Redo - Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter One

 A lot of people jump into this story thinking its something else. I can tell you what it isn't. Its not a story where Harry will be OP as fuck, and its not a story where Harry will know wtf he's doing. Harry is flawed and trying the find himself just as much as a normal human. If your looking for one of those stories, I suggest you look elsewhere. Also this story sticks closely to cannon. I'm new to writing fanfiction and cannon is my crutch.

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'Why was it so cold?' The only thought left in Harry's brain. He couldn't feel his fingers; he couldn't feel anything, really. He tried to wiggle his toes, no dice. The last thing he remembered was the flash of green, and then there was nothing. Where was he?

Was he dead? The thought sent a cold serpent of dread down his spine. He couldn't be, no way. But, what else could be possible? The actuality of it was undeniable. This was really it. It was so hard to comprehend death. Just days ago, everything had been okay.

No, not great. Not anywhere close to perfect, but at least he had been alive. Running from Voldemort and suffering from constant tension. But he could take that. He could take the fact that Ron left, and he could take the stress he and Hermione were constantly under. 

Now though, there was no beat in his rib cage, no breath in his lungs, no warmth. The worst part wasn't any of that. What took the cake was the feeling of loneliness. He had failed everyone, and now he was to float here and rot.

It was so dark; it was nothing. This couldn't be what awaited everyone; if so, he could see why Voldemort feared death so much. Harry saw something in the distance. His vision was still terrible, it seemed. The figure was blurry, warping and pushing against the darkness that surrounded it.

He finally got a good view of it when it was almost right on his face. It wasn't floating, not like him. He felt like the closer it got, the closer the ground appeared. Until his bottom was firmly planted on the cold surface below him. The figure was distinctly feminine.

She was large, so much greater than him. And she looked down at him, her expression unreadable. He couldn't help but feel like this was some strange dream. She wore a robe, maroon in color. He had a feeling this wasn't her proper form, only one so his mind wouldn't break.

She had many black eyes, dark as what surrounded her. He felt he should be bowing, as foolish as that sounds. She had a weighty prescience. It bore down on him. Her skin was a marbled white, polished. Her hair was a mess of multi-colored curls, Each one a slightly different texture. She looked wild, changing. Warping every time he glanced away or blinked.

"Harry Potter..." Her voice was the only stable thing about her. The only piece that seemed to stay in place. But, she said his name somberly. A small regretful smile on her face, not really a smile.

"How unfortunate, so young..." She looked distraught, her dark eyes filled with pity. He had an urge to ask, damn recklessness.

"Who are you?" He hadn't moved from his spot on the ground, barely even registering his presence anymore.

"I am Fate, young one." He blinked owlishly at her. Fate? And he put his thoughts into words.

"Fate?" She laughed, her eyes crinkling in absolute joy. She calmed down after a second, regaining her composure.  She shook her head, and it made him all the more confused.

"So clueless! For one so smart, you sure don't know much." Harry knew he wasn't an idiot. He was decent enough in school. But, to be called bright? His intelligence was not a thing he usually got complimented on.