The last star died in silence.
There was no grand explosion, no triumphant finale to mark the end of creation. The universe simply exhaled its final breath and fell still.
Harry Potter watched it happen.
He stood upon a shore that was not a shore, gazing across an endless sea of darkness where once galaxies had danced. Time no longer held meaning here. Ages beyond counting had passed since he had been born a frail infant in a cupboard beneath the stairs. Empires had risen and fallen. Worlds had been born from dust and returned to it. Even Earth had vanished into the long death of the cosmos.
Yet Harry remained.
Or perhaps Harry Potter had ceased to exist long ago.
The title that remained was older than nations and heavier than mountains.
Master of Death.
A soft chuckle echoed through the void.
"You look bored."
Harry turned.
Death stood beside him.
Not the skeletal reaper depicted in mortal stories. Death appeared as it always had whenever it chose to manifest—a tall figure wrapped in shadows deeper than the darkness surrounding them. Its face shifted constantly, becoming every face Harry had ever known and none of them at all.
Harry smiled faintly.
"After a few trillion years, everything becomes repetitive."
Death laughed.
The sound rippled through eternity.
"I suppose that's fair."
They stood together in companionable silence.
The oldest friends in existence.
At length, Death spoke again.
"There is another world."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"There are always other worlds."
"This one interests me."
That alone caught Harry's attention.
Death did not become interested often.
The cosmic entity waved a hand.
Reality unfolded before them.
Harry saw a planet beneath unfamiliar stars. Vast continents. Kingdoms. Castles. Noble houses. Wars.
Dragons.
Magic.
And darkness gathering at the horizon.
"This world is dying," Death said simply.
Harry studied the vision.
Not physically.
The world itself was healthy.
Its future, however...
He saw endless war.
Mad kings.
Ancient enemies awakening beyond a frozen wall.
Prophecies twisted by pride.
Heroes failing.
Villains succeeding.
Millions dead.
A future spiraling toward catastrophe.
"A fixed point?" Harry asked.
Death nodded.
"A trajectory. Not yet inevitable, but close enough."
Harry folded his arms.
"And you want me to interfere."
"I want a variable."
The vision shifted.
A young man appeared.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Auburn hair.
Blue eyes.
A wolf's confidence.
Robb Stark.
King in the North.
Harry recognized tragedy when he saw it.
The threads of fate surrounding the young king practically screamed it.
"Betrayal," Harry observed.
"Quite spectacular betrayal."
The scene changed once more.
A feast hall.
Music.
Wine.
False smiles.
Hidden blades.
Death's expression somehow became amused.
"The event shall later be known as the Red Wedding."
Harry watched armed men quietly taking positions.
Crossbows hidden.
Doors being sealed.
Murder waiting for its cue.
Robb Stark was destined to die here.
His wife.
His mother.
Thousands of loyal men.
All butchered.
The future shifted around the massacre like a river around a stone.
Harry sighed.
"So you want me to replace him."
"Correct."
"And if I refuse?"
Death shrugged.
"Then the world likely burns."
Harry considered that.
Once, long ago, he might have objected to being manipulated.
Might have demanded explanations.
Might have asked why it had to be him.
But he had lived too long for such things.
Besides, what else was there?
The universe he had known was gone.
Every friend.
Every enemy.
Every memory.
Dust.
For the first time in ages, something resembling anticipation stirred within him.
"What do I keep?"
Death grinned.
Everything changed.
A black cloak appeared around Harry's shoulders.
Its fabric seemed woven from midnight itself.
"The Cloak of Invisibility."
Harry ran a hand across it.
The familiar artifact felt unchanged despite its new appearance.
"It shall conceal you from mortal eyes, divine sight, prophecy, scrying, and fate itself."
A silver clasp materialized at his throat.
Embedded within it was a smooth black stone.
"The Resurrection Stone."
Harry felt the familiar presence immediately.
Quiet.
Waiting.
"The dead will answer your call."
Finally, light erupted beside him.
The Elder Wand appeared.
Then stretched.
Reshaped.
Lengthened.
A magnificent sword of silver-white metal.
The blade hummed with power.
An instant later it became a wand once more.
"The Elder Wand," Death said. "Or sword. Or whatever weapon you require."
Harry grasped it.
Knowledge flooded his mind.
Instinct.
Technique.
Mastery.
As though he had trained with every weapon ever forged.
Death nodded approvingly.
"All three are now beyond the reach of mortal craftsmen. Stronger than Valyrian steel. Nearly indestructible."
"And my magic?"
"Yours."
The answer came instantly.
"Magic resides within you, Master of Death. No world can take it away."
Harry smiled.
For the first time in countless millennia, genuine excitement stirred in his chest.
He looked once more at the doomed feast hall.
At the unsuspecting king whose life he was about to inherit.
At the killers preparing their treachery.
At fate itself.
"When do I arrive?"
Death's smile widened.
The universe shattered.
The feast hall surged toward him.
Music.
Laughter.
The smell of wine.
The taste of betrayal.
And somewhere nearby, a crossbow string was being drawn.
"You arrive," Death whispered, "now."
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Then Harry Potter opened Robb Stark's eyes.