From now on, I am Harald Peverell. So mote it be!

Prologue

The boy lay on a thin mattress, curled up in a ball and quietly sobbing. There were no tears. At seven years old, Harry knew perfectly well that no one cared about him, and therefore there was no point in crying. For tears, his uncle would beat him even harder.

The wounds on his back were inflamed and hurt a lot, but the boy did not allow himself to make loud sounds, so as not to wake up his relatives. The mattress was already completely soaked in blood. The small space smelled strongly of blood, raw meat and rot, but the child did not care. He had long since gotten used to it.

Harry groaned softly once more, trying to at least determine the extent of the damage. He carefully ran his hand down his back and hissed in pain.

Across his entire back there was one large scar, several wounds were on his shoulders, chest, legs. His entire body was covered in bruises, hematomas and abrasions. And from the difficulty of breathing, Harry realized that he had broken a couple of ribs. Everything was swimming before his eyes. His head was splitting and Harry tried to relax, to make it at least a little less painful.

Everything went dark before his eyes and Harry fell into blissful oblivion.

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Harry stood in an endless white space. There was absolutely nothing there. Suddenly, a figure wrapped in a dark cloak appeared right in front of Potter.
It was strange, but Harry was not afraid of it at all. It seemed as if the figure was radiating warmth.

- Hello, - Harry began cautiously, afraid to say anything unnecessary.

- Well, hello, descendant, - a pleasant voice was heard, - come to me.

Harry frowned in disbelief, but obediently approached the figure.

From under the long sleeves appeared quite ordinary, even beautiful, girlish hands. White, graceful hands, long fingers. The girl threw off her hood and Harry froze, admiringly looking at the stranger.

The girl was very beautiful. Pale, almost translucent skin, bright green eyes glowing with an otherworldly light, long black hair.

"I... I look like her."

The girl threw off her cloak completely and smiled warmly at the boy, but Harry, instead of returning the smile, only began to look around, as if looking for someone.

- What is it? - the girl looked at him a little surprised. Harry nodded negatively and stood up straight again, but the stranger already understood everything. The boy did not believe that someone could smile at him and began to look for someone to whom the smile was intended. She shook her head sadly and came closer.

“My name is Hel,” she introduced herself.

- And me, Harry, and you, death? - Potter asked without a drop of fear, which is not expected from a small child.

- Yes, that's right, and you are my descendant.

-How is that?

“The Potter family comes from the family of the most powerful necromancers - the Peverells, and the magic of this family has awakened in you, which means that you are my descendant,” Hel explained.

- But why didn’t you take me then? - Harry asked, slightly offended.

The boy's eyes dimmed. He himself hunched over and lowered his head. Tu Hel could not stand it, she quickly approached him and hugged him tightly.

At first Harry seemed to be petrified, but then he relaxed slightly and began to sob. Gradually the sobs turned into crying. Through tears he splashed out all his pain, sadness, disappointment. Soon he fell asleep on the girl's shoulder, but she only smiled and quietly whispered:

- You will be the strongest. And someone will help you with this, - Hel ran her palm over the boy's forehead and quietly whispered something, causing a dark haze to appear in the air and disappear again almost instantly.

“Bye, Harry, we’ll see each other again soon,” and she kissed the boy on the forehead.

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Hopeful I apologize if there are any mistakes.