IV. Down Among the Dead Men
Harry spun about once more as the voice, one he could swear he had heard before, spoke, reverberating through the nothing, everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Ah, this time is different than before. You see, and yet you do not see; your eyes are open and yet they are closed; such is the way of mortals, I have learned."
Harry looked about him frantically, his senses on high alert. "Where are you?"
"My boy, you know where I am. I am here, and not here; there but not there; everywhere and nowhere. I am here."
Harry ground his teeth, and yet he didn't. "You speak in riddles! Untwist your tongue and speak plainly."
The voice laughed and Harry felt his ire grow. It was a bit overwhelming; it had been a long time since he had felt anything but the cold and damp and emptiness. Where was he? Was he still in his cell in Azkaban? That was the last thing he remembered, being in his cell, listening to the fading footsteps of his most loyal friend as she walked away, head bowed and cheeks damp, just as she always did.
Perhaps it was unfair for him to say as such. Nymphadora was loyal, there was no denying it, but was it right to say that she was more loyal than the others? He did not know, for he had not heard anything from the others since he went into the hole. Nymphadora had spoken of them though, told him that they were scattered to the winds, gone their separate ways. The dream was dead, it would seem, and yet she remained close at hand, always whispering that she would find a way to get him out, somehow.
With this in mind, he wondered where Hermione was. He had heard so little of her. She was alive, that much he knew, but Nymphadora seemed to either not know of her goings on, or was unwilling to tell of it. He wondered why. Had she moved on and found another life for herself? Another love, perhaps? The thought sent a cold lance through his chest and he felt that fire rise in him again, warming his nonexistent form.
"You're anger serves you well. Good, hold on to it. You'll need it. It will keep you warm when all other light has gone out. The fire that gives life or destroys all."
"Who are you?" Harry asked, still trying to find the source of the alarmingly familiar voice that seemed to come from within him and all around him at the same time.
"You have asked this question before," the voice told him, "and I shall answer you now as I did then: I exist and yet do not exist, both inside and outside of time, within the universe yet not a part of it, everywhere and nowhere all at once. But I am always here."
Harry's 'head' began to hurt as memories that had been deeply buried tried to burst forth from the depths of his mind. It was like when you were trying to think of a particular word or answer and you could swear that it was just on the tip of your tongue, and yet for the life of you you could not grasp it.
"You have solved this riddle before, Mr. Potter, and you can do so again. Do not try to force the memory, just accept that it is there and the rest will come naturally."
"Why can't I see anything?" Harry asked, trying to distract himself from the past that would not reveal itself.
"Because you are not looking," the voice replied. "There is so much around and within you right now, and yet you have closed your eyes to it. Too long in a darkness not of your own and it has robbed you of control. You now stand apart of the shadows you once called your own and thus are blinded by them. Remember who and what you are and perhaps, in time, you may see again."
Harry frowned, or imagined that he did. What did any of this mean? He cursed Azkaban, not for the first time, for the damage it had done to him. He could not think as quickly or as clearly as he once could. But, having to live each day recalling the darkest times of one's life for two years – or so he was told by Nymphadora – would do that to you.
"You will not leave this place until you understand," the voice said. "You have been here for some time already, and yet this is the first you are aware of it. You may not think it, but that is progress."
"What must I understand?" Harry asked, his form aching slightly for a moment. "Why am I here? Why is this happening?"
"You will know when you understand," the voice returned. "As for the why, it is as it must be. All lost souls must be made to understand, else they cannot go forward, or backward."
Harry's head started hurting again. "Forward...backward...lost..." he gasped, something clicking in his mind. "Am I dead?"
The sound of clapping reached his ears and he spun about once more. This time he was not alone. There was a man walking toward him out of the void. His skin was pale and his face vaguely skull-like. He had dark hair that was pulled back, a short goatee adorned his chin and eyes as dull and empty as those of a doll or shark stared out from that skeletal face. No pity, no remorse, no love, no hate. Nothing. He was dressed in some sort of dark robe that clung to him like a shadow, twisting and shifting in an invisible breeze.
"One step closer, Mr. Potter," the man said.
Harry was suddenly bombarded by images, flashes of another time when he and this same man, and yet not exactly the same, had traded words in some place beyond time. He bent over gasping as the pain of the sudden barrage became almost unbearable.
"You..." he wheezed. "You're Death."
The man smiled with no happiness or warmth, but no malice either and the void around them flickered into the form of a familiar office-like room before becoming the void once more. "I am Death, yes." Harry almost laughed. That was the first straight answer he had ever received from the man – was he really a man, or did he just appear as one?
"So, I am dead." It wasn't a question this time. "That means that I am in the afterlife?"
Death shook his head. "Yes, and no. You are here after your death, and thus after your life, so in that sense, yes this can be called an afterlife, but it is not the place that departed souls go, and yet that place is part of this, it is here, but not here. What you see around you is the very fabric of reality, of the Universe. Undeveloped and barren life. The Void, Chaos, Ginnungagap. The purest form of creation. Some would say that I created it, others that it created me, but neither of these is true, but both are also true. It and I have always existed, and shall always exist, without the other, neither of us would be, and yet, if neither of us were to be, nothing would be, but nothing is something, is it not? So, by that definition, everything would be."
As he said these words, Harry closed his eyes, but didn't. Either way, it did no good for him, for the darkness remained, and so did Death.
"So, the darkness is the essence of life?" Harry pondered aloud, looking around at the void.
"Essentially," Death answered with an upturn of the lips.
"Then what of the light? What role does it play in all of this?"
Death smiled and Harry felt a chill shoot through him at the sight. "The light was created by those who could no longer see. They rejected the darkness and thus they were blinded by it. So, they sought a way to see again, and thus the light came into being, out of the darkness itself, for though they did not understand it, the darkness still provided." He gestured to the Void around them. "They say that there is no darkness without light, but this is a lie; one of the oldest lies. There is no light without darkness, for the darkness created it for those who could no longer see in the dark. So few now understand the darkness and thus the light is everywhere, but it is still a creation from the Void. The darkness came first, and it will always be, even when the light goes out."
Harry shook his head, trying to process this. "But you told me earlier to hold on to my anger as it would be a light for me."
Death nodded. "I did. I told you this, because you still need it. You have not yet found your way back to the dark, and thus you still require the light to see. There was a time when you did not need it, but that time is neither here nor now. As I also said earlier: remember who and what you are, and perhaps, in time, you may see again."
"You mean, when I was a monster, I could see, but now that I tried to change, I am blinded?" Death nodded. "You want me to be that again? The monster."
Death shrugged. "A human by any other name..." Harry gaped at him, or at least he would have if he had a mouth. Death went on, "The light needs the darkness, else it is pointless and does not exist, and you are a part of that darkness, and always will be, you just need to accept it."
Harry looked down, staring into the void at his feet, or where his feet would be. Did he want to become that person again? The demon that killed without thought or remorse, the scourge of the light. It had always thrilled him, to see them afraid of him. They feared what they didn't understand and he was the ultimate enigma. Born in darkness and molded by it. That was what he had said to Voldemort before he and his brothers had finally killed him.
He could become that man again, he knew, and feel better for it. But at what cost? Would he lose the love and loyalty of those he called friend, brother, lover? He shook his head. That sort of thinking led to indecision and indecision led to disaster. He had fallen into a state where that was every moment. He would second guess his own mind and change plans to suit the morals of others. It slowed him down, made him weak. Yes, he decided, he could become that man again; he would become that man again. He realized that he had been denying himself his true nature.
When he looked up he found Death smiling that unnatural smile that never even got close to reaching those dead eyes. It was then that he made another realization. Death was serving itself in this. It did not care about him, and he would be a fool to think so. To it he was just a tool, but Death was a tool to Harry as well, in that he used Death to achieve his ends, killing those who stood in his way. They were using each other, and it seemed, it had always been that way. A vicious cycle that would never end. Just like life and death, the beginning and the end. An ever turning wheel.
"You are finally beginning to understand," Death said. "Now, open your eyes."
Harry had not realized that his eyes were closed until now. And he wondered how it had escaped his notice. Slowly, he peeled them open and gasped as what he saw before him. Within the Void, he could now see pinpricks of light and swirling masses of life. The universe laid out before him, spinning, limitless in its shape and size.
"It is a beautiful sight, is it not?" Death said, smiling still; his attire had changed, he stood now in a simple black double-breasted coat that hung down to his knees and his hair was shorter and well-groomed. "And yet, it is not as it was before. I cannot describe to you how it all looked before the light came to be. There are no words for it, in any tongue. Perhaps there will come a day when mortals no longer need the light, but that time is neither here nor now." He turned to face Harry directly. "You now stand in the darkness, and can see the light for what it is, a crutch for those who can no longer see their true selves. As I have done for you, you may do for others. Open their eyes so they way see without light once more. You may do this, or you may not. The choice is yours."
Harry nodded, but then tilted his head. "I am dead," he stated plainly. "So, how can I open the eyes of others if I am here and not there?"
Death smirked. "The answer to that is a simple one, Mr. Potter. No longer be here, but there."
"We can go back?"
Death shook his head. "No. You can go back, for you are neither there nor there, but I am always here." He spread his arms to emphasize the space around them.
Harry's head was spinning again but less violently than before. "There nor there?" He paused. "I am here."
"Yes," Death agreed. "Now, you must choose. Will you go there," he nodded to a door that had appeared out of nowhere, or everywhere, or...whatever, "or there?" He nodded to a second door that appeared on the opposite side from the other.
Harry looked at both doors. They looked exactly the same. "How do I know which goes where?"
"Think of what you desire, and the path will be clear."
"If I go back, will I remember any of this?" he asked, thinking of how he had not remembered the last time.
Death shook his head. "No, you will not remember, but you will know."
Harry nodded as if that made sense and thought about what he wanted to do. He thought of his friends, his brothers, his family. He thought of Hermione, of Nymphadora, of Barty, of Regulus, of Lily, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, Luna, Xeno. He felt like something shifted and he looked around, realizing that he now had a physical form and both doors were gone.
Death smiled and Harry's vision started to go dark around the edges, like he was on the verge of passing out. "Sleep well, Mr. Potter, it's time to wake up."
XXXX
Regulus' head jerked up as a sound like a gasp cut through the silence. He looked around him, eyes settling on Barty, who looked as alarmed as he felt. As one, they looked over toward Harry's body, laying where they had left it on the stone slab.
Barty was on his feet with a swiftness that belied his weakened state and he ran toward their little brother, Regulus hot on his heels.
What they found struck them both cold. Harry was laying there, eyes wide open, unseeing and his chest no longer rising and falling. Regulus immediately began checking for a pulse, and cursed when he found none.
The muggles had a method to resuscitate the dead within a time after death, but from what little he knew of it, it was dangerous and only worked a small percentage of the time if performed immediately after the heart stopped. On top of that, he didn't even know if it worked for all forms of death or just certain ones, like heart attacks. He didn't even know what to do.
Barty, it seemed, had some idea because he pushed Regulus aside and began performing compressions of some sort on Harry's chest, where his heart was. This went on for some time before Barty's arms no longer had the strength in them to do anything at all. He fell back and Regulus stepped in and began to imitate what he had seen.
It was several minutes later that he finally gave up and fell back too. He and Barty lay there on the floor and fought with their breath to keep the onset of grief at bay.
This couldn't be happening. To go through all of this, from the two years spent in hell to finally getting them out into the free air once more, only for Harry to go and die anyway. Regulus had long ago learned that life was not fair, but this was just cruel.
Barty, it seemed, was less prepared to fight off his grief and was curled in on himself, his whole, thin body wracked with sobs. His thoughts tended the same as Regulus', but more angry. During their time in Azkaban, he would often speak, not knowing if Harry could hear him, but speaking nonetheless. He would say things. Things like "we'll get out of here, Harry, you'll see." or "we've been through worse than this, mate" or "Ain't no damned prison gonna keep us down, mate. You'll see". Now, he felt like all of that was being thrown back in his face. Harry had been all but vacant when they made their escape, but he had been alive at least. Now, he was gone. Truly gone.
Regulus looked over as he heard Barty growl, and saw the younger man pulling himself up to his feet once more, his eyes alight for the first time since he had gone into Azkaban. He leaned against the stone table and looked down at Harry, snarling. "You don't get to get out of this that easy, you son of a bitch." He balled up a fist. "You wake the hell up!" He slammed his fist down into the center of Harry's chest. "Come on," he sneered. "stop being a coward and get up!" Another strike. "You ain't gonna leave me here to deal with all of this by myself." Another hit. "Wake up!" He slammed his fist down again and Regulus reeled back as Harry suddenly gave a cry and began thrashing about.
Barty stumbled away from the youngest of the three, one hand covering his cheek where one of Harry's hands had struck him.
Both moved back in to try and retrain him, but it did little good so they both backed off just as quickly.
As fast as it began, it was over and Harry lay panting on the table, his eyes open and wild, but becoming clearer and more focus with ever moment that passed. Finally he turned his head toward them and his eyes roved over them. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
"Harry?" Regulus asked, slowly moving toward the younger man, wary but concerned. "That you, mate?"
Harry met his eyes and nodded minutely. He opened his mouth again but only the faintest of sounds was heard.
Regulus leaned down and placed his ear close to Harry's mouth as he tried to speak again. "Wa...ter..." It was so soft that it was little more than a breath, but Regulus heard it and summoned a cup from their supplies and magically poured water into it, holding it up to Harry's lips, where he began to drink greedily from the small wooden cup.
The cup was filled and drained three times before Harry was sated.
He sat up and looked around him, taking in the fire and the earthen walls. This was not Azkaban. The mere fact that Barty and Regulus had not disappeared, as mirages tend to do, lent credence to that fact. That, and he couldn't feel the creeping cold and draining pull of the Dementors for the first time in two years.
He made to move his feet but found them unable to separate. He looked down and frowned, glaring at the ropes that bound his feet together. Regulus noticed and went to unbind them, cutting them away with a quick Diffendo.
Harry lowered himself down off the table, his legs giving way as soon as he let his full weight fall upon them and Regulus' quick reflexes were all that kept him from collapsing to the floor. He grimaced as his entire body protested against his movements but he kept his teeth clenched and held his tongue from any protests save the occasional hiss or grunt as he was helped over to the fire and lowered into a chair.
Now that he was near the fire, he was acutely aware of the slight chill in the air and in his bones. It was nowhere near that of Azkaban and felt downright comfortable by comparison but the fire filled him with a warmth he had not felt in a long long time. Something about it bothered him though, and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.
Brushing off that thought he closed his eyes for a moment and started minutely when he felt something brush against his hand. He opened his eyes to find Barty in front of him, holding a steaming mug toward him, just a few inches from his hand.
Harry nodded to his oldest friend and took the cup gratefully, letting even more warmth spread through him from his fingertips.
"It's just tea, mind," Barty said, his voice rough from two years of almost no use. "No honey yet. Kreacher's supposed to bring some soon but it could be a some time yet...well, maybe a few days...at most."
Though his speech patterns were the same as before, Harry immediately noticed the lack of the usual spark that Barty spoke with. It had taken some time for Barty to go quiet in Azkaban. For the first few weeks, he was always making some sort of racket, whether it be shouting abuse at the guards as they went through on patrol or dropping off food, or even singing whatever song came to mind at the top of his lungs. Toward the end that had tapered off and he was left halfheartedly singing the same song over and over. Harry remembered it well, actually – it was an old drinking song called 'Down Among the Dead Men'. Fitting, or so Harry had thought at the time. Looking around at where they were now, it didn't seem so out of place, still.
Speaking of, "Where are we?" he croaked out after taking a swallow of the hot tea, the warmth doing a wonder of good for his throat.
It was Regulus who answered, as Barty just kind of shrugged, as if he hadn't really wondered that until now. "Godelot's Barrow," he said, adding another log to the fire. "Underneath Hereward's Cairn. It was built sometime during before the Dark Ages, when there was still a predominant pagan influence in the realm. In the late Dark Ages, Godelot was interred here, and as he was the most famous at the time, the place took on his name. Whatever it was called before that is lost to the ages. His son, Hereward, was the one who had the Cairn outside added on before his own death and burial here. However, the Barrow is still called Godelot's Barrow, in spite of this; or at least it would be if anyone even remembered it was here."
"If no one remembers, then how did you know it was here?" Barty asked.
Regulus shrugged. "I didn't. It was Malcolm and Tiber who showed me here. I think Tiber's family owns this land or something. It'd be more likely as he's the only one who lives near here."
"If he lives nearby, why are we here and not there, where we can sleep in a real bed?" Barty pressed, a small bit of life coming back into his voice, but just barely.
Regulus narrowed his eyes. "I said he lived near here, I didn't say he was close by." As Barty opened his mouth to point out the flaws of that logic, Regulus cut him off. "He doesn't even live in this Shire. We're in Devon, just so you know, and he lives just outside of Greater London, in Essex. Malcolm lives in Scotland and Fergus is in Ireland. None of them are far enough removed to be able to safely take us in, so, we are here."
Regulus' last words gave Harry pause, but he, again, couldn't figure out why. But, he had something more pressing to ask. "Who are Tiber, Malcolm and Fergus?"
Barty latched on to this question too. "Yeah, do tell. I only saw the grumpy one."
Regulus sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really didn't want to get into this yet. "Tiberius, Malcolm and Fergus are friends of mine," he started. "Well, sort of. Friends might be a bit of a stretch but we are allies nonetheless and we get on just fine. I can't go into too much detail at the moment, but I can tell you that they were instrumental in getting you two out of Azkaban."
Harry nodded, a dark look entering his eyes. Why was it that three strangers had been the ones to get him out? Where were his friends and family? Where was Hermione? What kept them from getting him out on their own? Were they even involved in this? Did they even know? He doubted it. Nymphadora had told him about Bill and Fleur moving to France, and Charlie going back to Romania. Luna was off who-knows-where with some man named Rolf; that left Xeno, Lily, Arnie and Hermione. Xeno, he knew was still working at the Quibbler, which had apparently become quite popular following its coverage of his trial, and Arnie was working at the Ministry still, though he had become a Hit-Wizard rather than stay an Obliviator. Lily was working her own business, Enchanted – the service was in the name, Nymphadora said – and Hermione...well, he didn't know. He knew she was alive and well, and still in England, but that was all.
"Where are the others?" he asked, He hadn't been planning to voice the question, at least not yet, but it seemed his voice had other plans.
Regulus looked at the fire for a moment, then met Harry's eyes. "They've moved on with their lives, Harry. And now, they think you both dead." At Harry's frown, he sighed. "Kreacher!"
A small pop signaled the arrival of the old Elf and he bowed deeply. "Master Regulus is being calling Kreacher?" He caught sight of Harry and bowed lower. "Master Harry, it is being good to see you again."
Harry smiled softly at the old Elf. "Hello, Kreacher."
Regulus spoke next. "Kreacher, we require a few particular items. I'll make you a list, but for the moment, could you get us a copy of the Prophet and the Quibbler? They have reported our success, yes?"
Kreacher nodded. "Yes, Master Regulus, they has."
"Good," Regulus replied. "Fetch them, please."
With another bow, the Elf was gone, only to return a moment later with two newspapers in his hand. He handed them to Regulus, who dismissed him until later.
He handed the papers to Harry, who looked at the headlines with hollow eyes.
HARRY POTTER AND BARTY CROUCH JR. DEAD!
God of Death and Hangman both die in Azkaban
The headline of the Quibbler was much the same, though slightly skewed in Harry and Barty's favor, proclaiming:
HEROES OF WIZARDING WORLD DEAD
Two Men Who Defeated Dark Lord Die In Prison
Harry quickly read through the articles before tossing them aside. He had stared briefly at the picture of his and Barty's 'corpses' but did not linger on it. He would ask later. Whatever they were, they were damned convincing, as they had managed to fool both Nymphadora and Robards, neither of whom were easily misled.
With the way the Prophet practically crucified Nymphadora, perhaps her emotions at the time had played a part in at least fooling her. But, it also said that Robards thoroughly inspected both bodies himself and declared them dead of natural causes. It seemed that in the Wizarding World, it was an Auror's job to perform a magical 'autopsy' rather than a healer; he wondered if this was because the Ministry didn't trust the Healers, who were not required to release information to the Ministry or papers, or because they just didn't care enough to bother with a proper autopsy – or what passed for one in the magical world, he honestly hadn't given it much thought, ever; he knew that many wizards viewed the practice of cutting open the dead to find out the cause of death to be 'barbaric and disrespectful'. Harry of course didn't agree. The body was just a shell for what humans called a 'soul' and once they were dead, the body didn't matter as the soul was gone, so there was no disrespect to the person if the part that made them who they were was gone already.
Barty picked up the papers and read through them himself. "How are there bodies, if we're here?"
Regulus groaned, not really wanting to explain it all right now. With all of the sudden excitement of Harry waking up, he was feeling tired. On top of that, Harry looked like he was ready to drop off again himself.
Harry tried to stand and winced, falling back into the chair with a hiss. Regulus was on his feet a second later, helping the youngest of their little family to his feet and leading him to the second bedroll that had been prepared; it was actually the one Regulus himself used but Harry didn't know that.
Harry sighed gratefully as he was laid down, his head resting on the small pillow there. It wasn't as comfortable as a bed would be, but it was better than that stone slab he had been on, and way better than his thin roll at Azkaban ever had been. This was closer to what he had had when he was living below the dungeon in Malfoy Manor. It was familiar and comforting. If he could douse the fire but keep the warmth, he would do so, but that wouldn't work, and Barty looked like he needed the fire more than Harry even did.
Regulus went back to his seat by the fire and sat down again. Barty was back to looking at the newspapers, now that Harry was looking like he would be asleep in a few moments. It was his watch anyway.
Harry closed his eyes, feeling the fatigue of extended inactivity overcoming him and soon he was lost to the world.
Regulus went over and laid himself down as well. "You got this, Barty?" he asked, laying his head back on the pillow.
Barty nodded, setting the papers aside. "Yeah, I think I can manage. I'll wake you if anything comes up. I should get started on that list for Kreacher too." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, but spending a couple of years in Azkaban would do that to you. Most people went completely mad in there after a few months, but a few managed to last longer than others. Harry had withdrawn into himself and Barty had resisted with enthusiasm, but in the end, it took its toll on both of them and it showed. Neither was the men they used to be, and probably never would be again.
It was a sad thought for Regulus, who considered these two as his brothers in all but blood and as the eldest of the three, if only by a few months, he considered it his duty to look after them. It bothered him that they had suffered so, and it had taken him so long to get them out. Before that, he had let them think him dead for several years before revealing himself to Barty and bringing him into his plans. All in all, he felt he had not been a good brother to them and he wanted make up for that as best as he could. He just hoped they weren't cross with him when they learned the price to be paid for their new-found freedom.
It was going to be a long few years for them yet and who knew what would happen along the way.
As he laid there, he heard a soft voice singing. He knew it was Barty, singing that song that he had sung so often to himself in Azkaban. It was habit at this point and Regulus wondered if Barty even knew that he was doing it any more.
"Here's a health to the king, and a lasting peace,
To faction's end and wealth increase.
Come, let us drink while we have breath,
for there's no drinking after death.
And he who will this health deny,
Down among the dead men, down among the dead men.
Down, down, down, down,
down among the dead men let him lie!"
Regulus drifted into slumber as Barty continued into the second verse of the song, the words echoing off the walls in a haunting manner, unheard even by his own ears.
XXXX
A/N:Finished early, so you all get two chapters this week!
Another chapter down, this time focused almost exclusively on the Three Brothers, Harry, Barty and Regulus. No, that's not a coincidence, either.
I know there are a whole slew of questions to be answered here, and we'll get there soon enough. There will be a bit of a time-skip coming up soon, as I am not the type to bore my readers with tedious chapters of training and the like. When I read, those are enough to turn me off of a story because they are usually overlong, dull and repetitive. So, most of the training and such that Harry and Barty will go through will be 'off-screen', as is my wont.
Now, for those who didn't understand the beginning of this chapter, you should head over to my one-shot/deleted scene 'God on God' for a proper introduction to the character of Death (why is there no character selection for Death on here? He was a character in the books, even if he didn't physically appear; he was important).