It turned out, dying was the easy part. He had done it so many times, one could almost say he had learned the insides and outs. Rather, he was an expert on death.
Though to be fair, he had never met any such entity that claimed to be God or Death themselves. But he had died eight hundred and ninety-one times. Yes, he had counted. One might think you would lose count, but his memory was the only thing that was real to him. Having invented a rhyme, he recalled his lives in tune to 'Mary had a little lamb'. Some nights it was the only thing that kept him focused, especially when things got rough.
"-And sixty-one was round the bend, never trusting Goblins again. Sixty-two was sweet and true, until those giants turned blue. Beloved sixty-three, that was the life of Hermione..."
Ticking away the hours, he rocked himself, repeating this strange song to keep away his personal demons. Clutching tightly to his reality, he remained as sane as could be expected. At times, his grasp on the situation was loose and his mind wandered. But this off-putting melody kept him grounded enough for apathy to set in. After all, why did one life matter when he was doomed to continue on and on?
Sometimes he lived to be an old man, other times he died young, barely days into that reality. Just when he thought he had a handle on his situation, out came life eighty-seven. Now that had been a challenge. Reborn as a koi fish, he had essentially lost his mind to crisis. Where was he?! What had happened, and was he being punished??? Was this hell?
In the end, it had actually been a decent life. Much less stress and trouble to handle, overall. Perhaps as a side effect, he now had a love for swimming in the rain.
There was a double-edged sword that came with being immortal, after all. One could be reborn infinitely, but it seemed you remembered everything. Perhaps that was why his sanity occasionally slipped. Because in the end, the brain only had so much capacity for memory, let alone stress.
But these were soul memories, engraved into his existence to the core. Sometimes he wondered if he was a piece of paper, carved with each lifetimes memory... and ability. Such as being able to speak koi fish. It was a loose language, but many subspecies of fish understood him, especially fresh water. Saltwater fish? Well, that was another story.
His first life had been as Harry Potter, a young wizard who was chosen through prophecy and circumstances to save the world. There had been five of those cycles before it was broken up. Spit throughout the timeline, he had been many wizards and witches, spread through bloodlines and genders. Some universes even connected, as he had once been reborn and met his own grandchildren as one of their peers.
That sort of situation had become something of a triumph for him. Even when things were bleak, he held onto the realization that the lives he lived mattered, they made a difference.
His mind was scattered, and he definitely wasn't a true human anymore. But he did his best to blend in and make the most of his abilities and lifetime. It almost felt like each life really was it's own person. After all, Hermione was a far shot from being a koi fish. He had only been Harry Potter one hundred and sixty-five times. This was his largest tally of repeats.
Until life eight hundred and ninety-two, life one hundred and sixty-sixth repeat. That hot July night, as Lily Potter gave birth, the largest summer storm in several centuries brewed itself into a horrible mix of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. Winds that blew high and hard, ripping branches from the trees and pelting them back onto the houses in Godric's Hollow.
A muggy sort of sticky heat that felt tense and expectant, only calming itself after a fresh torrent of rain and a blast of bright blue lightning illuminated the sky. Black, blue, green, gray, and orange lit up the sky in an array of colors, a strange sort of kaleidoscope that filled the whole of London with heavy pressure.
Lily Potter wondered if the sky was as pregnant as she was, her water bursting with the blinding surprise of another lightning strike. Rolling thunder swallowed her cries as she pushed, laboring to deliver the child in her belly. Molly Weasely and Madame Poppy Pomfrey helped deliver the small male just moments before the end of July.
Harry Potter had been born. With a scream, he cleared his lungs and looked blurrily around as best he could. Infants have little muscle control, however, and Harry was no exception. His head was simply too heavy, and his eyes weren't used to seeing.
"A healthy little boy, bless his heart," cooed the Weasely matron, wrapping the child in blankets and passing him to his mother, the other redhead present.
"I always wanted a boy," Lily sighed in a breathy sort of voice, struggling momentarily to find the right way about feeding said infant. Moments later, he was latched and Lily let out her breath in relief.
"It was an honor to witness the birth of another Potter," Madame Pomfrey smiled, tears collecting in her eyes and giving them a glossy sheen.
"Harry," Lily smiled, trying out the name. "Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter."
These were the words that caused vague and hazy blue eyes to pop open, a flash of green as bright as a curse coloring his pupils as the news sank in. The color faded back to infant blue, and the aforementioned child began to scream. He didn't want to be Harry bloody Potter again! The lightning outside echoed his internal torment as his voice rose in agreement, howling for all the world to hear.