I brought you kicking and screaming into this world

Harry James Potter, the boy who Lived, the Master of Death, had been reborn more times than he could possibly count. It came with the job title, the second one that was. Master of Death. Which meant he was constantly being dumped into his next great adventure at the drop of a hat.

Or rather, if he chose to. There'd been that one memorable moment when he'd been reborn as an emperor of Rome and then accidentally chosen to go on the first time he'd died in that life time, instead of returning back as he had after taking another killing curse from Voldemort. He'd quite liked that life as well, but had found himself reborn a squealing pile of pink flesh instead of ruling over the roman people.

That's certainly been an upsetting moment, not being able to fully live out hat life.

True later he'd gone on to play a demi-god in Greece, brining joy and good health to the people, but it was the principle of things, He was learning so much, and after that fifth life he'd started to accept he wouldn't be seeing all of his friends from his first life in person for a long while.

Oh, as Master of Death he could summon them up at moments notice to talk to, but he didn't like to disturb them too much.

As his lives went on, known by a different name each time, he began to accept it wasn't that bad. He was constantly put to the test in his new world and it never got boring. He always retained certain abilities in every life, the ones that came with his title. Both of them.

The power of invisibility, now without cloak, from being the Master of Death. The parseltongue that came from once being the Boy-Who-Lived.

That was another thing. Not only was he always reborn upon his birthday with only the year changing, come his second Halloween he's end up with the lighting bolt scar. Be it through tripping down the stairs, falling over near a sharp object or that one unforgettable life-time where he'd been struck by lightning.

It always came back, always in the same place. He'd never be rid of it.

The one time he'd asked Death about it , the eternity had just shrugged, muttering about it being his distinctive mark. Only the Master of Death could survive the killing curse, even if he had not been so at the first time it rebounded from his skull, it'd been his destiny to become so.

As such, Death had let him live, the one who had been chosen by the Hallows.

And so, Harry had lived.

It'd been that simple.

.

His previous life, the one just before this, had seen him dropped just hundred years after the building if Hogwarts. And while at that point, all the founders had been dead, it was the closest he'd come meeting the four at some point. And it would eventually come.

Cold air hit his body and Harry cringed, no longer feeling the need to give the warbling cry that most babies did upon entering the world for the first time. There was voices all around him, as usual, though no sounds of war nearby, That was good, it was always a pain growing up in those times. For a moment, he wondered if he'd been muggle-born again like his last life before shrugging. It didn't matter, he'd get the best out of life if he was.

"-not a screamer, unusual-"

"-there's nothing wrong with him, is there?"

"Oh no, he's a very healthy baby. Perhaps the healthiest I've personally seen."

Harry felt himself jostled about, all the blurry images that made up the world around him swaying about as he moved. Something warm and soft became his landing mat, what he quickly deduce to be an arm curling around his body.

"Look at him, so awake already." Wait a second, Harry knew that voice.

Slowly blinking his eyes, Harry looked up from where he was resting just off the crook of a neck. Walburga Black stared back. Dear god, he should have recognised her earlier, even if her dulcet tones weren't currently screeching like a harpy.

Harry screamed.

Magic, his magic that followed him everywhere, through every life, surged out from beneath his skin and the windows shattered in a symphony with his cries, The male voice, probably his father Orion, let out a curse as the nurse and his mother -dear lord, his mother- let out a shriek of surprise, Harry snarled internally , grabbing at his wild magic and wrestling it into submission, stopping the energy before it could begin to blow the walls down too. And as an afterthought, he stopped screaming too. That certainly wouldn't help.

"Merlin. That was accidental magic."

Harry might not have been able to see Orion, but he could certainly hear the astonishment, the wonder, in his voice.

"B-but, that's- h-he's far too young for-"

"Are you suggesting we blew up the room?" Walburga snapped from beside him and Harry let out a little noise of distress, hoping to keep the women from cursing her midwife.

"N-no! It's just unheard of!"

"Well only the best for the house of Black's new heir!" New heir? Wasn't Sirius born yet then?

He was lifted again this time, placed in a warm blanket, no doubt made of expensive material, before finding himself face to face with Orion. He looked startlingly like Sirius, and Harry reached out a hand to bat softly at the man's nose, Yeo. this was Sirius' father alright.

"Little Turais Rigel Black. The newest heir to the house of Black, and the youngest case of accidental magic. He's going to be the strongest of us, I can feel it."

Harry cried.

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Turais is pronounced Two-Raise

and again this was made by Tsume Yaki on Fanfiction.net