Hey guys(:
This is a shorter chapter than before but where I chose to end it seemed like a pretty good place to stop, and my Muse has been feeling kinda slow. You've all been really patient, and have left amazing reviews and other tokens of support, so I really just wanted to let you guys know that I appreciate that and that I haven't forgot about you guys or that you're waiting for new stuff.
That being said, I would also like to say that I kinda messed up on my assumption of how long this fic was gonna be hahaha. Things keep popping up that I want to add, and I keep letting the characters run off on wild tangents and such, but I'm okay with it haha. So there will probably be 3 or maybe even 4 more chapters than expected. But who knows. It all depends on where it goes(:
Should probably toss another disclaimer up here as well. I don't own Harry Potter. The characters along with the Canon plot all belong to the Queen, J.K. Rowling.
Thanks for all the reviews and the favorites and follows and just everything. You guys really make all this happen.
All my love,
Majix
May 16th, 2009
Upon his return, Death was kind enough not to ask about what occurred at Spinners End. Harry was sure that the immortal had a pretty good idea, as he was the guardian of the barrier and a soul couldn't return without him knowing about it, but the green eyed wizard was infinitely grateful for his momentary silence.
In the grand scheme of things, Harry felt that he'd made the right choice, however, that didn't stop the lingering hurt from burrowing itself deeper beneath the wizard's skin.
People often said that words couldn't hurt you unless you let them, but in his own personal experience, Harry found that words tended to hurt whether you wanted them to or not. They had a way of splitting an old wound wide open again, bringing previous emotional trauma right back to the surface. There were things you could do, masks to wear, but that never really stopped the hurt. Even after years of hardening himself against the harsh words of others, Harry still felt it, the pain that could only be brought forward by the scalding words spoken by somebody that you respected and cared about.
And despite everything, regardless of what was said, Harry loved and respected Sirius Black.
Harry trudged through the wide expanse of his home, walking the familiar halls before finding his room, disappearing inside and promptly flopping down on his bed. Hot tears pooled in the wizard's eyes as he curled up in a tight ball, ruthlessly trying to ignore any and all thoughts of his godfather or his parents. Despite wanting to appear ever strong before his unearthly companion, Harry knew that there was a time and place for tears, and even without having known what happened, the teen was positive that Death wouldn't begrudge the physical proof of the affect his godfather's words had on his heart.
Darkness coiled lovingly around the emotionally damaged boy, enveloping him in the the stillness of silence, the distinct lack of light that he'd learned to find comforting as a child.
Harry wished that he would've never summoned the soul of his godfather. It'd been easier thinking that, perhaps, Sirius would've understood some of what he was trying to accomplish rather than knowing that he was angry and disappointed.
The green eyed wizard tried to shove those thoughts aside, burrowing deeper into the plush expanse of his duvet, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Life would go on, of that much he was sure. The ever present flow of time would continue on as it'd done across the ages, regardless of the pain. Such was true for all things.
In those moment of shock, time appeared to stop, to absolutely cease to be. It was almost as if every breath laid suspended in wait, and the world slowed to a halt, too stunned to continue spinning as it should.
Harry himself couldn't deny that he'd felt such a thing a fair amount of times in his lifetime, but none so shocking as when he'd witnessed Sirius falling through the Veil.
Even after all these years, Harry's consciousness still rejected the memory, unable to cope with the intense waves of utter anguish that'd destroyed him down to the very foundation of his soul. Never before had Harry felt so breathless, so consumed with emotion.
In that moment, everything existed in a sort of blurred clarity. He could remember the look of surprise on the older wizard's face, the brilliant spark of life within his eyes fading, turning unresponsive in that split second of time. Within the Department of Mysteries, Harry could recall the exact placement of dust motes in that moment, the unnaturally airy flow of the Veil and the soft whispers behind it. Without even trying her could see the moment Sirius slipped away, unknowing, and Harry could remember the abnormally tight grip Remus had on him, the way the werewolf trembled behind him as the green eyed teen screamed into the Veil, his heart pierced with agony. But everything else remained shrouded in gray, lingering behind the fragile fog of memory, of human error.
In the past, Harry thought that Sirius dying was the worst that could happen; that nothing could take his breath away like watching the closest thing he had to a family slip away into the unknown, but the boy-who-lived found that this was much worse.
The world didn't stand still for this, it continued on as it was. Sirius lived on in the Afterlife, ashamed of the choices made by his godson, sure in his accusations that James and Lily were disappointed in him as well.
Somehow, that was infinitely worse than all of them being dead, of being ignorant to their thoughts on how he chose to live his life.
As he laid coiled tightly in despair, Harry blocked out the world around him, failing to register the Ancient being's presence until Death sat beside him. The shallow dip in the mattress alerted the saddened teen to his mentors arrival, but he said nothing.
There was nothing he could say, nothing he wanted to say.
Death looked down at the boy and frowned, reaching out to run his fingers fondly through Harry's untamable black hair. The faintest glint of a smile touched the immortal's eyes when Harry didn't flinch away from his touch, but his frown quickly returned when the green eyed boy pulled the feathered duvet closer to his chest.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what'd happened, and though he couldn't be absolutely sure who Harry summoned, he was positive that it'd been either Lily or Sirius. Possibly Remus. Only they could've done this sort of damage.
"Harry."
They sat in silence as the dark haired wizard ignored him, making the immortal's frown deepen. He wasn't offended in the slightest, but he'd never seen Harry this way, cheeky as he was. The boy always had something to say, something to add, and to see him so still, so quiet, was almost unnatural.
It only served to cement what he'd already assumed, but Death still sighed, " I cannot tell you what's on the other side, Harry, but I can tell you that this life does have an end. There will always be those that dislike you for your choices. No matter who you are or what you do, there will always be people who hate you you merely Because you breathe, but this is your life."
The elder paused and though he was once again met with silence, he knew the boy was listening, "You don't owe them anything, Harry. They're dead, child, and even if they weren't, this is your life to lead, and nobody can take that from you unless you allow them too."
With that, Death went to leave, intending to allow his ward time to think but before he could make a move to walk away, dexterous fingers ensnared the Immortal's wrist, stilling the elder, "Stay?"
His request was spoken softly, the vulnerable nature of his emotional state bared for all to see with that one simple word but Death didn't find fault with the teen for needing companionship.
In an unearthly graceful movement, the white haired wizard seated himself at the end of Harry's bed with his back to the headboard, watching the covered lump of blankets that was his Master, and for a long while they sat in silence, comfortable in their company. Death often found his easy going silences to be one of the boy's better qualities, and he had no problem lingering quietly within the darkness but after a while, the elder began thinking back on his own life.
He considered the reactions he'd recieved from his brother's after asking Death for the Invisibility Cloak all those years ago and before he could think better of it, the Immortal found himself turning towards the unspoken teen, "Once upon a time, I too found those around me disappointed by my choices."
At the confession, Death was met with the faintest rustle of movement and for the first time in hours, Harry made a move to sit up, the blankets falling away from his body as he shifted around, sitting opposite of Death with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around them, but he said nothing, waiting for the elder to continue.
Ever shifting eyes settled within the empty darkness of the space they shared as the ancient being thought back to his human life, the memories dull and faded compared to those that he'd recieved as an immortal. Over seven hundred years he'd walked this Earth in the body of his mortal self, and yet, even now, he was still unsure of the choice he'd made in the beginning.
"I wasn't like them, Antioch and Cadmus. They had no time for patience or thought beyond the here and now. They were reckless, Antioch most of all. When we came upon that bridge, they gave no thought to what they were asking for, of the being they were trying to con."
Death shifted his gaze from the darkness to the curious looking teen across from him, "Nothing given like that should ever be taken at face value, Harry. Nothing of that nature comes without a price, eventual or otherwise."
A frown darkened the light haired wizard's face, "They were foolish, and so was I."
Twin brows knit in disagreement but Death held up a hand before the impassioned wizard could object, "Not so much as them, but I was. I shouldn't have accepted the gift, Harry."
"I wasn't shocked in the slightest that Antioch asked for the most powerful wand in existence, nor when Cadmus requested the power to bring back the dead, but after hearing their reasoning behind the items they chose, I couldn't find it within myself to think of them as any less than foolish."
Remembered irony twisted the immortal's lips into a sneer, "And yet, it was I who received the brunt of their displeasure. What I had chosen was seen as cowardly, the least helpful of the three. What did an invisibility cloak matter when there were Disillusionment Charms and cloth weaved from Demiguise hair?"
"The frequency of our arguments were the cause of our eventual separation. I wasn't surprised in the least when I heard of their end."
Harry thought over the Death's words with a softened frown, watching as the pains of words long since passed drifted through his companion's conscious, the immortal's emotions shifting lazily across his features as he sat thoughtful and undisturbed in the depths of memory.
It seemed strange to once again realize that, at one point, the man before him had been mortal. There was a period of his life where he hadn't been all-knowing, ageless and drenched in undeniable power. He'd been a boy once, a child with two older brothers, a teenager that followed the lead of those older and wiser than him, a man that was eventually chosen to bare the heavy gift of immortality.
Confusion draped heavily across the teen's face as his thought process came to an abrupt halt, "Hang on, if your predecessor created the Hallows, how did the Death before him decide who to pass the spirit to?"
For the first time since they'd come together, amusement replaced the serious expression on the immortal's face, a fond smile lifting his lips, "Finally figured it out did you?"
A soft flush colored the teen's cheeks and he looked away with minor embarrassment, "Well yeah, it wasn't hard to figure out. You said Death was a spirit, so what better way to keep watch over potential mortals to give his legacy to than with three magical items that would, not only, test their spirits, but their character as well?" The teen crossed his arms, grumbling slightly "It wouldn't take a Ravenclaw to figure that one out."
Death snorted with entertainment at the teen's blatant attitude, "Of course, Harry, of course."
The green eyed wizard huffed but settled back against the headboard, making a show of his arms being crossed before Death continued, "But what you say is true. The Hallows were originally created to serve as a way to track potential hosts for Death's spirit."
"However, such items have always existed. They've taken many different shapes, each changing with the passing ages and the wizards who request them."
The immortal crossed his legs, watching with a certain amount of enjoyment as the dark haired Gryffindor relaxed as his thirst for the unknown surpassed his desire to appear offended, "As all things eventually do, the relics get lost. Buried under the passage of time, and when that time comes, they dissolve and the current host chooses three new wizards to present with gifts."
"My predecessor was the first to make an offer to three wizards who knew eachother, let alone three brothers all present at once. It was unheard of."
Harry bit his lower lip as he stored the information away, connecting it with what he already possessed before frowning, a perplexed look stamped across his face, "I don't understand why Death has to be passed from mortal to mortal. How can you.. it.." Harry's lips pressed together in a thin line as he struggled for the proper pronoun, "he, not have the power to make create a body that would last. You're the most powerful being in existence!"
Death barked out a sharp laugh, "Oh no, no, no, Harry. While I may be one of the oldest and most powerful entities in exist, I'm certainly not the most powerful."
Harry huffed, going back to crossing his arms, "That doesn't answer my question, Death."
The elder smiled fondly at his ward, "All things must eventually die, Harry. It is the way of the world."
Judging by the growing frown, the white haired wizard knew that his answer hadn't satisfied the boy in any way. Such was to be expected. After the things they'd witnessed within the wild places of their world, Harry developed an unquenchable thirst for the knowledge hidden within the ages and such a vague answer would never satisfy his desire.
Death leaned forward and captured the wizard's wrist, giving a reassuring squeeze before turning his hand palm up, "All is one and one is all. That is the riddle I was left with after my soul was joined with the spirit of Death."
Harry looked confused, but the teen was wise enough not to try and push ahead.
"The world is the all and we are the one."
"Everything has a place in this world, Harry. Good and evil, life and death, love and hate. All creatures that walk this Earth have a purpose. They're all part of the flow of life, and eventually, death."
The immortal frowned at his own words, not offering an explanation for his sudden change of mood before he released the boy's wrist, "As a true Immortals, we are tasked with the duty of watching this world, guiding it from the shadows."
Instantaneous curiosity took the teen by relentless storm and try as he may, Harry couldn't seem to stop the question from bubbling up to his lips, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, "We?"
Death's fond smirk returned, "Of course. You didn't really think that I was the only concept to take human form did you?"
The scalding blush coloring the rise of his cheeks darkened and Harry wouldn't fight the sheepish grin that captured his lips. In all honesty, he'd never actually thought about it, but in hindsight of what he'd been told and the things he already knew, the green eyed wizard found that he wasn't actually all that surprised by the revelation.
Death waved off his curiosity with an amused look, "Times change, Harry. That is the nature of this world and all that inhabit it. Time flows, and things mature. That is true for the all as well as the one. The world changes over time, just as people do."
"I'm sure you've heard, as well as experienced, that suffering builds character."
Harry nodded, swallowing thickly as he recalled his own character building before returning his focus to the white haired man across from him.
"The greatest leaders have always been those that've experienced adversity. Those that walk the life of man, knowing the hardship of morality will always be better suited to guide the mortal plane."
Death appeared thoughtful, "You cannot guide what you do not know or understand, Harry. Do you understand?"
The boy frowned, obviously rolling the older man's words around within his mind, processing what'd been said and what it meant in response to their earlier conversation, before finally parting his lips to speak.
"So.. Death's spirit changes hands so that they can use their mortal experience to change the world for the better? To understand better?"
A pleased smile touched the immortal's lips as he dipped his head, acknowledging the correct assessment of his Master, "Exactly."
Harry sat back against the sturdy oak frame of his headboard, his eyes glassy with thought as he took it all in.
Familiar silence enveloped the pair in a quiet and comfortable sense of calm as the early morning rays of sunlight began streaming through the windows, illuminating the darkened room one shade at a time and Death found that it was interesting, to watch the thoughts flow undisturbed across the boy's face. He really was an open book, if only one knew how to read what was being written. The emotions, the questions as well as their eventual answers, the thinly veiled excitement. It was all there, the boy's entire consciousness on blatant display for those that were clever enough to see it.
Time passed slowly, lazily drifting from one second to the next, but Death paid it no mind. What were a couple of hours to an Immortal?
"Does it bother you that I never call you by your given name?"
Ever-changing eyes flickered back to the Avada Kadavra ones of his Master, a endearing look crossing his face, "No."
"I may have been mortal once, but I haven't been Ignotus Peverell in many years; I am merely what I've become, child."
A puzzled frown met the boy's lips, "And what is that?"
The immortal stood gracefully from where he'd been sitting, giving a small stretch before looking back at the green eyed wizard, "Death, Harry. That is who and what I am."
The warmth of fondness crept back into his smile as Death turned to his Master and pulled the duvet back up around his frame, "Get some sleep. We have much to accomplish tomorrow."
Inquisitive green eyes gazed at the lightening sky with a sense of surprise before Harry looked to his mentor, "What do you mean?"
Death snickered but didn't elaborate, merely content to make his way across the dimly lit bedroom towards the door, "Just as I said. Goodnight, Harry."
With a flick of his wrist, the curtains were drawn, plunging the room back into darkness as the immortal slipped from the room, closing the door with a quiet click, leaving the exasperated teen to wonder what could possibly be in-store for him around the bend.
May 17th, 2009
Unearthly cries of despair called to the boy-who-lived, making his skin crawl with unease as he stared at the unnatural structure before him. Towering walls of obsidian rising from the crashing waves of the sea, ominous and imposing in the way that only Azkaban could be.
It was timeless in a horrific sort of way, with the angry shrill calls of the relentless sea at its feet and the ever darkened sky up above, the undeniable monstrosities of their world held tight in its heart.
Death stood tall and unyielding beside the green eyed teen but in this suspended moment of time, Harry did not derive comfort from his company. The land before the crashing waves was dead, unable to hold onto the fragile threads of life in the face of this accursed place. An unnatural sense of bone-chilling frost hung heavy, unflinching in the air, making it almost difficult to breathe, and no amount of Warming Charms did anything to chase away the growing scatter of gooseflesh that covered the exposed areas of his body.
They didn't belong here.
Harry could feel it in the Earth, taste it in the salty spray of the sea; he could hear it in the howls of the wind and the foreboding atmosphere surrounding their presence and for the first time in many years, the wizard wanted to turn tail and flee.
With an unconscious shiver, Harry tilted his head up, looking to his mentor in a show of good will, "Are you sure about this?"
Death responding smile did nothing to quell his rising discomfort, "I am. Come, Harry."
They Apperated the short distance across the bay, appearing just before the prison's gates and slipping inside without a hitch.
If he'd felt uncomfortable outside the prison's walls, it was nothing compared to how Harry felt within them.
The halls were deathly silent. Where the air outside had been filled with near constant howling and the crashing of waves, the inside was quiet as the grave. Nothing stirred, nothing spoke. Dully lit torches hung on the walls, the shadows produced by the lazily dancing flames gliding back and forth across the flat slabs of grey stone but that was the only sign life to be found in the accursed place the two beings found themselves in.
Without a word, Death began making his way through the halls with a startling sense of accuracy that could've only been born from practiced familiarity. The green eyed wizard supposed that it wasn't that big of a stretch. He was Death after all. It wasn't as though people didn't eventually die in Azkaban.
The only thing he found truly odd was the lack of Dementors. He'd always imagined that the halls of Azkaban were crawling with them and that finding one would be the easiest thing in the world. They weren't hard to spot after all, and you could usually feel one coming a mile away.
As if sensing his thoughts, the elder being glanced down at the teen beside him, his voice nearly booming in the unnatural silence of their surroundings, "Dementors reside in a nest at the very peak of this tower."
Harry's brows pulled together in a look of confusion, "Shouldn't they be.. erm.. guarding the cells of something?"
Death chuckled in genuine amusement before pausing beside one of the many empty cells, his long dexterous fingers running down the rune engraved expanse of stone, "It wasn't always this way, especially before the end of the Second War, but within these rooms, their magic is bound. They can't escape unless a magical being opens the door."
"Or if somebody blasts the wall open.." Harry mumbled, thinking back to the true beginning of the war and the mass prisoner escape.
The white haired immortal smiled but said nothing as they continued on, making their way further and further up the tower.
Once he managed to get past the unearthly nature of the silence and the chill within the walls, Harry had to admit that it wasn't nearly as scary as he'd imagined. It made it easier that every inch of the place wasn't crawling with dementors. In all actuality, the place itself was rather dull, if not quite lonely.
Sadness darkened the wizard's eyes as he thought of his godfather. Even though things went sour between them, Harry couldn't stop the emotional knife that went through his heart as he imagined Sirius trapped in one of these cells for twelve long years. He could imagine the rage that his godfather must have felt knowing that he was being blamed for the death of his best friends, or the frustration of not knowing where his godson was or how he was going to get out of Azkaban.
And as he knew, some memories couldn't be relived without awakening others. Bright green eyes became glassy and far away as Harry momentarily zoned out, thinking of his third year. He thought of how he'd thought that Sirius was going to kill him, and his constant run-ins with the dementors sent to guard Hogwarts.
"Death?"
The immortal hummed in acknowledgment, looking down at his ward in question.
Harry frowned, thinking back to the many tines that he'd come face to face with the dark creatures, thinking of the chill that captured his heart and buried itself in his very bones, of the feelings of dread and the air of hopelessness that'd encompassed him, "What are dementors? What are they really?"
In an uncharacteristic display of surprise, the white haired wizard stopped in his tracks for a brief second, his eyes appearing troubled before he returned to his previous pace, "I don't know."
Harry nearly stumbled as he scrambled to make up the small distance that the immortal had created between them, "What do you mean, you don't know? You have to know! You're Death!"
Rich baritone laughter echoed around them as Death nearly doubled over in exaggerated laughter, "You flatter me, Harry, but I really don't. There are some things that even I don't know."
His colorless lips pressed into a thin line of what appeared to be very nearly agitation, "As far as I know, nobody knows. Nobody knows how a dementor is born or how they come into being."
"Magic and myself often argued that something truly horrifying would have to happen to birth one of them. At first we assumed that it was due to human genocide, or perhaps even an overly tortured soul that'd died in a violent situation way beyond those of the normal world, but we've never uncovered the answer. There's no correlation with war and new dementors popping up or otherwise."
Harry looked up at his mentor in confusion, "Popping up? You mean that they just appear? Full grown? They aren't born?"
The immortal nodded, understanding of the disbelief that colored the Gryffindor's tone, "Yes. They appear in this life just as quickly as they disappear from it."
"Now hang on," Harry stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms across his chest, looking frustrated at his own inability to comprehend the sheer audacity of it all, "Dementors just appear out of nowhere, full grown and ready to suck souls? Then how do they die?"
Death stilled for a moment as well, looking almost lost, "That too a mystery."
The ancient being chuckled at Harry's nearly offended look, "But how can you not?! I mean, I understand not knowing how they come to life, but I mean, dying is sort of your area! How can you not know?"
In an action that seemed much to human, Death scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, "There are some things that even I do not know, Harry, and dementors are one of them. They come and go from this life on their own terms. I don't deal with the deaths of dementors, nor have I ever seen one die a natural death."
"All we know is that when a dementor dies, the ground where the body falls turns sour. The soil is poison to all that surrounds it. The grass and the plants die and nothing is ever able to grow there again. Except for Deadly Nightshade."
Harry seemed to accept the explanation well enough as they both began walking, his eyes glazed with thought as they made their way through the winding halls of Azkaban.
They must've been getting close now.
Thin sheets of ice covered the walls, making the unnatural chill surrounding them even denser. The cells here were no longer empty. The doors were shut and locked tight, the runes glowing faintly along each one and as they continued on, Harry could feel the dread of lost hope. It hung heavy and haunting in the air, so thick that the teen could nearly choke on it with each and every breath that he took.
As they continued along the path, Harry began to feel something familiar. Suppressed magic clung stubbornly to the air and before he could think to ignore it, Harry turned down the seemingly abandoned hallway, ignoring Death's annoyed call for him to return.
The curious wizard closed his eyes, blocking out the damp chill and the cloying emotion, following only the beaconing feeling of previously known magic. Despite not knowing who it belonged to Harry knew that he'd felt it before. It was dark, old and heavy in the way that only a pureblood could manage and it reminded the daring teen of Voldemort.
Without a word he stopped in front of a tightly sealed doorway, rising on his tiptoes to peer into the small opening, only to gasp at what met his gaze.
There, coiled on the rock solid bed, was a wizard that Harry never thought he'd see again. Long, pale blonde hair laid dirty and tangled against his shoulders, his face lined with the passing of ages even though it'd only been a few years, but the brash young Gryffindor would know that aristocratic face anywhere.
Lucius Malfoy.
It was then that the most brilliant of brilliant ideas popped into his head.
Harry whipped around, pleased to note that Death had followed and stood only a few steps away, "Can we kidnap somebody from Azkaban?"
The elder frowned, glancing into the cell with a knowing look, "For what?"
With a faint blush Harry managed to look nearly embarrassed, his eyes darting to the thick layer of rune etched stone, "Well, I've always kind of liked Lucius. But I think it will benefit us."
A single white eyebrow raised in question, "Again, for what? Are you planning to use him as your sacrifice?"
A sudden look of horror overcame the boy's features so quickly that the immortal could do nothing but chuckle, "I assume not, then?"
"Of course not!"
Harry huffed, appearing almost frustrated that he needed to explain, "Dementors can feel when somebody leaves Azkaban when they're not supposed to, right?"
The dark entity dipped his head, already beginning to see where this was going, "Yes."
The-Boy-who-Lived gestured to the sealed door, "Well, if he breaks out the dementors will come after him, won't they? It'll be easier to deal with the dementors on our own playing field than it will be to walk right into their nest to steal the cloak strips."
Ignotus was mildly impressed at the teen's reasoning but he didn't allow it to show on his face, "You make a fair point. Agreed."
Death ran his nearly skeletal fingers along the door's edge, tracing over the runes as he whispered softly, the flush of immortal magic washing over the pair like a burst of long forgotten sunlight for the briefest moment before the door swung open without a sound.
Death made a move to enter, but Harry stopped him with a brief touch, "Do you know if Barty Crouch Jr. is imprisoned here as well?"
The immortal's every changing eyes narrowed suspiciously, "He is."
Harry's lips pulled up in a sheepish smile that immediately alerted the immortal to the fact that he was about to be asked to do something that he didn't really feel like doing.
"Will you go get him?"
A resigned sigh pulled from the elder's lips as he looked to the innocent looking youth before him, "Is there a reason for it, or are you just feeling particularly giving?"
Harry sucked in his cheeks a bit, gently worrying his lower lip with blunt human teeth, his gaze thoughtful, "I'm not sure.. I like Barty well enough, he had a fairly good sense of humor when he was stealing Moody's identity but.. I don't know. It's just.. a feeling I've got."
Death stared down into his Master's face, his unfathomable eyes staring into the very depths of Harry's soul before he gave in with an amused sigh, "Of course, young Lord. I'll fetch him."
Harry wrinkled his nose and waved the elder off, "Gah, you know I hate that. Just go get Barty while I rouse Lucius. I'll meet you down at the bottom?"
The immortal nodded in both understanding and acceptance, "Hurry when you leave the cell. The Dementors will know the moment he walks free."
Harry paled a bit at that but of information but he nodded none the less. "Got it. I'll give you a couple minutes to get to Barty and then I'll hurry to meet you."
Death frowned, "If for any reason I'm not at the entrance when you get there, just Apperate back to Grimmauld Place without me."
The uncomfortable way Harry shifted his weight back and forth without saying anything spoke volumes about how he felt about their plan but he didn't object. With clenched fists, the green eyed wizard merely nodded, his lips thinning in irritation.
Unbeknownst to him, Death was internally smirking. How like his Master to not enjoy the idea of leaving him behind, regardless of whether or not he was a powerful and nearly indestructible entity. The unspoken hero complex hard at work.
"I'll be fine, Harry. Go do your thing."
The immortal wizard seemed to very nearly disappear after that, leaving Harry to stand stupidly in the hall, his mouth agape before he quickly composed himself, slipping silently into the unsealed cell.
Despite the fact that Harry knew Lucius didn't have his wand and wasn't a direct threat to his person, he approached with a certain amount of caution. He may not have been armed, but he was still a man, a wizard at that and Harry was positive that the blonde wasn't entirely without defense.
With calm hesitancy, Harry reached out, his hand slow and steady as he grasped the older man's arm, giving him a gentle shake, "Mr. Malfoy..?"
Even though he'd been expecting it, Harry reared back in startled alarm as Lucius jerked awake, his movements frenzied and uncoordinated. He was almost positive that it was due to the cold and the stiffness in his limbs, but it seemed almost unnatural to see the Malfoy patriarch as anything other than the graceful peacock that he often portrayed. The second Lucius whipped around to meet his gaze, the Gryffindor was caught speechless.
Wild grey eyes stared into the Avada Kadavra green of his own, and Harry was instantly swamped with memories of Draco. He'd seen those same eyes filled with anger, swimming with tears, dulled in hopelessness and even alight with fear but as the teen gazed into their depths he began to see the differences. Where Draco's eyes always held a certain amount of youthful innocence, Lucius' shone with wisdom and experience. Their wildness spoke of a near unattainablilty, a spirit that couldn't be tamed, and as Harry offered out an unthreatening hand, watching the disbelief glowing within them, he became even more sure of his choice to help the elder escape.
"Potter?"
His voice was colored with astonishment and for the briefest moment Harry was mildly thrown off, chalking most of it up to his unexpected appearance before realizing what the other probably saw in his face.
He hadn't aged.
Harry was still the same seventeen year old that he'd last seen nearly eight years ago and though the green eyes wizard was sure that Lucius didn't know exactly how long he'd been incarcerated, the blonde was probably aware that it'd been quite some time.
"Listen, I'm sure you've got loads of questions, and I'll try to answer them later but we really need to get out of here." Harry threw a weary look over his shoulder. "Now."
It would've been obvious to anybody watching that the pureblood was lost beyond belief but he didn't question what was being said. He merely stood from his perch with the slightest bit of flourish and gestured for Harry to lead the way.
The teen flashed a grateful smile his way, "I hope you've got enough strength left to run, because we're about to be chased by a bunch of pissed off dementors."
Regardless of the indifferent pureblood etiquette that'd probably been drilled into his personality since birth, Lucius still managed to gape slightly before nodding in agreement, "Lead the way, Mr. Potter."
Harry's smile turned downright dazzling, "Perfect."
And they were off.
May 17th, 2009
The journey back was one of anticipation. For Lucius because he was confused and unaware of what he was doing or why he'd been rescued from Azkaban and for Harry because he knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do.
As it happened, they arrived back at Grimmauld Place before Death and Barty, which was probably a good thing seeing as how Lucius seemed to lose all forms of self discipline as it dawned on him where he was. If Barty were present, Harry was sure that the darker haired man would never let the arrogant peacock live it down.
"This is the Black ancestral home." Lucius said, his voice just barely above a whisper, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings.
Harry nodded, trailing his fingers over the fading wallpaper with a certain sense of nostalgia, "Sirius Black was my godfather, as I'm sure you're well aware. He -" The Gryffindor swallowed down the sudden knot of emotion lodged in his throat as he thought of his godfather and what'd happened between them, "He left me everything when he fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries."
Silence fell back between them and Harry was slightly grateful. He hadn't expected Lucius to apologize, for more reasons than one, but his assumptions weren't always right and the teen wasn't exactly sure how he would've felt had the blonde said he was sorry.
Lucius followed behind him by a single step, respectfully allowing Harry to lead before he stopped them both in the sitting room, turning slowly to face the eldest Malfoy.
Harry coughed nervously, trying not to wring his hands as the intimidating blonde stared down at him, "I said I'd answer your questions, and I will, but you look like you could use a hot shower and maybe a good night's sleep."
For the first time since they'd encountered each other, Lucius looked down at himself, seeming to recognize that he was filthy, still dressed in a worn Azkaban uniform. Harry found nothing wrong with it, not really. During his travels he'd encountered much stranger things, but he was still the slightest bit surprised that the cocky pureblood managed to hold himself with sheer indifference and nobility, not the least bit embarrassed about his attire or how he looked.
"You're welcome to any of the rooms upstairs," The teen paused, a sad tilt capturing his lips in an almost frown, "I think that you'd be most comfortable in Regulus' old bedroom, but I ask that you don't go into the one across the hall with Sirius' name on it. Nobody will bother you and we can talk over breakfast."
A faint pink tint colored the green eyed wizard's cheeks as Lucius arched a brow at him, "You're free to leave if you want, but you ARE an escaped prisoner."
A rugged chuckle from Lucius brought a small but victorious smile to his face, replacing the shadow of a frown that'd threatened to take hold, "A little more serious than last time we encountered each other but still as unpredictable as ever, Mr. Potter. Thank you."
Harry nodded, watching with amused interest as Lucius casually turned from him and made his way up the stairs, looking as though he belonged in number twelve Grimmauld Place more than anybody else he'd seen within its walls, bar Sirius.
In the quiet atmosphere the soft click of the front door alerted Harry to the return of his companion and, most likely, Barty Crouch Jr.
Trusting that Death would take care of their guest in a similar manor to how he treated Lucius, the-boy-who-lived slipped silently into the kitchen, content to wait until tomorrow to enjoy the big reveal.
May 18th, 2009
In the late hours of the morning, Harry finally dragged himself from the warm comfort of his bed, eyes very nearly closed as the teen stumbled down the stairs, a sleepy yawn pulling from his lips as he trotted into the kitchen.
"Potter!?"
The wizard's face pinched with displeasure as he dragged his eyes open, only to snort in unabashed amusement at the incredulous look on Barty's face. "That's what Lucius said, too."
Dark hazel eyes came alive with curiosity, "Lucius Malfoy?"
Harry nodded smugly, "The very same."
A small mumble of appreciation passed through the teen's lips as Death wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee. He breathed in deep, taking in the scent of dark Arabica beans and the subtle scent of sugar before taking a cautious sip, a content sigh pulling the morning tension from his limbs.
"Much better."
After watching the small display of blatant humanity, Crouch eyes the tall white haired wizard with a look if suspicion, "What about him?"
A sly smirk curved the teen's lips, his eyes darting to the side, meeting the every-changing gaze of his immortal companion before taking another small sip of his drink, "Patience. All shall be revealed in time."
Death chuckled, unmistakably amused at the boy's words, "You sound like The Godfather."
Emerald eyes blazed with light, an unabashed snicker parting Harry's lips as he turned to look at his friend, "Muggle movies? Really?"
Immortal eyes narrowed in mock disdain before he tilted his head upward in a slightly posh manner, sniffling distastefully before wiping non-existant dust from his robes, "It's a classic."
The look, as well as his assumed attitude, proved to be to much and Harry just lost it, very nearly dropping his half full mug on the ground as his body trembled with unshakable laughter, his lips pulled wide in a brilliant smile.
It was made even worse as footsteps sounded from the door way and the youngest wizard was met with the sight of Lucius Malfoy sweeping in, looking completely immaculate aside from the near bugged out look of his eyes as he spotted the supposedly dead wizard at the table, smiling and very much alive.
"Crouch!"
Barty tipped his head with a smirk, kicking out the seat across the table from him for the blonde, "Malfoy."
Harry watched on with thinly veiled amusement, content to share entertained looks with Death across the room as the two older wizards got comfortable, helping themselves to tea and the breakfast that'd been laid out. He was almost surprised to see it but then again, Lucius was a pureblood and Kretcher as had always been more pleasant to them anyway.
A comfortable silence reigned supreme around the kitchen, the steady sounds of toast being crunched filling in the gaps before Barty finally leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered those around him, "Alright Potter, now that we're all here, would you care to explain?"
The easygoing smile fell from the green eyed wizard's lips as he sighed and pulled up a chair, straddling it with a sense of unbeknownst grace, "It's a bit of a long story.."
Lucius and Barty both looked at each other before returning their attention to the messy haired teen, "I think we've got time, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded, "Alright."
A quick look at Death told the normally rash teen all he needed to know before he settled more comfortably into his seat, taking a deep breath to soothe the nervousness of his insides, "Well.."
"It all started a long time ago, with three brothers that were in the wrong place at the wrong time…"
May 18th, 2009
It'd taken hours to explain the entire story.
He'd gone back time and time again to fill in missing details or to make connections he'd forgotten the first time about and with each tale the dark haired teen spun, he could see the two elder wizards become more and more invested in his words.
He told them of his father's invisibility cloak; about the three legendary items that were more than a children's story, about Dumbledore's manipulations and what it meant for his life when he encountered all three at once. With the slightest hesitancy, he admitted his inability to cope with life after the war and the obsession that'd taken over his life, as well as his heart. Bright smiles and expressive eyes lit up his face as he told them of his travels, of Albania and the true magic he'd discovered there. He explained his horror, along with his delight, upon his first meeting with Death. He tried to convey the sheer loveliness of the ancient ruins he saw, the various villages he'd visited and how they differed from Great Britian and when it seemed as though the tale was nearly over, Harry told them of his plan.
He told them about the truth behind the Resurrection Stone and how, with the clearest conscious, he'd accepted that he would dip his fingers into what could be considered the darkest magic available to bring his wishes to life.
Special A/N:
Hey guys.. I know that Voldemort still isn't Resurrected but please forgive me x.x
Also.. I've had a couple people ask about the direction the pairing is going and whether it will include Harry/Death. The answer is no, but I'll be honest, I did think about it and I'd like to do one at some point.