First things first; I am NOT abandoning Can Jedi Wear Orange. I am not even putting it on hiatus. That story is still going strong, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. However, this story has been bouncing around my head for two years, now, and it's high time I get it started. It came in second place in the new story poll I put out a while ago, but it's the one I have the best plan for and the one I was most excited to write. I actually wrote the first few chapters of this story over a year ago, while I was stuck on a hard bit of CJWO. Now that I'm not writing for CJWO at the insane pace I was for the past few months, I figured I'd take the opportunity to put this out there. I've said before I wouldn't work on multiple stories at once, but things change. I've grown as a writer since then. CJWO is now mostly planned out, with solid outlines for all the key story points. I think my skills have improved to the point where I can juggle two stories at once. Sadly, this does mean updates for both will likely be slower than they would if I was just writing one.

Before we get to the story itself, I want to give credit to one of the fanfics that most inspired my writing in general and this story in particular. Child of the Storm, by Nimbus Llewelyn, is one of the best fanfics I've ever read, and is easily my favorite ongoing series on this site. I'd highly recommend you check it out.

I had hoped I wouldn't have to add this to a new story, but it seems I do. Please give whatever support you can to Ukraine in their fight against the Russian invasion. Anything, however small, helps.

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Young Justice: Marauders

Chapter 1

Everything had gone utterly, spectacularly, horribly wrong. As Harry ducked next to Neville on the cold stone steps of whatever godforsaken Ministry chamber they were in, all he could think of was how everything had gone wrong. Spells flashed and sizzled over their heads, accompanied by triumphant shouts and grunts of effort. The faint, whispered voice of the smashed prophecy tickled at his ears, but he honestly couldn't care less. Nothing it said could possibly be worth this catastrophe.

Numbly, he checked to make sure Neville hadn't hit his head when he fell. To his relief, Neville was still conscious and aware. He brushed off the fervent apologies for the shattered glass orb that had caused all this trouble. The terror he felt for his friends crowded out any other concerns. Hermione, felled by some unknown curse. Neville had claimed he felt a pulse, but that had been… how long ago? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Too long, that was how long. Ron had still been fighting whatever that brain creature was. He could only hope the Order had freed him before coming to their aid. Ginny had a broken ankle and had taken a stunner to the face. He hoped it was a stunner. It could easily have been-

'Don't think like that!' He told himself. 'They're alive. They're all alive. The Order's here, now. Sirius is here. Everything's going to be fine.'

Even in his head, it didn't sound convincing. The Death Eaters weren't about to give up without a fight, and they fought viciously. Tonks was already down, dead or unconscious, he didn't know. He watched Kingsley narrowly avoid having his head blown open by a Blasting curse. The explosion still knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling end over end down the stone steps. He didn't see if he got up again. Lupin stepped in and then he lost sight of both of them behind a flurry of curse fire.

In the middle of it all, Bellatrix fought like a woman possessed. Her hair floated eerily over her head, her faint face drawn into a rictus of insane delight as she flung curses faster than he'd have believed possible. She looked to be the center of a multicolored storm of light and noise. It was mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure. He was so caught up in the battle, in trying to find an opening where he could help, he almost missed Neville tugging at his arm to get his attention. He was saying something, but Harry missed it over the roar of a sudden jet of purple fire.

"What?"

"-ledore!"

"What?!"

"DUBBLEDORE!"

Harry followed Neville's gaze and saw the most welcome sight he'd ever laid eyes on. Walking into the room, eyes flashing with fury and wand already a blur of motion, was Albus Dumbledore. He almost collapsed from relief. It was over.

Dumbledore pounced on the Death Eaters gathered at the base of the raised dais like a lion on a herd of gazelles. In an instant, their wands were gone and their bodies bound to the stone with invisible ropes. Shouts of panic and dismay marked their defeat and quickly spread to their few remaining compatriots. Those few, Malfoy, Dolohov, and another he couldn't see properly, fell in short order, disarmed, stunned, and bound tight. In barely a minute, the battle was all but finished. Only two people remained dueling; Bellatrix and Sirius. Harry exhaled as the tension left him. Finally, it was over. Then everything went wrong again.

It happened in an instant, and yet also seemed to play out in slow-motion. One moment, Sirius was laughing and taunting his deranged cousin as he dodged spells with a warrior's grace. The next, he was falling. Falling. Falling backwards, still grinning, through the fluttering veil that hung in the archway. Harry waited, locked in place, for his godfather to reappear. Waited for him to roll around the side of the archway and resume his duel. Waited for him to tumble backwards, limp and unconscious, but still alive. Definitely alive. Waited.

Sirius didn't reappear.

For the space of a single heartbeat, Harry stayed frozen. The whole world was frozen. Everything ground to a halt as his brain tried to grasp what he'd just seen. Sirius was-

'No!'

The world restarted, and Harry along with it. He launched himself forward, nearly face planting as he untangled his robes. He stumbled over the cratered steps, bruising his knees and elbows as he scrambled towards the dais. Bellatrix's cackling echoed across the suddenly quiet chamber, mocking his efforts, but he shoved it aside. Finally he found his feet and sprinted to the archway, to where Sirius had-

'No!'

People were shouting, but he couldn't hear them. Wouldn't hear them. Someone, he thought it might have been Lupin, tried to grab him, but he had a Seeker's reflexes, and those hands weren't anything like as fast as a bludger. He ducked around the outstretched arm and shoved its owner out of the way. There were more shouts, telling him to wait, to stop, that it was too late, but they didn't matter. They were wrong. He just had to reach Sirius. He was just on the other side of the veil. All he had to do was reach him. All he had to do-

He crossed the Veil.

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Cold.

The Black Lake had been a scalding bath next to this, a Dementor's touch a spring breeze. The cold tore at his skin and gnawed at his bones. His teeth didn't even have time to chatter. He passed through numbness in an instant and out into the agony on the other side. His nerves shrieked as all warmth, all memory of warmth, all hope of ever feeling warmth again, froze and died. He couldn't even scream because his throat was filled with icy knives. Or maybe he was screaming, and his ears were just too frozen to hear.

Dark.

It was dark. Dark in a way that transcended the mere absence of light. The dark pressed in on him just as the cold did, filling his eyes, his lungs, his mind. Stealing away the notion of light and color. What was the sun? The moon? The stars? Had such things ever existed? There was only blackness, now and forever.

Pain.

A pain separate from the cold clamored for his attention. He wouldn't have thought anything could hurt worse than the cold, but apparently he'd been wrong. So very, very wrong. His scar exploded with agony. Someone had sliced through his forehead, cracked his skull open, and was determinedly ripping out his brain with rusty hooks. He clawed at his head with fingers numbed and frozen, but he couldn't even feel it. Everything, every sense, every thought, his very identity, became that awful pain.

He had to be dying. No. Not dying. Dead. He had to be dead. Nothing alive could feel such pain, so he had to already be dead. It was a strangely philosophical thought to have while in the grip of such pain, and he couldn't dwell on it. He was too busy trying to scream.

Abruptly, the pain redoubled, and he felt his sanity start to slip. His scar was moving. No. Something in his scar was moving. Something slimy and raw and other. Horror fought its way through the pain and cold to well up in his mind. He had to get the other out. It was wrong and awful and it didn't belong inside him. It didn't belong! He tugged and pushed and clawed at the other, though he couldn't tell if he was using his hands or his thoughts. Was there even a difference now? Did it matter? What mattered was that the other moved. It tried to cling on, digging hooks into his memories and sinking claws into his skull, but he was having none of it. The cold was irrelevant. The pain was just fuel. No matter what, he was getting the other out of him.

'I'm you,' it crooned in his thought, with a voice of rancid oil and sweet promises. It sounded familiar. 'You're just hurting yourself. Stop. Be still. Let me be.'

'You are not me!' He thought back. 'Get out. GET OUT!'

'No! You will die. You will kill us both. Leave me, and I can give you anything you want. Power. Riches. Anything.'

With that, he recognized the other. 'Voldemort,' he thought furiously as he tightened his hold on the rotted thing in his scar. 'Get out of my head!'

He gave one final pull, and with a screech he heard even with his frozen ears, the Voldemort thing came free. Instantly, the pain in his head faded to a dull ache, no more severe than a skull fracture. He couldn't see what was in his hands, but he could feel it writhing about. It was a lump of slime, a handful of needles, a pile of frozen garbage. With a shiver of disgust, he flung it away into the dark and cold.

'Let it die out there,' he hoped. 'Let it freeze and die.'

It was a fate he was in for himself, it seemed. The clarity the pain had lent his thoughts was already fading. The cold and dark pressed in again, stealing his strength and sapping his will. There was nothing to fight and no way to fight it. He struggled to stay awake (was he even awake?) but it was useless. Thoughts slowed, consciousness faded, and then…

Nothing.

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"Hey there."

Harry jerked awake. Warmth and light greeted him as his mind started to exist again. Not much of either, but they were a bonfire next to the awful nothing-cold of before.

"Whasa?" He said. It wasn't what he'd tried to say, but then again, he wasn't sure what he'd tried to say. His thoughts were still slow and creaky, like a door with rusty hinges. From somewhere out of sight, he heard a distinctly female giggle.

"Nice analogy," a girl's voice said. "'A door with rusty hinges.' Very evocative."

He frowned. Had he said that bit out loud? He didn't think he had, but thinking still wasn't a smooth process.

"Oops," the voice said. "I always forget about the whole thinking versus talking thing. It must make conversation so difficult for you lot."

This was just getting weird. Despite the exhaustion that begged him to close his eyes and slip back into sleep, Harry forced himself upright and looked around. What he saw did nothing to make things less odd.

He was sitting on nothing, apparently, amid a field of swirling stars. Galaxies whirled past, at once impossibly fast and glacially slow. It was achingly beautiful, and he might have stayed staring at it forever were it not for the other person there with him.

It was a girl, but she was easily the strangest girl he'd ever seen, and that was saying something when he considered he was good friends with Luna Lovegood. She was alabaster pale, but not in an unhealthy-looking way. Her skin just seemed naturally white as milk. By contrast, her hair, clothes, and makeup were all pure black, as dark as that he'd passed through earlier. The stark difference made her look like an old photograph or a painting brought to life. She wore a spaghetti-strap tank top, black pants, gloves, and a top hat. An umbrella, also black, leaning against a nearby solar system, also had to be hers. She had some sort of curlicue done in makeup under her right eye, and a necklace with a silver symbol hung from her neck. He thought he recognized it, but it took his sluggish brain a few moments to spit out the answer. It was an ankh. Hermione had gone on about them one night when she was doing her Ancient Runes homework. Some Egyptian something or other. He hadn't really been listening. Ron had been talking about Quidditch, and that had taken most of his attention.

'Wait… Ron. Hermione! Sirius!' Thinking of his friends finally sparked his brain into action, and the memory of what he'd been doing flooded back. His fingers scrabbled for his wand and found it next to his knee. He lurched to his feet and hoped whatever he was standing on stayed there, lest he plummet into the endless expanse of stars. His head swam and a wave of dizziness threatened to plant him right back down again, but before he could fall, warm hands caught him and propped him up.

"Easy there," the girl said as she held him. She was slender, and a bit shorter than him, but acted as if he weighed no more than a feather. "Wouldn't want you taking a face plant, would we?"

"Wha- who are you?" He rasped. "What's going on? Where am I? Where's Sirius?" His thoughts were still mired in tarry exhaustion. The whole situation was so surreal he couldn't even summon up panic. Just a sort of numb terror that sat in the back of his mind and gibbered occasionally.

She smiled at him sympathetically. "You know who I am. Everyone knows who I am."

He opened his mouth to shout that he'd never seen her before in his life, that he had no idea who she was. Before the first syllable formed on his tongue, though, he realized it wasn't true. He couldn't remember ever seeing her before, and yet, inexplicably, she fit neatly into a hole in his thoughts, a hole made just for her. It was as if he'd known the shape of her all his life, and had only needed the details filled in. His breath froze in a way that had nothing to do with cold as he realized who the girl was holding him upright. With a hoarse cry, he stumbled backwards. The sudden movement was too much for his wobbly legs, and he crashed onto his butt and scrambled backwards, wand coming up to point at her.

"Death," he said. "You're Death."

She nodded gently. He tried to stand, to run, but his limbs still wouldn't work right and just sort of flailed. His breathing came fast and shallow. Distantly, he realized he was panicking. The realization did nothing to calm him, though. Indeed, it only threw the enormity of his situation into even starker relief. He was sitting in a sea of galaxies, holding Death at wand point, having a panic attack.

'Oh Merlin,' he thought. 'Oh, bloody hell.'

"How- what?" He gasped. "W-what's going on? Where's Sirius? Wh-"

Before he could spiral further into blind panic, there was a blur of motion, and then a slender hand rested against his cheek. The fingers felt cool and comforting against his flushed face.

"Easy, Harry," she soothed. "Easy. Just breathe. I know it's scary, but I promise you're safe here. I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Her voice was gentle, and the feel of her hand was pleasant. Despite himself, he found himself listening to her words. It took a few minutes, but eventually he calmed down enough to think. She must have seen it in his face, because she offered him a hand to help him up. Hesitantly, he took it, and she hauled him to his feet as easily as he might lift a kitten. He wobbled a bit before finding his balance. Carefully, he put his wand away and gave her a wary look. She looked back, still smiling softly. There was something about her, an air of friendship and reassurance that he couldn't help but embrace. By rights he should still have been terrified, and in some ways he was, but not of her.

"So… you're really Death?"

"That's me," she laughed and swept her hat off into an elaborate bow, like some sort of stage performer. When she straightened, her eyes locked on his in a manner eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore. Except Dumbledore would have fallen to his knees and taken notes before such a penetrating stare. Those onyx orbs bored into the heart of his being. Not unfriendly, but definitely appraising. "And you're Harry Potter. I've wondered what you were like. I'm sure you have questions. There's not a lot I can tell you, but feel free to ask. Take your time. We've got plenty. Or rather, we haven't got any at all."

He didn't have the foggiest notion what she meant by most of that, so he ignored it in favor of prodding his brain with a stick until it sputtered back into life.

"So… I'm dead?"

"Surprisingly, no," she said. "Good news, Harry. You're only mostly dead. And mostly dead is a little bit alive, huh?"

She looked at him expectantly, as if he were supposed to laugh or applaud, though he wasn't sure why. When he did neither, she just pouted and huffed a little and muttered under her breath. "Watch a movie, would you?"

Heat rose in his face. His poor understanding of pop culture, both wizard and muggle, had been a source of unending embarrassment at school. Dean, Seamus, and Ron had all taken it in turns to give him grief for his ignorance. Even Hermione had teased him about it once or twice, when he missed some fantastically clever joke she'd made because he'd never seen Doctor Who or some such. As he had several times already, he consigned her remarks to the bin marked "best left ignored" and focused on more pressing matters.

"Wait. You're Death, but I'm not dead? What's going on? Why am I here? And where the hell is here, anyway?"

She frowned and tapped her lips with one black painted nail. "Hmmm. How to explain? That archway you went through, it normally leads, well, nowhere. Literally. The empty night outside the Orrery. This is a sort of in-between place I made. A pocket of reality I used to catch you. Otherwise, you'd have fallen through the cold and dark forever. Nasty bit of work, that thing. A gateway straight to the void between worlds, and your lot used it as a fancy noose. Might as well use asteroids as fly swatters. I swear, you all have just the worst ideas. Nearly as bad as the Hallows, that archway."

Once again, he just gawked at her, mouth hanging open like a fish. Hermione probably would have understood that, but she might as well have been speaking Mermish as far as he was concerned. She must have noticed his confusion, because she sighed and waved a hand.

"The details aren't important. Suffice to say, it's a doorway. One most don't survive going through."

His eyes widened. "Then Sirius…"

"Is luckier than a horde of leprechauns in a field of four-leaf clovers." She reassured him. "Every once in a while, just for a millisecond, the planes slip close to each other and that door actually leads somewhere. Sirius just so happened to go through at one of those times."

He sighed in relief. The twisted mass of nauseated fear that had sat in his gut ever since he'd seen Bellatrix's last spell find its mark finally relaxed. "So, where is he? When can I take him back?"

Death's smile faded to something small and sad. Slowly, so slowly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you're not going back."

It took him a few seconds to process what she'd said. When the words finally beat their way into his brain, the bottom fell out of his stomach. All the hope he'd carefully let himself feel fell away, leaving a cold, hollow feeling in its place.

"W-what?"

She sighed. "I can't send you back to your world. You or Sirius. He's already somewhere new. When we're done here, I'll send you to him. But as soon as you two passed through the Veil, this became a one-way trip."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm going back. I have to. My friends are back there. My home…" Her expression was understanding, even sympathetic, but unyielding. "Please. I have to go back. They're in trouble. I have to help them."

Once again, she shook her head. She tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked back as if burned. A look of hurt flashed across her face, but it was gone so fast he almost thought he'd imagined it. "It's out of my hands, Harry. I'm truly sorry, but it is. You can't go back. You have to go on."

"But that's my home!" He shouted. Anger, hot and familiar, boiled up in him suddenly, and he embraced it. "You can't do this! You can't just-! Give me my godfather and send us back."

"Can't do it."

"DAMMIT. LET. US. GO. HOME." He was screaming now, but she just shook her head, unperturbed.

He kept shouting for a while, hurtling insults, demand, threats, pleas, and whatever else came to mind. His throat grew raw and parched, and hot tears ran down his face as he screamed out his frustration and bewilderment. Through it all, Death stood as calm as a mountain lake, no more ruffled by his tirade than a boulder was by a breeze. Her maddening calm, her refusal to be hurt by anything he said to her, only drew out more of his vitriol. No matter what he shouted, though, no matter how loud his yells or how vile his curses, she didn't so much as flinch.

In the end, he wasn't even sure what he was yelling about anymore. He'd long since passed beyond his anger at anything she'd done or wouldn't do. It became an outpouring of all the anger and fear and resentment he'd bottled up over the past year. All of it came pouring out. It hurt as it went, and when he finally finished, his knees buckled and he folded until he was sitting, panting from exertion. He felt hollowed out, like he'd lost something amidst all the screaming.

Very slowly, as if she were approaching a wounded hippogriff, Death walked over and sat down next to him. Some part of him wanted to shy away, or yell at her some more, but the greater part just couldn't be bothered. He didn't have any anger left to spill. Just numb shock and growing resignation. Instead, he settled for whispering in a small voice made scratchy from shouting.

"It's not fair."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "I have been many things over the last few billion years. Kind and cruel. Light and dark. Grim and cheerful. But never fair. That's the one thing I can never be. I'm truly sorry this hurts you, but it's what has to happen. There are some rules even I can't break, and this is one of them. No one goes back through that Veil. Only forward. I'm pushing it as it is by catching you like this."

"Why me?" His voice was barely even audible to himself, but she seemed to have no issues hearing him.

"Lots of reasons," she said eventually. "I can't explain most of them. Rules again. You're important, Harry. No matter what timeline, no matter what world, you're important."

He scoffed, and a flicker of old resentment curled in his chest. "I don't want to be."

Instead of answering right away, Death scooted and laid her head against his shoulder. For some reason, he didn't shy away from the contact, though she gave him ample opportunity to do so. Perhaps he imagined it again, but this time he thought he saw a brief expression of relief on her face before it smoothed.

"I know. And that's one of the things I like most about you." She whispered conspiratorially. "Tell you a secret?"

He twitched in shock, but eventually managed to nod. "Uh, sure, I guess."

She leaned in closer. "Mostly, I saved you because you deserve it. You're a good person, Harry Potter, and I think you deserve better than to plunge eternally into empty night. Usually I don't get much of a say in what people do or don't deserve, but this time I did."

He wasn't sure what to say to that. Wasn't even sure if he cared what she thought. "My friends," he breathed. All hurt, or worse, and all because of him. Because he'd been a thrice damned fool and let Voldemort manipulate him, just as Snape had warned. "I'm really never going to see them again?"

"Never say never," Death chided. "The multiverse is too strange for nevers. Maybe in the future you'll find a way. But not now. Probably not for a very long time."

"Can you at least tell me if they're alive?" He pleaded. "We were in a fight, and some of them got hurt. Please."

She stayed silent and smiled that sad, secretive smile again, and he slumped in defeat. Peoples' deaths, even his friends', were a private affair, that smile said. He could shout and rage and curse for all eternity, and still never pry a word from that smile. As well try to reason with gravity or bully the moon. It wasn't personal. Wasn't malicious. It was just the way things were.

That, piled atop everything else so far, finally proved too much. With a choked sound, tears began to pour down his cheeks, and his shoulders heaved with sobs. He didn't even care that he was weeping like a child in front of someone he hardly knew, though at any other time just the thought would have been mortifying. He'd lost his godfather, only to find him and lose everything else in doing so. Grief tasted bitter in his mouth, and he felt a great weight of guilt settle on him. Guilt for leaving his friends to chase after Sirius. Guilt for wishing he hadn't leapt through the Veil. Guilt for not regretting it at all. Guilt for rushing off like a hot-headed fool and starting this whole mess. It all sat in his mind like a tangle of thorny vines, confusing, impenetrable, and painful.

There was a rustle of movement, and he felt two slender, deceptively strong arms wrap around him. A warm weight pressed against his side, reassuring in its solidity. When he blinked through the tears blurring his vision, he saw the impossible. Death, actual, literal Death, was hugging him, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I know," she murmured. "It's okay. You'll be okay."

He didn't have the energy to contemplate how absurd or improbable everything was. A friendly face was offering him a literal shoulder to cry on, and he took it eagerly. There wasn't anger left in him after his earlier rant, but there was more than enough grief to make up for it. That, too, now came out as hoarse sobs and stinging tears. After a year of trying to hold everything back, to deal with Umbridge, the DA, school, Voldemort's return, and a thousand other things besides, it was an impossible relief to just let go.

Eventually, though, even his tears ran out. Much as he had after raging, he felt drained and hollow, but also lighter. When the last of his sobs had petered off to a strangled cough, he took a moment to catch his breath and leaned against the surprisingly solid Death. For all that she looked like a slip of a girl, he suspected not even Fluffy and Grawp working together could budge her if she chose not to move. That thought reminded him he had just spent the best part of ten minutes crying onto her bare shoulder, and red armies marched across his face again. He wasn't sure, but it probably wasn't appropriate behavior towards… whatever Death was. Now there was a question he'd never thought he'd have to consider.

Abruptly, he straightened and tried to discreetly wipe his face of salt and snot. "Sorry," he apologized, though he wasn't really sure what he was sorry for. She'd been the one to hug him, after all. Still, it seemed appropriate. She just laughed and waved a hand dismissively.

"It's fine. You're hardly the first person I've held while they grieved, and you seemed to need it more than most." As she waved, though, his eyes landed on a spot of color on her shoulder, bright against her pale skin. A smear of crimson glistened wetly in the light of wheeling galaxies.

"Is that-" His hand flew up to his forehead and came away sticky and red. His scar prickled where he touched it, and now that he was paying attention, he could feel the blood on his face. From the feel of it, the scar had split open along its length. His mind went back to his fall through the cold, and his to ripping the foul Voldemort thing out of him. In all the confusion since waking up, he'd forgotten about it.

"What the- What happened?" He tried to feel out the wound and winced as he poked it by accident. Death looked at him curiously and saw where he was feeling.

"Hmm, I wondered if you'd ask about that," she said. "Don't look so surprised. You don't just rip a piece of someone's soul out of your body without at least a little bit of damage."

"… What?" Harry was mildly impressed with himself for keeping his voice level. Death must have picked up on the sudden spike of flabbergasted horror in him anyway, though, because she winced and had the gall to look sheepish.

"Oh, right. That's probably one of those things you mortals get all squeamish about. I can never remember." She looked at him again, warily this time. "Promise not to freak out?"

"No!" He said hotly. He felt entitled to at least two more freak outs, all things considered. Maybe three. She tilted her head and shrugged.

"Well, points for honesty, I guess. Long story short, and very dumbed down, when Tom Riddle tried to kill you as a baby, he wound up leaving a piece of his soul stuck in your scar. It's part of what let him survive being blown to bits. When you took a header through the Veil, it put you into a sort of… vague state. Boundaries got blurred."

"Boundaries between what, exactly?" He asked, his voice still calm despite his rising nausea. Had his soul gotten mixed up with that thing?

"Between physical and metaphysical. Dream and reality. Thought and act." She shrugged. "It's not something you can really comprehend. Long and short of it is that spiritual parasite became a little bit of a physical parasite. You ripped it away, and it did that-" she gestured to his forehead "-on its way out."

"I… had a piece of Voldemort… inside my head?" He asked. The nausea was harder to fight down this time, but he forced his stomach to settle. He didn't want to add vomiting all over a constellation to the list of improbably embarrassing moments he'd endured today.

"Just a little piece," she said, as if that was any comfort at all. Maybe it was. He didn't know anything about souls.

"But it's gone now, right?" He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

"Yes." She grabbed his shoulders and gently pulled him forward to press a soft kiss to his scar. It seared once, and then a pain he hadn't even been fully conscious of faded away completely. "And that should help with any damage it did when you pulled it out. Don't worry about it too much, if you can help it. You threw that bit of him into empty night. It won't be bothering anyone again."

He rubbed his scar where she had kissed it. It didn't so much as twinge. His fingers came away clean, and the feel of blood on his forehead was gone.

"I- um, thanks." How did one thank Death for kissing a cut better? Surely his clumsy gratitude wasn't enough, but she smiled sweetly and accepted it.

"You know, you're taking all this a lot better than I thought you would," she mused, almost more to herself than to him. He snorted wryly. If she considered screaming in rage and then crying like a baby to be taking things well, he'd hate to see what she considered taking things poorly. Then again, he hadmanaged not to throw up earlier, so there was that.

"This is all just too unreal," he answered, though she hadn't asked a question. With a sweeping gesture, he tried to point to their surroundings all at once. "I mean, I'm talking with Death. Maybe I shouldn't believe it, but I do. I just don't think it's all really hit me yet."

She nodded and looked at him a little sadly. "It will," she said. "Soon or late, it will. When it does, try not to be alone. You're dreadful at being alone."

He wanted to ask what she meant, but before he could, she turned away and clapped her hands together. The sharp sound made him jump. It echoed strangely and rang in his ears longer than it should have.

"Well, I think it's just about time to send you on your way," she said as she eyed the solar system her umbrella currently rested against. He still didn't even want to think about how that worked. Just looking at it made his head ache. "Two things before you go. First thing; you have something of mine."

Quick as a darting Snitch, she turned and reached for his robe. Her hand flashed out and snagged something from his pocket. A long, shimmering sheet of fabric trailed behind her as she spun away. His Invisibility cloak. He'd forgotten he'd stuffed it in his pocket on a whim before they'd left for the Ministry. Seeing it now was somehow reassuring. It had gotten him out of a lot of trouble, that cloak had, often after he'd used it to get into said trouble in the first place. That he still had it gave him some hope that things might just be alright. And now some cosmic entity had just nabbed it like a common pickpocket. He yelped and moved to grab at it, but was too slow.

"Cool your jets, magic man," she said. "You'll get it back. Besides, it was mine originally, before one of your ancestors conned it off me."

"Wait, what?" He gaped at her, something that was quickly becoming a pattern.

"Not important," she said quickly. Was that a hint of a blush on her cheeks? "Anyway, I don't need it anymore. I'm more of a leather jacket girl these days. Now, let's see…"

She turned her attention fully towards the Cloak and left Harry standing there, baffled. His jaw worked uselessly and his eyes strained in their sockets.

'My Cloak, my dad's Cloak, used to be Death's!' There was no way. That was impossible. It had to be impossible.

'Any more impossible than the rest of this?' He asked himself. The answer wasn't exactly comforting. With shudder, he forced himself to focus on Death and whatever she was doing to his, or perhaps her, Cloak. Sadly, it was the least insane thing he could think to focus on.

"Not bad for 800 years without a proper wash," she was muttering to herself. "A bit dusty, a bit careworn, but not bad at all. Still, always room for improvement." With a sharp flourish, she shook out the Cloak and blew on it hard. A puff of something Harry seriously doubted was dust billowed out and drifted away into space. To his eyes, the Cloak looked somewhat different from before, but she folded it back up before he could get a good look at it.

"Here you go," she said as she thrust the folded Cloak into his hands. "Good as new. Better, even."

He wanted to unfold it, to see what she'd done, but she gestured for him to put it away, and he hurriedly stuffed it back into his pocket. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he coughed and thanked her awkwardly.

"You're very welcome," she said. "Now for the second thing. I have a favor to ask of you."

Harry had thought he couldn't get any more surprised than he already was. Apparently, he'd been wrong. "A favor," he eventually manged to choke out. "I- what could I possibly do for you?"

She frowned and brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face with pale fingers. "You think too little of yourself, Harry. Trust me, you can do more than you'd ever think possible." There was a look of such sincere belief in her eyes that he couldn't find it in himself to deny her words. "And this is something I can't do myself. Believe me, I wish I could, but I can't."

Her black painted lips twisted into a brief grimace before smoothing back into her typical mysterious smile. It looked a bit forced now, though.

"I have siblings," she said. "Six of them, actually. We're all one big, dysfunctional family. And one of my brothers is… in a bit of trouble. He's been in it for a while, actually, and he'll be in it for a bit longer, but that's not important right now."

He listened quietly, trying not to think too hard about Death having siblings. It was just one more piece of madness to add to the pile of things he'd deal with later. Much, much later.

"Anyway, one day, you're going to meet him," she went on. "And he'll need help. He won't ask for it, stubborn, stupid lummox that he is, but he'll still need it. I'm not sure what it'll be, exactly, but I'd like you to help him, please. For me."

"Of course." The words came out of his mouth, and they were in his voice, but Harry could hardly believe he'd been the one to say them. What was he thinking? This was Death. Friendly or not, he'd barely known her five minutes. He sure as hell didn't have any business getting involved with her family. No matter what she said, he didn't for a moment believe he could offer help with something where she couldn't. It was a terrible, ludicrous idea, and he instantly opened his mouth to take it back.

When he looked at her, though, he couldn't. He just… couldn't. It just wasn't in him to turn down someone who needed help. Hermione had called it his saving-people-thing. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble before, including the mess at the Ministry and his current situation, but he refused to let anyone tell him it was a bad thing. Not even his own better judgment.

"Of course," he repeated. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

She smiled as brightly as he'd get seen at that and leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of his nose. It tickled a little, and he had to fight the sudden urge to sneeze. Heat suffused his face at the gesture. Cosmic entity of unknowable power or not, Death was incredibly pretty. Even a peck on the nose was enough to send red armies marching from his neck to his hair.

"Thank you. That means a lot. More than you yet know. But enough about that. It's time to get you where you need to go."

Whatever comfort and warmth that has rekindled inside him wilted once more at her words. 'Where I need to go. But not home. Not where I should go.'

She gestured him over to the solar system her umbrella was still leaning against. He trudged after her, slow and sullen. Each step felt like his shoes were cast from lead. He didn't want to see this new world he was apparently headed to. Seeing it would mean it was real, and his home truly was lost to him. Anything would be better than that, even staying here. It was beautiful in this place, with the vast ocean of the cosmos swirling around him. He kept walking, though. She'd made it clear he was going to this new place. He was going, and she was sending him there. Neither of them had much choice in the matter.

When he caught up to her, she was kneeling over a small blue orb. A planet, he supposed, if this really was a solar system. It might as well be, all things considered. It would make as much sense as anything had in the last hour. He crouched beside her and took a look at it for himself. To his surprise, it looked familiar. More than just familiar, it looked like-

"Earth," he gasped. "That's Earth. But I thought you said-"

"It is Earth," Death said. "But not your Earth. This is a different Earth. Another version, you might say. Similar to the world you know in a lot of ways, but very different in others."

She plucked the tiny Earth out of its orbit and cradled it in her hands. It looked no bigger than a billiard ball, but he could see the delicate white wisps of clouds and the faint twinkle of city lights on its surface. This was no mere model or illusion. It was Earth. Real and solid and not his.

"This isn't the world you were born in, true. But it is every bit as unique, every bit as wondrous, and, if you give it a chance, maybe every bit as much of a home." She looked at him, an unfathomable light in her eyes. "Are you ready?"

He had to swallow a lump in his throat to speak. "No," he admitted. She just grinned.

"Good. Things are boring when you're ready for them."

Then she threw a planet at his face.

Not a toy-sized planet, either. Not anymore. As it hurtled towards him, it grew bigger and bigger in his vision. Bigger and bigger and bigger, until he couldn't tell anymore if it was rushing towards him, or if he was falling towards it. Maybe both. Wind buffeted him, and as he tumbled, he saw Death in the sky. Really saw her. She was the size of a star now, of a galaxy, a universe. She was infinite. Everywhere. Always.

Endless.

Then she puffed out her cheeks, blew a raspberry, and vanished with a peal of silent laughter. He didn't even have time to goggle before the ground rushed up and smacked him in the face.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Having a planet thrown at you hurt, Harry decided. Not as much as it probably should have, but certainly more than he would have preferred. His head ached anew, his bones felt all jumbled about, and it took him ten seconds of futile gasping before his lungs got a handle on breathing again. Still, he supposed having the wind knocked out of him was getting off lightly, all things considered. With a groan, he rolled over and tried to sit up slowly. His spine let him know in no uncertain terms that had been a mistake, and he let himself flop back to the ground again.

It was night, wherever he was, and the moon was just a faint sliver in the sky. Its light served only to add texture to the darkness rather than illuminate it. Even so, the ground wasn't especially uncomfortable, and the night air was pleasant. With one finger, he confirmed he still had his wand, and sighed when he felt the familiar shape of it in his pocket. He figured there wasn't any harm in staying where he was. At least until he caught his breath. There wasn't any apparent danger nearby. Indeed, he didn't think there was much of anything, or anyone, in the area at all.

As if out of spite, it was precisely then that a golden light illuminated the night. Crunching footsteps sounded from off to his right. In a moment, he had his wand in hand and was ready to bring it up if needed. He hoped it wasn't needed, though. His bones ached too much for a fight.

"Who's there?" A man's voice asked from near the light. "Speak up, if you know what's good for you?"

Harry ignored his aching body and forced himself upright. When he turned to look at the light, he heard a sharp gasp, and the footsteps stopped. A dozen feet from him stood an older man, his face well lined and his hair and beard a solid silver. He wore muggle clothing, old-fashioned but in good nick. A floating yellow light provided the illumination. The man looked at him in shock, open-mouthed and staring. There was something strangely familiar about him, though Harry couldn't ever recall having seen him before.

"Harry?" He breathed, so low it was nearly inaudible. "Is that you?"

Harry frowned. How the hell had this man recognized him? That shouldn't have been possible. If Death had told the truth, he shouldn't know anyone here, and no one should know him. Except…

'No,' he thought. 'That can't be…'

But, as his eyes adjusted and he could see the man better, his certainty grew. The hair was silver now, instead of black, and even longer than he'd last seen it, but it retained more than a trace of its former glory. The face was newly lined and weathered, but he could see the younger man he'd known beneath the wrinkles. What really sold it was the eyes, though. Those had not changed at all, still grey and sparkling with mischief, warmth, and a hint of madness.

"Sirius?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

And that is the first chapter of Young Justice: Marauders. The idea for this story came about when I first started looking for YJ/HP crossover stories and found a serious dearth of both quantity and quality. Most of what's out there, even the well written stories, just didn't match up with what I was looking for; that is, a canon compliant Harry winding up in the YJ universe and joining the Team. So I decided to write one. In my opinion, Young Justice is one of the best things DC has put out in decades (and there's some heavy competition) and Harry Potter is one of the easiest crossover characters to work with, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

That said, this is not purely a HP/YJ crossover. There will be significant influences from the Sandman and Lucifer comics, to include whole story arcs and characters being brought in and adapted. Additionally, those of you familiar with the Dresden Files series may recognize certain elements from there, specifically regarding aspects of the magic system. DC magic is very broad and ill-defined, so I decided to borrow from one of the best magic systems I know. By no means do you have to have read Dresden Files to follow this story, though. There will be no characters or plot brought in from that series, just mechanics.

Please leave a review if you have any comments, questions, or criticisms for me. If you do have a question, make sure you're logged in with PMs enabled so I can respond. Thank you.