Harry's Death
A/N: As usual, I continue to own nothing, Ms. Rowling and various corporate entities do. A short little fic about the Hallows. We now join Harry in the Forbidden Forest…
Resigned, Harry looked at the stone in his hands. His parents would be with him soon. Or was it he would be with them soon? Taking a deep breath, he turned it over once, twice, three times. Before he could look up to see his parents, there was a bright flare of magic that he felt in the back of his head rather than saw. It grew and grew, then exploded. The world went black.
Harry became aware that he was conscious again. He groaned and tried to roll over and instantly regretted it. He hurt everywhere. He groaned again, louder.
"Great. I died before Voldemort could kill me." He opened his eyes. He was in the same spot he was when the stone… did whatever it did. He wasn't sure death was supposed to be this painful.
"Huh, I must have survived." Gritting his teeth, he rolled over and struggled upright, untangling himself from his cloak. He draped it around his shoulders.
Looking around, he found the snitch by his feet, but the stone wasn't there. Searching frantically, he found it several feet away at the foot of a large tree. Distracted by his search, it took a few minutes for Harry to notice that the world was a little different.
First he noticed that it was quiet. Not just quiet, but totally silent. Even the sounds he made himself were oddly muffled. He dug at his ears. No ringing, and they seemed to work fine. He held still, and there was absolutely no sound other than his rapid breathing.
Then he noticed that the colour was gone. While it had certainly been dark before, now everything was a ghostly set of greys, and blurry around the edges. He cast a quick lumos. Still no colour, just brighter shades of grey, with darker shadows behind them. He looked up. There were no stars in the gaps between the branches. He spun in circles, looking and listening for something, anything, other than himself and the silent greyness.
He stopped, panicked. Was he dead? What did he do now? Did he go back to the castle, to find out what was going on? Did he go forward, to complete his mission? Would anyone even see him? Was this what it was like to be a ghost? And where were his parents?
"Maybe I am dead."
A deep rumble of someone clearing their throat made Harry jump, yelling and whirling around to point his wand at whatever made the noise. A tall, dark-robed figure with a hood stood before him. Reflexively Harry yelled "expecto patronum!" A pale and wispy Prongs leapt out of his wand, and splashed harmlessly against the black flowing robes.
Harry looked from the tip of his wand up to the dark void of the hooded face looking back down at him. Whatever it was, it seemed to stand solidly on the ground rather than hovering, suggesting it might not be a Dementor. There was also no bone-chilling cold. Harry now noticed it carried a scythe instead of a wand in its skeletal fingers. That and the absence of a white mask also ruled out a Death Eater.
"Are you quite through?" it asked.
"Er, you're not a Dementor, are you?"
"Obviously not." Whatever it was, it sounded annoyed. "Dementors are but a pale imitation of myself, created by one of your previous 'Dark Lords' in my image. Black robes, soul sucking, etc. Insulting, really. I do not suck souls. I merely gather them."
Rather than clarifying things, this explanation just confused Harry more. Questions careened about in his mind, such that he didn't know what to ask. All that managed to come out was, "So, I'm dead then?"
"Yes. And no." It waved its hand. "Sit, Harry James Potter. We have things to discuss."
A chair appeared behind each of them, and they had actual colour, deep golden wood and crimson upholstery. Harry sat gingerly on the edge of his seat. The dark figure sat back in its chair. It tapped the butt of its scythe on the ground, and it stayed there, upright. The hood tipped up at Harry, and a bony finger flicked at him. Harry was pushed back into his chair.
"Might as well be comfortable. We are in no rush, and you can come to no further harm."
"Uh, right." That wasn't ominous at all.
It rested its elbows on the armrests and steepled its finger bones together. "As you should have sorted out, I am Death." Harry could hear the capital 'D.' "In normal circumstances, someone dies, their soul leaves their body, and I arrive to gather it and take it on the next step in its journey."
"Uh…."
"You, however, have summoned me directly by uniting the three 'Deathly Hallows.' You wear the cloak; as you suspected the wand is yours, even if you do not hold it at this moment; and you have turned the stone thrice in hand. So technically you have died, but for the moment I have not gathered your soul."
Harry paused. There seemed to be more to this dying bit than he thought. "Right, then. Um, why not? And I thought the three Hallows made you the master of Death, not its next victim."
Death laughed. It wasn't evil laughter. It was worse. Amused laughter, at the stupidity of mere mortals. Entertained laughter, at their idiocy. Death was tickled by the complete insignificance of whatever Harry had been through and held dear.
"It makes you master of death, not Death." Again Harry could hear the capital. "You are allowed to decide on your death, Harry James Potter. How shall your death be? And perhaps more importantly to both of us at this moment in time, by the evil, twisted efforts of Tom Marvolo Riddle, 'your' also includes the piece of his soul in your head and your blood in his veins. He has tied his life to yours, your life to his. What he refuses to recognise is that he has tied his death to yours as well."
"Is that what Dumbledore meant when he said I had to die before Voldemort could be killed?"
The noise from Death was best described as a growl. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is an idiot, blinded by guilt and self loathing. He couldn't forgive himself for the death of his sister, so he asks that everyone else forgive everything, even the unforgivable. He feels his acts irredeemable, so attempts to redeem even those that don't want to be redeemed. He tries to save everyone, so gives me more souls to guide. He was looking forward to dying as he could see his sister again and ask her forgiveness, so can't imagine anyone else not being willing to die. He was ignorant of the several ways to remove the piece of soul in your scar, and thought that only death, or Death, could do it."
Harry reached up to his scar, shocked. He didn't need to have died? Before he could decide which curse words to use, Death pulled out a grey hazy mass from inside his robes.
"I haven't decided what to do with him yet. While I am bound to gather souls and guide them on, there is some leeway in how quickly I do it." He pulled and stretched the mass, causing a wail to come out of it. Harry realised with horror it was Dumbledore's soul.
"Once I am through with the mess of you and Tom Marvolo Riddle, he and I will have a long chat. I may eventually decide to let him move on, though it might not be to where he thinks he's going." Another wail.
He crumpled the soul back up and reaching inside his cloak, leaned forward and tucked it behind him. "In the meantime, he makes a good chair cushion."
Death turned back to Harry. "So, back to your choice. How should your and Tom Marvolo Riddle's deaths be?"
Harry was having a hard time keeping up. Panicked, he said, "I want mine to be as far in the future as possible."
Harry sensed a smile from Death. It was not a kind smile, with the weight of eons behind it. "Typical, but reasonable, and for the first time I have ever been told that I can actually grant it."
Harry was sure he was missing something, but it seemed like he wouldn't be dying today.
"And Tom Marvolo Riddle's?" Death continued.
"Well, if you're offering, now would be great."
Again the sense of the not-kind smile. "I was hoping you would say that. He has been a… minor irritant to me. I am pleased to be able to rectify that."
Before Harry could move, Death reached out a bony finger and pushed it into Harry's head, and hooked the soul fragment. Pain worse than any cruciatus flooded Harry. His vision greyed out, and the pain actually caused a roar in his ears. Then Death pulled, and the pain and the tug lifted Harry from his chair, then into the air. There was nothing but pain, pain, and more pain. Suddenly there was a great rip and it was over. Harry collapsed to the ground, sweating and shaking uncontrollably.
When Harry's vision cleared, he saw that the chairs had vanished, and Death stood, holding up a small, mottled, grey and black mass between a skeletal finger and thumb. Reaching into his robes again, he pulled out a few more and crushed them all together. Holding it in one hand, he waved the other over the now larger mass, and two grey lines appeared, heading out together deeper into the forest. He grabbed the two lines, and pulled. Harry could feel the surge of magic in the simple action.
A long, serpentine, black, hazy mass appeared at the end of one of the lines. Death grabbed it and crumpled it up with the others he already held. He grabbed the remaining line and pulled again. A larger black mass was slowly reeled in, jerking and wriggling, wailing all the while. There were dozens of other grey lines attached, most heading out into the forest, keeping the soul from Death.
"Oh, what a marvellous day," said Death. He grabbed the last piece of Riddle's soul, mashing it together with the other fragments, and stuffed it into an inner pocket. Putting both hands around the mass of grey lines, he pulled once more. Harry could hear the faint echoes of multiple wails in the distance, then a swarm of blackish souls came flying to Death. He opened his cloak and swirled in a circle, trapping them all.
Harry sat up on the forest floor, shocked. Death gave a very self satisfied chuckle. "Yes, a very marvellous day." He paused when he saw Harry's face.
"This disturbs you?"
"I… I didn't mean for all of them to die."
"You would prefer them alive, killing your friends?"
"Well, no, but…"
Death's head tilted a bit, and for the first time, glowing green eyes appeared under the hood. They bored into Harry's, and he knew that his entire life was open to Death.
"What makes you think their deaths had anything to do with you? They tied themselves irrevocably to Tom Marvolo Riddle, most long before you were born. Whether you had died as an infant according to one dark wizard's plan, or today as according to another's…."
Harry was disturbed that he couldn't decide which wizard went with which plan.
"…they still would have been tied to him, and still died when he did, and die someday he would. People still would have died fighting them. Many did, again long before you were born. People fought him because they felt it was the right thing to do, and would have fought him, and died in large numbers, even if they never had heard of one Harry James Potter."
The eyes bored deeper, and Harry felt Death viewing memory after memory. "Your 'family' has blamed you for everything that has gone wrong, real or imagined, since you arrived on their doorstep. The wizards and witches of your new world have done the same since you arrived on theirs."
The eyes came closer and closer. "For some reason deep down you believe them, that it is always your fault. You would be best served to give up that arrogance. The world does not revolve around you. You believe so because of how you were raised and the machinations of two powerful but idiotic wizards."
They came closer still. "Nor should you blame yourself that people love you and care about you. You are worthy of their friendship and sacrifice, yet believe you are not."
Death stood up. "I would suggest you take some time away to sort things out. You are fortunate that you have already met a soul very compatible with yours. She will be able to help you." Unbidden the image of Hermione popped into his brain.
Death poked his robes, causing two rather defeated sounding wails. "You are only in control of the choices that you yourself make. You have done a barely adequate job of that so far. With good reason, perhaps, but you have little excuse from now on. That you sit there and these two," he poked his robes again, "are here suggests that there is hope for you."
The eyes disappeared.
"Now then, I must be off. Rarely do I get to actually harvest souls, but these were deemed ready. A very enjoyable day indeed."
He looked into the forest behind Harry. "You should help your friend Rubeus Hagrid, and while you're there you might want to pick up the wand."
Harry looked into the forest, then down at the stone, still clutched in his hand. He held it up to Death. "You should probably take this, then."
Death laughed again, the same laugh as before. "A very unusual offer. Any other mortal would cling to the stone and the power it and the Hallows may hold. Yes, there is hope for you. You will need the stone once more. Someday far in the future. Don't lose it. Farewell, Harry James Potter. We will meet again someday."
There was another flash of magic, and Harry found himself standing in the forest again, alone. It was still quiet, but he could hear the breeze in the trees. It was still dark, but there were browns and greens under the black and grey. He looked up, the stars were back in the sky.
He replayed the last few… seconds? minutes? hours? in his mind. Somehow, apparently, he had met Death and survived. And somehow, apparently, Death had ended the war, because he was irritated by Riddle. Or did he hallucinate the whole thing? He looked down at the stone in his hand. He didn't really want to try using it again. Who knew what would happen? Though Death was rather emphatic that Harry keep it. He dropped it in a pocket.
Harry turned and looked back toward where he knew the castle to be, then again deeper into the forest. Which way to go? Maybe he should just sit by a tree instead and quietly go insane. If he hadn't already.
His original plan had him heading into the forest. The new instructions from Death did, too. He flung the cloak over himself again and set out quietly down the path. Either he would find Hagrid in need of help surrounded by a dead Voldemort, the Elder Wand, and a bunch of dead Death Eaters; or a very alive Voldemort getting impatient to kill him. He was starting to allow himself to hope for the former. If he somehow survived, he would have to get Hermione to explain what had just happened.
More A/N. A big one: I love the Harry Potter series. But as many have already pointed out, there are multitudes of plot holes you can drive a lorry through, starting in the first chapter of book 1. Harry is protected by his mother's sacrifice and can't even be touched by Voldie, but a soul fragment can get through that to lodge in his scar and stay there for years. Basilisk venom kills horcruxes, but not when it goes into Harry. The power that Voldie knows not is Love, but it's actually the Three Hallows and the weird and very circuitous transfer of allegiance of the Elder Wand that wins the day. Expelliarmus 1, Love 0. And this is after Harry decides not to pursue the Hallows. Deus ex machina to the nth degree. Yeah, yeah, Harry loves everyone else enough to sacrifice himself, but then why need the Hallows at all?
(And about that allegiance. Voldemort has the Elder Wand, and kills Harry with it. At a time when it was aligned with Harry. One would think that would trump any claim Harry had to it. I'll have to read book 7 again, but I don't think that it's explained away well enough. Voldemort killed a part of himself as well, so it didn't count? Harry really didn't die, so it didn't count? If you're going base the final victory of the whole series on the allegiance of the Elder wand, that allegiance better be solid.)
Even accepting the Deathly Hallows leaves giant plot holes. Uniting them was supposed to be a big deal. Master of Death, remember? Why would it take uniting three mystical objects to become accepting of dying? People do that every day. Harry was already accepting, and that had nothing to do with the Hallows. Acceptance of death is not part of the Hallows Quest (which in modern times is apparently just sitting around talking about the Hallows). Acceptance of death is the moral of the story of the Three Brothers, but not by uniting the three objects. The objects represent the non-acceptance of death, the cloak more successfully than the others. The third brother lived longer because he wasn't a selfish bastard to begin with. Oy. Then he accepts death.
So Harry unites the Deathly Hallows, (long after accepting that he had to die) and… nothing happens. Metaphorically, his acceptance of death helps him become the 'true master,' but we still have these three very non-metaphorical, very real, and very powerful objects to deal with. Harry used the cloak like always, used the stone (once, for moral support) and had the allegiance of the wand so it's less effective against him (but never actually used it), but other than the individual powers, that's it. Uniting them even had nothing to do with Harry being able to come back from limbo, it was the soul fragment/blood thing and Harry's choice. That was an obvious out that JKR could have used to justify the Hallows, but didn't.
And finally, when did he unite them? Harry drops the stone before he 'died' and hadn't actually touched the wand yet, but Dumbledore tells him that he has united the Hallows and is the Master. But he's never actually in possession of all three at any given time. So if touching the wand isn't a requirement, then the moment he holds or activates the stone is the moment that he actually unites them. In my world, that's when something happens. And it's not a meeting with Dumbledore. Hope you liked it. n