Chapter 3
Just when she thought everything was finally over and she could start her life anew, Death swooped in without so much as a by-your-leave and tossed her plans out the window. Hari, who at that time had been all of seventeen years and much more excitable than she was now, who was desperate to leave behind the nightmares that still clung to her like cobwebs and left her no respite, who wanted none of the fame and the power that was thrust upon her—wanted no part in the whole Mistress of Death deal.
"No? But why?" Death had appeared in Hari's dream that night, in lieu of another nightmare filled with the faces of the dead. His question was almost innocent, deprived of anger and filled with genuine curiosity.
"I do not want to be an undying freak of nature, thank you very much," Hari had replied politely, forcing herself to look at the un-assuming face and unadorned robes that completed Death's image. It was a borrowed face, Hari knew, and Death had said so himself. But his eyes were darker than black, unholy and unforgiving, and it took all of Hari's Gryffindor courage not to shake where she stood.
Death nodded, as if understanding. "This is unexpected, but not altogether surprising."
Hari let herself breathe.
"However, this only consummates the agreement." Death snapped his fingers, and Hari felt her insides freeze to ice as something smooth and cool touched her shoulders, draped over her back, and even without looking she knew it was her Invisibility Cloak. "Your answer has only affirmed that I made the right choice," Death added in a satisfied way. He snapped his fingers again. Hari could feel the heavy, cool weight of the Resurrection Stone settle in the dip between her breasts, hanging on a chain.
"No," Hari whispered, face white. "I don't want it."
Death shot her an apologetic look. He snapped his fingers a third time, and the Elder wand appeared in Hari's right fist. Magic rushed through Hari's veins, soaring in her ears. Something – a power she could not understand — settled deep in her bones, and without understanding it herself Hari knew that Death had bound itself to her, wrapped itself in her soul so tightly and thoroughly she would never be rid of it.
She cried into her hands, shoulders heaving. The Elder wand dropped and rolled away from her a few feet, vanished, and reappeared into a wand holster that was now suddenly strapped to her arm.
Death let her cry. He stood silent as Hari sobbed herself to exhaustion. Hari did not remember if they stayed there only minutes, or several hours: it was a dream and time had no meaning there, but when she was finally too tired and her throat too painful to cry any more, Death had lifted her up by her arms gently, his hands cool but not unpleasantly so.
"It is done," he said softly. His dark eyes no longer seemed intent on sucking her soul, but appeared fathomless and full of wisdom. As if reading her silent question, he added, "Your powers will grow, and in time you will understand. The shadows are my domain, and now it is yours, too. The sight of me no longer brings terror to you." He smiled.
Hari wiped her face with the sleeve of her pajamas. "But I don't—"
"You don't want to be my Mistress," Death continued for her. "But you have fulfilled the conditions, and gathered all my Hallows."
"By accident!" Hari insisted, her eyes still wet. "I didn't mean for this to happen!"
"Ah, but you sealed your fate," Death answered calmly, "when you turned down the offer."
"But I said no! That means I don't want it," Hari tried again.
"Yes. And that means you are the right person for the job."
"What?" Hari frowned, her despair slowly boiling to anger as her confusion grew.
"Even if you did collect all three items, I would never have conceded to make you my Mistress if you were only too happy to accept," Death explained. He looked at her. "That you would deny it means you know what taking on the role implies, or at least understand that it is a job that is not to be taken lightly."
Alright. That made sense, but Hari was not going to admit that. She was still angry. "Don't I have a say in this? Can I at least think about it before it becomes…final?"
"Acceptable. I will call when you are ready."
Hari blinked. "That easy?"
Death smiled, mysterious and foreboding. "Nothing is ever easy."
"What if I still say no?"
"I have all the time in the world to convince you. Mistress."
Hari shuddered. "Please stop saying that," she wilted.
To her surprise, Death laughed. "Oh, I will enjoy our time together."
"Don't hold your breath," Hari muttered darkly. She shrugged off the cloak and folded it in her arms.
"I don't need to breathe," Death answered. His face was blank again.
Hari felt tempted to facepalm, but wisely chose not to. Instead she asked, "Can you at least tell me what this Mistress of Death role…job…whatever…what it means?"
Death nodded. "It means to keep the balance."
"Say what?"
"I will tell you more," Death said as he turned and began to walk away, "when you are ready to accept your fate."
He disappeared in thick white fog, and Hari opened her eyes to find herself in bed in 12 Grimmauld Place, legs twisted into soaked sheets, and the Deathly Hallows atop her bedside table.
The first thing she did when she got out of bed was to throw the Stone and the Wand into the fireplace.
When she turned around the Stone and the Wand were on top of the Invisibility Cloak, whole and un-damaged.
She screamed and pulled at her hair in frustration. It was so loud that Kreacher had popped into her bedroom, asking what was wrong.
In the end, she stuffed all three items into a bag and shoved it into the bottom of her school trunk, which sat at the foot of her bed. She got dressed and went down to breakfast, intent on forgetting about them and just focus on her agenda for that day: enrolling at Hogwarts to finish her eighth year of schooling.
For the next few days Hari's thoughts did not touch the Hallows, or what it meant to possess all three. She was apparently good at this, deflecting the issue. She's had several years' worth of experience, after all.
It was a good decision to go back to Hogwarts – focusing on repairing the castle and studying in preparation for Auror training made Hari too busy during the day and too tired at night to even think of Death and the dream that Hari was now convinced was all in her head, despite the fact that there was a bag filled with Those-That-Should-Not-Be-Mentioned and proclaimed her as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called.
Huh. Apparently, she was good at censuring names and objects, too.
It was on a blustery Tuesday morning that she was forced to face her situation head on.
Although technically they were on their eighth year, Harry and the other students who decided to return to Hogwarts after Voldemort's defeat were no longer in their prior Houses. "In my eyes, you are no longer children," Headmistress McGonagall had addressed them all a week before the school officially opened. Her face was more lined, and to Harry she looked smaller somehow, but not in any way diminished. She smiled at them. "No longer children," she repeated, "but in all the ways that matter you are still students, and this school still has much to teach you. Therefore in your last year here at Hogwarts, you will not return to your former Houses. Rather, you will all stay in one un-official House. The Castle has prepared the South Tower for all of you. You will be staying there today until the school term ends."
"Professor—I mean, Headmistress," Hermione raised her hand subconsciously, ignoring Ron's sigh beside her. "Why aren't we going back to our Houses? Wouldn't that be easier?"
McGonagall nodded. "Easier yes, Miss Granger, but it won't be good for the lot of you."
Everyone looked at her confused. Hari felt uneasy; she had a feeling she knew where this was going.
The headmistress flicked her wand and conjured chairs for everybody. They were inside the Headmistress's office, so there were not too many places to sit, but with the conjured wooden stools they all settled in a rough circle near the fireplace. McGonagall sat in her own stool, beside Hari and Hermione.
"Headmistress," Hari said warily, her face guarded, heart sinking.
McGonagall looked at her and her lips pulled into a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Miss Potter."
"But—"
"Do you think you are the only one who suffers from nightmares, Miss Potter?"
Everyone grew quiet. Several faces paled at her words. Hari herself sat upright, fists tight in her lap, her eyes wide at the headmistress.
Luna Lovegood spoke up, her eyes closed. "I have them, headmistress. Everyday."
A few moments of silence, then others began admitting to the same, some in voices barely above whispers, some only nodding. Hari saw Hermione bury her face into Ron's shoulder, hair shaking.
"M-me, too," Neville Longbottom admitted, red-faced and shaking. He clutched at his robes to stop shivering in his seat. "I have them too. Sometimes even when I'm not sleeping and—"
"And they follow you. Everywhere." That was Draco Malfoy, farthest from the group. His gray eyes were distant, and his voice was barely above a whisper, but everyone heard him. Blaise Zabini looked at him in worry, but did not speak. "Dreamless Potion only keeps them at bay. And when I stop taking them…" He shuddered and closed his eyes.
"They come back more viciously, if you stop taking the potion," Hari added finally. Everyone turned to her. Draco blinked at her in surprise. Hari swallowed her fear and shame and kept going. "I started having nightmares almost immediately. I wake up screaming and clawing my face. My house elf tried to help by trying my hands and feet to the bedposts, but my magic burns through the rope when I'm in the worst of it." She laughed dryly. "I would have burned down the house five times by now, if not for Kreacher."
"Oh, Hari," Hermione cried. She clung to her best friend and hugged her tightly. "Why didn't you tell me, or Ron?"
Hari snorted. "The same reason you didn't, I expect." Hermione blushed red.
McGonagall cleared her throat. She was looking at all of them, not in judgment, but in understanding. "Now do you see," she said gently, "why we need you to stay together?"
She explained that everyone in their group will receive therapy once a week, first one at a time, then together. Their classes will be based around their scheduled appointments.
It was a testament to how bad things had gotten when nobody complained.
When everybody had left the Headmistress's office, Hari went back to McGonagall.
"Professor," Hari said. "How did you know, about the nightmares?"
The headmistress looked at Hari then, an unreadable emotion flashing behind her spectacles. "Miss Potter, when Voldemort first appeared, I had been quite young, just like you. And I fought in the Order." Her lips lifted into a sad smile. "Just like you." She descended into speculative silence, but the quiet and the familiar look in her eyes told Hari everything.
Hari looked down. "Oh."
"Yes," was all the headmistress said, and bade her a good day as Hari left her office.
Two months later, Hari and the rest had settled into a routine; they had all their classes together, and mostly left the other Hogwarts students alone. For the most part, the younger years gave them a wide berth – some awed at the sight of most of them, others afraid. They did not have double classes with the rest of the students, but they still ate their meals in the Great hall, in a long table directly below where the staff ate their own meals.
That Tuesday morning, Hari had only just settled into her seat between Hermione and Ron when Hermione asked her a question.
"Do you notice anything strange?"
"Good morning to you, too," Hari replied dryly, pouring herself a cup of tea and grabbing a toast. "No, I haven't noticed anything strange. No prophecy over my head. No crazy dark wizard trying to off me. I actually like it." Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice.
"I'm serious."
Hari sighed. "No, really, nothing's been going on. I still have nightmares, but they're coming up less often than before."
"Oh. That's good," Hermione brightened at that. "But not what I meant. Look around."
Hari looked around. A few students hurried to turn back to their breakfast plates when they saw Hari looking, but she paid them no attention. She saw Draco just turning up at the entrance to the Great Hall, accompanied by Blaise Zabini and—to her surprise—a serenely smiling Luna Lovegood. Luna was a year younger than them, as well as Ginny Weasley, but both girls were in their group of un-official Eighth Years as well. They had classes with the other Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, though. "I don't see anything weird," Hari said at last.
Hermione sighed. "Do you see any ghosts?"
"No. Is that strange?"
"Not really," Hermione answered. "But they were here a minute ago."
"And?"
Hermione hesitated a moment. "They all left when you came through the door."
Hari stared at her.
"It's true," Ron said, swallowing a piece of egg. "Nick was chatting to a few firsties down the end of the lion's table, then just up and left with all the other ghosts. And then you popped in."
Oh no. "But I didn't accept it yet!" Hari sank, head resting with a thud on the table.
Hermione and Ron shared a look.
"What…what do you mean, Hari?" Hermione asked, tentatively.
Hari groaned in response, not lifting her head.
Ron gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice. "Do we need to drag you to the library?"
"Ron!" Hermione hissed, scandalized.
"Not secure," Hari mumbled through the table. "Myrtle's bathroom. After class."
"Oh," Hermione said, patting Hari's back. "That bad?"
Hari's laugh was hollow as she lifted her head. "Oh no," she croaked. "It's much worse. Way worse."#
A/N: Originally, I had wanted Hari to have a freak accident in the school which would have resulted in her dying one minute then reviving the next, forcing her to confront the truth about being the MOD. But I scrapped it and went with a slow sort of acceptance process instead, which we'll see in the next few chapters or so.
Also, based off of the HP wiki site, the Battle of Hogwarts supposedly took place in May of 1998. Which means Chapter 2 took place in the year 2020 (present), 22 years after Voldemort was defeated.