported missing. People began to panic and demand that the Ministry of Magic investigates Harry Potter's disappearance.

But one bookworm didn't panic, oh no, she didn't panic at all. When Hermione Granger heard about him missing, a fire of determination lit up in her eyes and she decided for herself her new goal in the Wizarding World.

Find and return her first best friend by all means necessary.

---

Harry woke up in a very comfortable chair - which was far too big for a child - that stood inside an unfamiliar office. Harry expected something completely different: the Hospital Wing, the very same room but without a mirror, his dorms, and even a cupboard under the stairs! But not an office.

He looked around and noticed that the office was much more modern than the Wizards prefer. So he's somewhere in the Muggle office. Or was it a regular office? There are far fewer wizards than normal people. . .

Shaking his head to get rid of unnecessary thoughts, Harry got up from his seat to explore his surroundings, but the door to the office swung open. A tall middle-aged woman with black hair and completely white eyes walked inside and closed the door with her foot. She was wearing a business suit that was very different from what people were wearing now.

It consisted of black trousers and a jacket of the same color. Under it was a white shirt complemented by a black tie. Finally, the woman wore elegant black high-heels. Harry didn't even know where to get such clothes, it looked too. . . Professional.

In her hands was a thick stack of papers and a completely black book. The woman put it all on the table with a loud thud and looked directly at Harry. It was difficult to understand what exactly she was looking at, the absence of pupils did not help the situation at all.

"You, young man, have just created a lot of problems for me." She said in a completely calm voice. "I saw a case like yours only three times. And all three times we could quite simply fix the situation by returning the soul to the body. No matter how hurt or broken it may be. But you. . . Before you, no one died from a wave of pure magic that erases all living things on its way."

Harry blinked a couple of times in confusion. The boy did not understand what was happening here, so he started looking for clues around him. His gaze eventually caught a sign with the name and title of the woman in front of him.

[Jasmine. The Grim Reaper.]

"Oh. . . I'm dead."

Finally, Harry understood. He was not afraid of death, the long years of existence in the house of the Dursleys sometimes made him wish for the faster arrival of death.

Jasmine's face softened and she sat down opposite the child. She just couldn't blame Harry for things outside of his control, but that doesn't mean she can't be annoyed with the situation.

"Unfortunately yes." The woman confirmed. "I cannot return your soul to the body, since it no longer exists. And I cannot create a new body for you because it is simply impossible."

"I'm sorry, but why do you want me back? Isn't death. . . well. . . the end?" He asked embarrassedly.

Jasmine sighed heavily and sat down more comfortably in her chair.

"Usually yes, but in your case, no. You see, you died far too early." She tapped her finger on the cover of the book. "Your whole life is written here, from the very beginning to the very end. Or what should've been your life."

The child looked at the book and frowned.

"Isn't it too thin?"

Jasmine silently pushed the book towards Harry.

"Read it, then you will understand why it is so thin. In the meantime, I will fill these forms."

And Potter read it.

He didn't like what was inside at all.

It began quite usual, except for his life on the run from the Dark Lord. The death of his parents and his move in with the Dursleys were painful but expected. But then terrible things began to happen. Dumbledore performed a ritual that blocked a part of Harry's Magical Core as well as his possible special abilities. After that, he bewitched the Dursleys to hate the baby Harry and left for eleven years, leaving only the old squib Arabella Figg as a guard.

During his time at Hogwarts, his food was constantly dosed with potions, and his memory was erased when he learned something he shouldn't have. And by the end of Harry's sixth year, Dumbledore got what he wanted. A pig to slaughter for Voldemort.

But even after the death of the Dark Lord, his torment did not end. Because the Weasleys entered the game. To be precise, Ginny and her mother, Molly. Two insane bitches wanted prestige and status back for their family, and they had the perfect tool at hand for that. Harry.

With the help of potions and spells, Potter fell in love with Ginny and married her. They had three children - two of whom Harry considered the only good outcome in their marriage - and the redhead seemed that enough. Therefore, at the age of forty-five, Potter was shot in the back of the head by his wife.

Harry just stared at the book without blinking. When you're just a soul, it's pretty easy to do. He could read them, he understood them perfectly, but he simply could not believe in them. When the child's brain finally realized what exactly he was reading, the only emotion Potter felt was rage. He jumped to his feet and threw the book on the table with all the strength his soul could muster.

"THOSE BLOODY TWATS ABANDONED ME, TORTURED ME, USED ME, AND THEN KILLED ME! TRICE!!! WHO EVEN DOES SOMETHING LIKE THAT?! AND WHY?! Just why? why. . ?"

Harry's breathing became ragged and his eyes focused directly in front of him. A burning rage slowly became despair. He fell back into the chair and curled up into a ball, he did not cry, tears only led to beatings. So the kid did what he already did many times in his cupboard. He began to fanatically repeat only one quiet question and sway a little in his place.

Jasmine, seeing that his panic attack would not end anytime soon without assistance, simply sat down next to the boy and hugged him. The Grim Reaper sent some of her magic and made Harry's mind slowly calm down. Of course, she could completely cut off his emotions for a while, but that would be too cruel. Even the Reapers have morals after all.

When Potter was able to calm down and regain control of his mind, he went as red as a tomato. Harry was not used to such close contact with people and even after many hugs from Hermione, he still preferred to remain untouched. He pressed his legs to his chest even more - trying to appear as small as possible - and looked down at the floor.

". . . So what will happen to me now? You'll send me somewhere and I will die again at forty-five? If so, can you just send me to my mum and dad like right now?"

Jasmine patted him over the head and smiled sadly.

"Unfortunately this is not possible. Although you are already dead, our records show that you will live for another thirty-four years, so I cannot send you to them. And no, you won't die at forty-five, that's just unreasonable."

Harry just nodded, not taking his eyes off the floor.

While it was true that he wouldn't die at forty-five, he could still die much earlier. Nobody can know the date of their death before they were even born, after all.

"As for what will happen to you now. . . Well, while you read, I filled out all the necessary documents and now you can go back. But only for three hundred years into the future. Only then will a suitable body appear to contain the powers of the Stone."

The child frowned and finally looked at Jasmine.

And again, while Jasmine could not create a suitable body, she could wait for such a body to appear naturally. Yes, it was stupid and illogical, but those were the rules. The Grim Reapers had no right to create alive - or dead for the matter - shells, they only worked with souls.

"Stone. . ? The Philosopher's Stone!" Harry began franticly searching his pockets. "I had it in my pocket, where-"

"Right here." Jasmine put her hand on his chest. "When the magic wave destroyed all living things in the room, it also touched the Stone. As a result, it merged with your soul and is now a part of you. The good news is that it gave you a new power, but in return, it now feeds on your magic. Although in the future there won't even be any Wizards left, so you don't have to worry about having no spare magic."

Harry's eyes grew comically large.

"What? No Wizards?!"

"There will be great changes in three hundred years, Harry. Or there was. . . Time in this place makes no sense sometimes." She joked.

Harry was confused again but nodded, he couldn't bring himself to ask more questions. He wanted to know more, but he just couldn't.

"Now I will put you to sleep so that you do not wait here for three hundred years, and I'll give you the memories of your old and new body when the time comes. Don't worry, it won't look much different than yours."

The Grim Reaper covered the eyes of the young Wizard with her palm and he instantly fell asleep. Harry finally relaxed and Jasmine was able to lay him down on the chair. The tip of her finger lit up with a blue light and she touched Harry's forehead.

The light contained all the knowledge of the possible life of Harry Potter that he didn't get to live and the memories of body into which he would transmigrate. Unfortunately or fortunately, his new life was not very different from the previous one. The only differences were the names of his relatives, his age - his body was thirteen years old - and the fact that his relatives had to take him with them on a business trip to Japan.

In the land of the rising sun, The Buttergems died during the villain's attack, leaving Harry completely alone in an unfamiliar country. No money, no acquaintances, and no knowledge of the language. But the latter could be easily fixed.

Jasmine ran her fingers through Harry's untamable hair and sighed, she didn't like those parts of her work. Soul transmigration is not an easy process, so she will have to fill out several hundred more forms before Harry can live again. Well, at least she will give the child a second chance, and it will be worth it.

Harry flashed a blue light and disappeared from Jasmine's office. His soul went on the next great adventure.