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Memento Mori, Memento Amor
Chapter 2: Death's Wager


Death was an old man, with a beard much longer than Albus. It stretched out behind him like a tail, on and on into the white. His suit was black but weathered and worn with dust and grit. There were cobwebs decorating his cuffs and gnarled fingers in such fragility that Harry almost expected Death to be a quivering old man. But he stood tall with a quiet authority that would make people pause in awe, particularly when they looked into his eyes. Death had eyes that seemed to mirror your soul, so much that one felt frozen from their true reflection.

He surveyed the platform silently, as if Harry and Albus were figures blended into the air. He held a long cane, with the symbol of the deathly hallows etched onto the silver knob at the top. With one tap, the faceless conductors from the train sprung up from Voldemort's shadow and were restraining the former Dark Lord from attacking one of the pieces of his soul. The little Horcrux was hissing at him, attempting to sketch one last scar upon the dark lord's face before the conductors held him back as well. Both pieces of Tom Riddle's soul were subjected to giving murderous glares at each other and hissing threats that Harry could, strangely, still understand in Parseltongue.

Harry saw blood running down the little Horcrux's ribs and wanted to run over to it, chant a few healing spells. But Albus stood beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. The older wizard shook his head, "Wait first, Harry."

He wanted to protest, but stilled his movements when he saw Death approach the two restrained souls, leaning rather closely to inspect Voldemort's snake-like face. Voldemort shrank back, his eyes dilated in some sort of fear which Harry did not understand.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior," Death spoke. His voice was like the rumble of train wheels against the tracks. "There has never been a more troublesome soul to collect than yours. What shall I do with your tattered remains now that you have destroyed yourself beyond recognition?"

Voldemort and the little horcrux shivered, both avoiding the omnipotent being's gaze and attempting to edge as far away as possible. They acted as if Death were a menacing thing instead of an old man with a cane, as if Death were a dementor coming to give a kiss.

"In this place, Death and the place between the living and the dead, is seen through the eyes of the individual," Albus explained softly to Harry. Even without legilimency, the elder wizard had a way of knowing what he was thinking. "If you fear Death, you will see him in the form that you most feared when you were alive, much like a Boggart. But if you accept death, you see him as he truly is."

That made more sense to Harry, who now felt a little sorry for Voldemort but more so for his little Horcrux. He could not imagine how he would feel if Death came to him as a Dementor. He wondered what Voldemort saw. Was it different than what the little Horcrux saw? Or did they fear the same thing, being of the same soul?

"Your other horcruxes are scattered across the other worlds, it'll be a mess just to retrieve them all, so much paperwork to fill out. Even then, I won't be able to put you back together. That's not my job," said Death, leaning on his cane thoughtfully. "Where to put you...?"

Harry was reminded of the sorting hat suddenly, that same voice in his head whispering, 'Now where to put you?'

"I won't come with you!" Voldemort began to writhe again, his forked tongue striking out. "I'm not dead yet. I cannot die, never! I have one more horcrux, only one more and it will be enough... Nagini...!"

"She has already been destroyed," Death informed him in that same pensive tone. "A Mr. Neville Longbottom took care of that," Harry felt a rush of pride and gratitude to his friend as he learned this, "so you are no longer 'immortal,' Mr. Riddle."

If possible, Voldemort became two shades paler. "No. You're lying. This is not possible. I did not feel her die, she must still be alive."

There was an amused chuckle, making the businessman's beard shake as Death wiped his eyebrows. "My, how many times you must have torn yourself into pieces, so much that you could not feel your horcruxes slipping away from you, one by one, over the years. Mr. Potter and his friends did fine work. I do so detest the making of horcruxes; they are very frustrating when I need to collect your dues."

Death advanced forward. The deathly hallows symbol on his cane began to glow as he moved closer towards the two pieces of Tom Riddle's soul.

"No!" Voldemort twisted back and forth, eyes wide. He bit at the conductor's hands but they did not move for they were mere statues and puppets of Death. "I don't want to die. I don't want to see them!"

Likewise, the little Horcrux was making strangled cries, sensing that the end was near if Death marked them with his cane.

"I'm sorry," Death said without sounding apologetic at all, "but this is the price for destroying your soul to this extent. There is no place for you in the world of the living or in any of the worlds beyond. I will have to dispose of your soul, erase it out of existence."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, moving forward. It was his third year all over again, feeling fear for Sirius when they were by the lake, about to be kissed by a swarm of dementors. Barty Crouch Junior's face, soulless as a husk, flashed in his mind. "What do you mean? You can't do that. That's worse than killing him... that's... that's the end."

It was horrible to think about. There would be no hell or heaven for Voldemort, no chance to suffer for his sins or try to redeem himself. No chance of reincarnation. There would only be an end. He would stop existing altogether and when the last person who knew of Voldemort died then he would be truly gone.

Harry could not and would not wish that fate on anyone.

"There must be another way," the words spilled from him before he knew it.

But Death continued to advance, raising his cane, about to touch it upon Voldemort and the little Horcrux's foreheads.

"Stop it!" Harry rushed forward, and yelled the petrifying charm with the Elder Wand. He stepped between Death and the pieces of Tom Riddle's soul, arms stretched as a shield. When he looked properly at Death, he was surprised to see that the business man was frozen and glaring at the wand in Harry's grip.

Death twisted his body slowly, until Harry muttered the countercharm and he was free. Then Death frowned, "I should never have made those hallows. I forgot how much of a nuisance they are."

He turned to peer at Harry, who felt his heart beat quicken from nervousness.

"Please step aside, Mr. Potter. This is a matter for me alone."

"No," he said. "I will not."

There was a stern strength in Death's eyes which made him regret speaking. But Harry did not budge from his spot. He could hear the little Horcrux breathing lowly behind him, in wonder, while Voldemort seemed to have forgotten how to speak at all.

"There is no saving him," Death said, essentially repeating what Albus had said when Harry first arrived at King's Cross. "He was entitled to this fate the moment he made his horcruxes, all of them. That creature is no longer human."

"That's a lie," Harry said. "He's still human and these pieces of his soul are human. They've merely forgotten how to behuman. He just needs a chance to be put back together again... then he can redeem himself, get on any train you choose."

"That is impossible for me. Souls are arriving at every moment of every day, I have no time to search for lost fragments," Death informed him.

"Then let me find them," Harry found himself volunteering before he knew it. He almost stopped, but realized that he truly wanted to do this though he couldn't comprehend why. "I have the deathly hallows and I used to be a horcrux"—he wondered if he still was one, since he could still feel Voldemort's emotions and speak parseltongue—"I should help you with this."

"You are taking a great risk, for someone who is beyond saving..." Death warned. "You could lose yourself in the process."

"I don't care. He doesn't deserve this."

"But doesn't he?" The business man asked softly, "For killing your parents? For killing Cedric Diggory and so many others?"

Harry felt his heart twist in pain and remembrance but his conviction remained. "I won't let his soul be incinerated without proper judgement. It's not right," he thought of how fragile the little Horcrux was, like a newborn babe. How could anyone condemn it?

Death sighed, "You are falling into a trap, Mr. Potter. Loving one piece of Tom Riddle's soul is not enough."

"I won't change my mind," Harry said.

"Why are you doing this?" There was no exasperation to the question, merely curiosity and surprise. Harry doubted that a situation like this had ever appeared before in Death's career. Judging from the somewhat amused expression on Albus, he was thinking the same thing.

The question, at first, left Harry almost without words. But little images, sparks of memory of shivering under a thin blanket in the cupboard under the stairs only to feel warm again as if someone was wrapping their arms around him or the time when he spoke with a snake in the garden and he felt as if someone might have their hand on his. Little things like a touch on the shoulder when he was afraid or a tentative embrace.

He had always dismissed them as manifestations of the imagination or wishful thinking.

"There is some good," Harry replied slowly, never wavering from Death's gaze, "in Tom Riddle… I have seen it. And while I hate him for what he has done to me and so many others… I think I can give him the chance to redeem himself."

There was silence, only the train's engine, running and eager to drive the train forward, filled it.

The dried lips of Death widened, "You do not know the costs of what you are wishing for, Harry James Potter. You are a fool, a heroic, arrogant and doomed fool. Very well, I will give you this opportunity, but only because I am curious to see how it will unfold. I believe that you will fail nonetheless and then two souls will be erased from eternity instead of one, but at least this will have some entertainment value."

Harry felt rather offended by this. His retort was interrupted by the sudden glow of Death's eyes.

They weren't in King's Cross anymore, but on one of the trains, where the conductor sat. Albus looked with interest at the knobs and steering wheels, gasping in delight at the intricacies and workmanship. He looked like a muggle child at Christmas time, tinkering with a train set, even gesturing to Harry in enthusiasm.

Voldemort and the Horcrux were restrained in silver ropes and set in opposite corners. Death surveyed the engine silently before he nodded. Then he turned to Harry.

"These are my terms to the redemption of Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior's soul. Every night, you will dream and your own soul will return to this train to meet with your spiritual advisor and the horcruxes you have collected. You will journey to different worlds, searching for the pieces of his soul until you have found them all. Then you must find a way to piece them back together.

"But every night you spend on this train will be equivalent to a day of your life span taken away. Every wound you suffer here, you will experience when you awake. The only objects you may bring with you are the deathly hallows. Every time you die in one of these worlds, I will take away one hallow. When you have died three times, you will have nothing to protect your soul from me, Harry James Potter, and I will collect it. You will die and Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior's soul will be erased."

Harry felt his throat dry. He was about to protest that the terms were not fair but knew they were more than fair. He was cheating death enough as it was and even going against death's wishes to save his mortal enemy. There was always a price for everything.

(He wondered if there was a price for wizards and witches, when they used magic.)

"What is a spiritual advisor?" Harry asked.

"Your spiritual advisor will be a soul waiting in the between space between the living and the dead, one who will drive the train for you and guard the horcruxes whenever you return to your body when you wake. He or she will give you directions and advice on how to proceed with your quest but will not be allowed to enter the worlds with you or actively search for the horcruxes," Death explained. "You may choose who they will be."

"I…," Harry blushed and turned to Albus, "Sir, I know its short notice but would you…?"

His former headmaster beamed at him, "Of course, my dear boy. I would be insulted if you didn't ask."

Harry felt relieved and decided that he would ask him later how this would work. It was confusing enough as it was. He couldn't help but think it odd that Albus stayed in King's Cross instead of passing on… Could he have foreseen this…? No, but maybe it was something else…

"I will not go along with this! I refuse to be saved by that brat!" Voldemort hissed, "I would rather die!"

"Would you?" Death asked cheerfully, swinging his cane towards the snake man almost menacingly, "That would make things much easier for me and my workers, though then I'd lose my entertainment."

"Oh shut up!" Harry scowled, "I'm not doing this for you. I feel sorry for your other Horcrux for having to put up with you."

"Harry," Albus said in warning, "They are essentially of the same soul. If you want to help Tom, you will have to accept all of him, all of who he is… even if it disgusts you."

He gaped at him, for he hadn't considered that possibility.

"Will you back down from the quest then?" Death inquired. "I do have a schedule to keep up."

"No!" Harry said quickly. "I will not go back on my word. I will help Tom and Voldemort as agreed." He would pass the bridge of reconciling his perceptions of Tom and Voldemort when it came, but for now, he knew what he had to do. He ignored the voice in his head advising him to think before he acted and the worry that Albus had in his eyes.

Death laughed again, his beard shivering with the movements. "Very well, you are a most amusing Master of Death,Harry James Potter. I believe that the boredom should be filled quite nicely with you. We will shake hands and agree to the terms."

"Alright," agreed Harry, who held his hand out.

The businessman snapped it up in a surprisingly hard grip. Harry could feel the wrinkles in the fingertips like gnarled oak. He watched in fascination as Death repeated the terms of the quest, eyes aglow.

"Do you accept and adhere to this contract, Harry James Potter?" He heard the omnipotent being murmur.

"Yes," he answered without hesitating. "I accept these terms."

The back of his hand began to burn and Harry tried to move it back. But Death kept hold of his wrist firmly until the worst of the pain passed and Harry could only feel a light sting. When he was free, Harry inspected the back of his right hand, slightly alarmed to see that the symbol for the deathly hallows was tattooed in black against his skin.

"Every time you die... one hallow on your tattoo will scar into your hand in blood, that will be the hallow I will take away. When the entire tattoo transforms from ink to blood, your soul is forfeit and the quest is over," Death whispered.

He bowed, somewhat mockingly at him, "Good luck, master of death."

Death was gone in one blink of an eye, leaving Harry on the train with Albus and the two soul fragments.

"Well that was exciting," Albus commented. "Shall we start the train, my boy, or do you want a few minutes to take a breather? I have a few lemon drops in my pouch we could share, though it is a shame that I don't crave them as much as I did when I was alive. It's not really the same, not feeling hunger."

"Right," nodded Harry. "Er, Albus, what do we do afterwards?" Then a more alarming question came to mind, one that he had forgotten to inquire of Death, "How do I even start to look for the Horcruxes? From what Death implied, there may be billions of worlds out there!"

"Oh, well by accepting the horcrux back into yourself, my dear boy. Though, I must warn you that you risk Voldemort rising back to the world of the living if you should be succumbed by his presence. Luckily your horcrux seems highly protective of you."

As if he understood the conversation, the little horcrux hummed in agreement, scrunching its features into what could have possibly have been a smile but looked more like a homicidal killer's grin.

Harry, the horcrux said fondly.

He beamed in return. "Well, alright. I think I can accept being a horcrux again. I don't think I ever stopped being one actually, I still hear his voice in my mind and I can still speak and understand parseltongue."

"Really?" Albus said thoughtfully. "That's very interesting... Well then," He gestured Harry towards the little horcrux, "I suppose you should invite him back into your soul, Harry."

"Er, okay," Harry moved forward, feeling awkward about the whole thing altogether. He wasn't sure how to become a horcrux again, would he have to know how horcruxes were made in specific detail first? But Albus didn't seem too concerned about the details so Harry reasoned that he needn't be either.

He crouched down in front of the infant horcrux and touched the silver ropes that were binding its arms and legs rather cruelly. The ropes slipped back, loosening and releasing the little horcrux. It peered up at Harry with glassy big eyes. He found their deep red colour to be absorbing.

Slowly he reached his hand towards the horcrux and offered it his hand.

"Tom?" He asked it quietly, "Do you want to come back with me?"

A small deformed hand rested down upon his and the horcrux made a noise which told Harry that he wanted to be picked up.

Harry laughed and carefully held the horcrux in his arms, close to his body.

"I will take that as a yes. I'll be your vessel again, Tom."

The mark on Harry's hand burned again like hot fire, along with Harry's scar. Then Tom and Harry were gone from the train, leaving Albus and Voldemort alone.

"Well," Albus said happily, "why don't we play a few muggle card games while we wait for Harry to return? I am extremely fond of crazy eights and go fish, even if they have nothing to do with insanity or fishing as their titles imply."

"Dear lord," Voldemort moaned, "this is worse than death. I refuseto play with you, Dumbledore.I know you're planning something."

"Oh look!" Albus held up the pack of cards he had conjured into the air, ignoring the snake man's protests entirely, "They're a limited edition with rabbits painted on the back! Aren't they lovely?"

It was going to be a very long afterlife.


"Where am I?"

Harry looked around, finding the setting both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He had been holding the horcrux, but not he found that it had disappeared from him, leaving him alone in this room. It was half painted in red and gold and half painted in silver and green. It was as if someone had chopped the Slytherin and Gryffindor and then slid them together to make a perfect fit.

He glanced out the window and saw different images flash against the glass. Sometimes it showed Hogwarts grounds or the Dursley's yard. Other times Harry saw what seemed to be flashes of memory, walking with Hermione and Ron in Hogsmeade or rushing through Diagon Alley to buy books. The windows showed different memories depending on their position.

One particular window, shrouded in dark curtain, showed distorted images because the glass was cracked. Harry crept closer to it and saw the memory from the pensieve that Dumbledore had shown him in his sixth year. It was the memory of Mrs. Cole, when she met Merope and the infant Tom for the first time. But this memory seemed to be an extended version, for it continued beyond when Dumbledore's memory had stopped.

Harry saw Mrs. Cole leave Tom alone in his crib for several days, only returning to feed him and change him as needed. Other than that, Tom was isolated in a small room with blank white walls, empty of all furniture but the crib and a small drawer. He never cried and so the caretakers never believed that he was any trouble.

But Harry saw, Harry knew. There was a loneliness in the babe's eyes, a longing for a mother and unconditional love that Harry could understand all too well.

"Tom," he whispered, his breath fogging up the glass.

Then, as if the glass had heard him, it parted and Harry fell through the window into the memory. He felt startled, but not too surprised. He remembered the diary horcrux (as well as the pensieve) and how it had been able to let Harry walk through its memories without a problem.

But the babe was lookingat him, actually looking directly at Harry like he was a beautiful and wonderful toy that had fallen from the sky made solely for him.

Harry fidgeted nervously, but reasoned that perhaps the baby in the memory only happened to look in Harry's direction. It did not mean that he could actively interfere in this memory...

He moved closer to the crib, peering at baby Tom and studying his curls and yearning expression. He reached down, half expecting his hand to pass through the baby like a ghost. Instead, Harry was surprised to see that he could feel the baby's arm, tangible as any other form.

Baby Tom lifted his arms at him, a silent demand to be held.

Harry melted at the sight and conceded.

"You don't have to be alone again, Tom," he whispered to the baby's brow.

"Are you sure?"

The baby was gone and suddenly there was a child standing in front of Harry. But he recognized him quickly from the frown on his face and the grey, calculating eyes. It was Tom Riddle again; the horcrux that had once lived in him and that was back now.

"You left me, let yourself be killed," the boy said, something flickering in his tone that Harry could not decipher.

He felt guilt heavy in his heart.

"I'm sorry," Harry answered, "for leaving you, I mean. Not for dying. That part was necessary."

"It's never necessary to die."

"Yes, it is," Harry said, thinking of his parents, or Sirius and Lupin. "We all die someday. Others sooner rather than later."

Tom's face wrinkled in disgust, "I never want to die."

"I know," he replied patiently, "that's why you made your horcruxes."

"I never want youto die either."

Harry's mouth hung open and he stared, as if this would prompt further explanation but Tom only stared intently at him.

"I would never have... I didn't know you cared."

The boy lips twisted into a frown, "You are my vessel, mine. You mustn't risk your life needlessly like that again."

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or offended by these remarks. He didn't like the idea of being anyone's possession but decided to let go of the matter for now, seeing how stubborn the child Tom was being at the moment. He wasn't in the mood for arguing, much less with the horcrux.

Besides, he had a feeling that Tom's cold front was hiding more.

"You protected me from, well, yourself... from Voldemort, at the train station... I don't understand," Harry commented after much thought.

Tom tensed and stared at Harry calmly. "You thanked me, even when you didn't have to and you held me even when I was in such a lowly form. You are the one I don't understand. I couldn't let my other self kill you until I figured you out."

Harry's lips quirked upwards, "Alright."

"Make no mistake, I returned because you are my rightful vessel. You are my soul essentially. I have no intention of helping you with your blasted quest unless you're about to get yourself killed again. I am quite content to stay here like this, with you as my sole vessel. I do not care what happens to you in the least."

He hid a smile, "If you insist."

"I do," Tom sniffed, crossing his arms. The effect was meant to be intimidating but rather lost its effect when the person was barely half Harry's height.

"But thank you anyways," Harry told him sincerely.

"For what?" Tom snapped in irritation.

Harry did not answer, at least not aloud.

But quietly he remembered the comforting presence when he was younger, doing chores for the Dursleys and believing himself to be alone.

For being with me, he thought.

Tom's eyes widened and Harry wondered if he had said that aloud after all when voices began to sound in his ears, urgent and sad.

"Harry! Harry!" They were screaming. "Please wake up, please open your eyes."

"There's little chance of survival... miracle that he's still breathing... in the hospital wing for days..."

"...transfer to St. Mungo's... no interviews, are you mad? He's lying there half-dead and you want...?"

"...Harry... Harry I need you... it's Mum she..."

"They killed her, she's dead too and now he's all alone. You're his only family left... please wake up..."

Harry froze, recognizing the voices of his friends and suddenly feeling very guilty for 'dying' in front of them at the battle of Hogwarts.

Tom was pushing Harry towards the window, "Your mudblood friends need you now."

Before Harry could lecture him on his language, Tom put a finger to Harry's lips, that intent look returning again and when Harry next opened his eyes, he saw a white ceiling and several worried faces.