Death's visit had been short, it had lasted no longer than ten minutes, and yet it left Harry reeling. For three weeks he had coped with the idea of being the bearer of the Hallows, the supposed 'Master of Death' by ignoring it all; he wanted nothing to do with the madness so he simply went on with life as if the stone were still lost in the forest, the cloak was still folded neatly in his trunk, and the wand was safe in Dumbledore's cold, dead hands. And the crazy thing was, it had worked. For three weeks there were no voices, no inexplicable visions, no blinding, back arching pain, and, yeah, maybe their absence had more to do with his being locked away from pretty much any human contact, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
But of course he had to go and ruin it all in one moment of inebriated stupidity. The whole thing could have been avoided, he knew that; he should have just visited the graves of his deceased friends, brought them some flowers, talked to them there like a normal person, the sort of person he was always making a fuss about wishing he could be. Instead he'd gone and consulted a book of some of the darkest arts in an asinine attempt to summon Fred, Remus, Tonks, and maybe a few others (he still wasn't sure what he would have done or even said if he'd actually succeeded).
He had half of a mind to just forget everything Death had told him about the Heart and its power and being his equal and go back to ignoring anything to do with the Hallows, but now that he knew exactly what it meant to have conquered them, now that he knew that he couldn't die and had a whole host of strange abilities to look forward to manifesting in the coming years, that was just a bit harder to do. He didn't want to be Death's master, or equal, or whatever the hell his official title was, he was sick to death of being different, but at the same time he wanted to learn to control what he'd be able to do, he wanted to be able to go out again without being accosted by the dead. So he ventured into the Black family home's library, he scoured the shelf for instructionals on Occlumency and how to 'clear his mind', he spent days among the dusty shelves reading and researching so intently he knew even Hermione would be impressed. And yet his tireless efforts yielded absolutely nothing.
There were plenty of books on Occlumency, almost too many to count, but they all spoke only of the theory of the art, not how to actually go about performing it.
"Not all books be kept in the library." Was Kreacher's explanation when Harry asked him about this phenomenon. "Too many too keep so Mistress kept them safe with the goblins."
Gringotts. Of course the damned books were being kept in the same bank he'd more than likely gotten himself banned for life from. The goblins, no doubt, were no longer any fans of his, but he needed those books and if it meant he'd have to do an embarrassing amount of groveling and pleading for forgiveness, well, he'd suck it up and do it.
Harry held off until the early evening before venturing into Diagon Alley, by then the worst of the lunch rush had passed and he was able to slip through the streets and up to the bank unmolested. Gringotts had been returned to its usual pristine (if not somewhat crooked) condition in the short time he'd been away, it bore no signs of his, Ron, and Hermione's escape via dragon, which he hoped would go some way in diminishing the goblins' ire toward him. At least he and his friends hadn't inflicted permanent damage upon the structure.
Not a single goblin looked his way when he stepped through the doors, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were all hyper aware of his presence. The weight of their disdainful attention did nothing to lessen his unease as he crossed the hall to the goblin furthest from the handful of wizarding patrons, the few wizards present were too interested in their own transactions to notice his arrival, but he felt no need to risk it.
Harry bestowed the unimpressed goblin with a quivering smile and dipped his head in a nervous little bow. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with the uh…the goblin in charge?" Silently, he cursed himself, he should have looked into what the head goblin of Gringotts was referred to as before coming here.
The goblin looked down on him with flinty eyes. "What is your purpose here, Mr. Potter?"
"I just wanted to say sorry. I mean-I wanted to apologize, formally apologize for my actions against this establishment, and I wanted to offer any reparations that you would take. Monetary or otherwise."
The goblin glared, expressionless, at Harry long enough for him to begin fidgeting nervously with his fingers, he seriously contemplated turning around and leaving. But then the goblin snorted disdainfully and reached for a translucent, quartz-like stone on the edge of his work station. He flipped it upside down and immediately it began letting off a soft, blue glow.
Harry waited in silence for a second goblin, somewhat rounder than the first with less hair on his head and more on his chin, to appear from one of the many halls and approach. He stepped up to the goblin who had summoned him and listened as the situation was explained to him in the harsh cadence of gobbledegook. When all that could be said was spoken, he turned his attention to Harry.
"You've come to apologize and explain your actions?"
Harry nodded. "I admire this bank and the work it does greatly, I wouldn't have done what I did unless I had no other choice. My companions and I broke into the Lestrange vault and stole the cup because it was one of several objects that kept Voldemort tethered to this earth. If I didn't destroy it, I wouldn't have been able to kill him."
"And the dragon?"
Harry shrugged sheepishly. "We needed a way out."
The goblin's face remained impassive, entirely inscrutable to Harry's untrained eyes. "What you sought from the vault of the Lestranges was not gold or jewels, but an item that helped you bring about the defeat of the dark lord?"
"I took nothing else," Harry swore.
"Then you will pay a fee of one hundred galleons to Gringotts and we will accept you once again into our establishment."
Harry only barely refrained from gaping. One hundred galleons was pocket change when compared to what he held in his vaults. He'd expected to be groveling and begging for far longer before the goblins even began to consider accepting half of his wealth as apology. But who was he to sneer at an unexpected turn of good fortune, especially when thus far his life had been plagued by the opposite?
"Of course," he agreed with an easy nod, "it's the least I can do."
The goblin nodded curtly. "The fee will be drafted from your main vault. Is there anything else we can do for you this evening?"
"Oh, yes. I'd like to visit the Black family vault, I've got a key right here." He fumbled in his pockets for a few moments before producing the heavy vault key.
The goblins granted it a cursory examination before nodding and leading him back to the carts that would take him down to his vault.
The mounds of gold, silver, and bronze that towered in semi-organized heaps throughout the cavernous room were ignored in lieu of the stacked trunks along the walls. They were filled with innumerable books and tapestries and dusty old parchments that were no doubt of great value to the Black family but held very little interest for Harry who sifted through the richly detailed family trees with disinterested haste.
It still took him the better part of an hour to find the texts he was in need of, but find them he did. A full collection of books with multiple different and detailed techniques on how to learn and eventually master Occlumency were shrunk down and tucked into his pocket and Harry, already feeling incredibly accomplished, returned topside.
The bank had grown busier in his time below ground, nearly every teller had a line of at least five wizards or witches patiently waiting their turns. Harry hadn't brought a cloak with him, Voldemort and his cloaked followers were still too fresh of a memory for everyone, so he knew that walking through Diagon Alley in the early summer with a heavy cloak and a hood over his head would draw far more attention than going without one, Boy-Who-Lived or not. So he bowed his head, allowing his slightly longer hair to fall over his forehead and eyes and casually walked across the hall. He was only a few meters away from the exit, a mere dozen or so steps before he could celebrate a successful escape, but then a hand fell on his shoulder, heavy and constricting enough to halt him in his steps.
"Mr. Potter." It was Xenophilius Lovegood of all people, Harry hadn't seen the man since he'd tried to turn him over to the Death Eaters and, quite frankly, he looked awful.
"Mr. Lovegood." Harry tried for a smile, but even to him it felt incredibly insincere. "It's good to see you well."
Xenophilius laughed shortly. "What a lovely lie. Last we met, I tried to hand you over to the dark lord's forces, I'd fear for your mental health if you were happy to see me."
Harry shrugged. "I don't hold it against you. You did it only because the Death Eaters had taken Luna, and the only reason they took her was because you were one of the few brave enough to speak out about your support for me."
A strange look passed over Xenophilius' face, but it was quickly veiled by his long hair when he bowed his head in a thankful nod. "Your understanding means much me, you are a good man. But that's not why I stopped you." The older man paused uncertainly. "Mr. Potter, might I ask you something?"
"Of course." Harry nodded encouragingly. "What is it?"
"There are rumors of what was said the day you killed He-Who-Must-Not-Named." Xenophilius glanced around as his voice dropped below a whisper. "They say you mastered the Elder Wand. Took it from him. And that that was what allowed you to defeat him."
Harry took a step back, immediately on his guard. "I don't have the Elder Wand, only my own."
Xenophilius hastened to smooth his raised hackles. "Well, of course you don't have it on you, such an artifact is too precious to carry with you on an everyday shopping trip. But whether you've simply left it at home or locked it in your vault, you have it, it's yours. You are the master of the Elder Wand. And the cloak."
"Cloak? Sorry, what cloak?"
"You came to my home that day, and asked about the Deathly Hallows, and I told you."
Harry's jaw dropped and he shook his head. "But Hermione….How do you…?"
"How do I remember what we discussed after your lovely friend obliviated me?" Xenophilius raised a wry brow. "I presume from what she tried to take from me, she was not aiming to make me forget the entire conversation, only that your young, redheaded friend was present. From the reports I heard, he was meant to be home sick with spattergroit. But, in her haste, the spell she cast was sloppy, underpowered, easily thwarted by the protections around my home. I did not forget the interest you showed in the Hallows nor did I forget the look you and your friends shared when I told you of Death's own invisibility cloak. You know of it, more than that, you own it."
"This is all some wild conjecture, Mr. Lovegood."
"And yet you've not denied a single word." Xenophilius took a step forward. "Do you have the Resurrection Stone? Did you unite the Hallows?"
"Why?" Harry was floundering, caught completely off guard by the man's fervored interest. "Why does it matter to you?"
"Because, once they've been united, we all will die."
Harry froze, a part of him was waiting for Xenophilius to laugh and claim it was a joke. Or, what was probably more likely, go on to explain some completely eccentric conspiracy theory claiming the rise of a clumdinger army. When such an explanation was not immediately forthcoming, he pressed for a bit of elaboration. "I'm sorry, what?
"The Hallows are objects far too powerful to even put to words. Death would not and did not give them up willingly. We took them and we used them and we abused them."
Harry shook his head as he considered the best way to placate Xenophilius' mad theory. "Those who took the Hallows are long dead, Death has no one to punish."
His words did nothing to soothe Xenophilius, unfortunately. If anything, he seemed even more distressed. "It's not Death who wishes to punish. The object from which the Hallows came was one of neutrality, balance. Those who had them used them for their own selfish purposes tried to cheat Death, they tried to become death, and in doing so, they upset the balance. With the Hallows separated, there is nothing they could do to right the balance, unite them and they once again have the power to right them in the only way they know how."
Harry could see where this was going. "They kill us."
Xenophilius laughed bitterly. "No, not you, you're their master. Only us."
"Mr. Lovegood…."
"You don't believe me. Of course you don't. They won't either, not at first, but when it begins….then they'll see. Then they'll believe."
Harry felt his heart sink, the man was so sure in his fear, there would be no convincing him that he hadn't actually united the Hallows or, even if he had, that their union wouldn't actually bring about the end of days, but he could still appeal for his silence in the only way he knew how. "If you tell them, they'll want to hurt me...I'm-I'm Luna's friend. You know the sort of person she is, if I hurt, she will. You would hurt her?"
Xenophilius shook his head. "No. I would save her." He smiled a small, sad smile as he began to back away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, it seems we just weren't meant to be on the same side, not when it means putting my Luna at risk. "
Harry raised his wand. Xenophilius was resolute in going to the papers (specifically his own no doubt) to warn all of the wizarding world of their coming demise at Harry's hands, he would not be reasoned with. It was more than likely that these warning would go unheeded, Xenophilius and the Quibbler were notorious for printing outrageous and entirely unbelievable conspiracy theories, but if even one person believed him, that was one too many. He wouldn't risk it. "I can't let you go." His wand aimed at the point just between the man's eyes. "Please don't make me."
"I won't," Xenophilius reassured. Harry frowned in confusion, but then the man was yelling, drawing everyone's attention to the two of them. "It's Harry Potter! It's the Boy-Who-Lived! The Man Who Conquered!"
They were upon them, Harry specifically, in a matter of moments. Dozens of wizards surrounded him, all trying to congratulate him, to thank him, to touch him, and in the ensuing chaos, Xenophilius got away.
It was an hour before Harry was able to return home. There had been so many who had wanted to see him and speak with him, so many who weren't willing to listen to his feeble attempts at excusing himself or his insistences that he really did have somewhere to be. They only dispersed after each and every person had been granted a chance to shake his hand and personally thank him for saving their world. When he was finally back in the safety of Grimmauld Place, he was tired and irritable and just really wanted to settled down with something warm to eat and begin sorting through his books, but the little luck he'd been seeing earlier that evening had apparently fled and he found himself with guests.
Ron and Hermione had let themselves in sometime during his absence and set themselves up in the main parlor. Harry expressed his surprise at seeing them, but hugged them both in greeting anyway.
"My parents are finally settling back in," Hermione explained as she happily accepted his hug. "They're still a bit angry at me for taking their memories, so I thought it'd be a good idea to give them a bit of space for a week or two."
"I can't stay as long," Ron said, "I'll probably head back home sometime tomorrow. But I needed to get away for a few hours, we're all mourning but sometimes it gets to be too much. Almost suffocating."
"Well, if you've come to distract yourselves from your own terrible woes, you've come to the right place." Harry heaved a dramatic sigh as he flopped onto the nearest armchair. "I had a day. Wait, actually, these past few weeks have all been something else."
Hermione leaned forward in her seat. "Oh?"
"Brief summary? I had a conversation with Death and Xenophilius Lovegood is convinced I've brought about the end of days."
"Um, okay no." Ron frowned. "We do not want the brief summary. Tell us everything."
Harry scratched at the back of his head. "It's a long story."
Ron made a point of settling back in his seat. "We've got time."
"Well, okay." Harry sighed again. "The other day, the same one as Fred's funeral, I got smashed and decided I was going to use a dark ritual I'd found to summon the dead." He felt sheepish explaining what he'd done as, now, he knew how much of a monumentally stupid idea that had been. "I just wanted to talk to them and make sure they were happy. But they didn't show up. Instead, a man did, Death."
"Death?" Ron repeated weakly. "Like Death Death?"
Harry nodded.
"Did he look like the stories said? All skeletal and scary?"
Harry shook his head. "No. He was actually kind of fit, a bit older and definitely intimidating, but he looked like a man."
"And what did Death say to you?"
"After comparing me to a bacterium and calling me a great, big coward?" Harry snorted. "He was actually nice enough to explain what the Hallows were to him and what uniting them meant for me."
"What does it mean?"
Harry sobered at that. "A lot, apparently. I'm not his master but his equal, his protégé without the chance of him actually dying and passing his position on to me. That means I don't die, not from old age, not from a killing curse, not even from bad shellfish. Eventually I'll be able to do the things he can, though I'm still not entirely sure what that is. It's actually already started, when I saw Fred that day at Hogwarts and when I nearly went mad because of the voices only I could hear? That was me sensing those who have passed on but haven't crossed over yet."
"Shit," Ron whispered. "Is there nothing you can do? Do you get any say in this?"
Harry smiled sadly. "Not really. Death said I can die, but only if we're both in agreement that my soul should be reaped, and he's still not sure it'll work. The Hallows are a part of me, they've absorbed into my core or something, the only way I can stop being Death's equal is if they're harvested from my soul, and I've been told that it's incredibly painful."
"So, what, you're just going to sit back, eternally young and healthy, while we grow old and drop like flies around you?"
"Well, I have no intention of outliving you, not for long at least. Death has assured me that there won't ever be a time where he won't want to reap my soul, he's an arsehole like that, I figure once you're gone I'll finally give him permission to have at it and cross my fingers that it actually works."
Hermione seemed stricken by this idea. "That's horrible. After everything you've endured…it's so much less than you deserve."
"I know." Harry shrugged. "But I've just about come to terms with the fact that I won't get to live the sort of life I'd really been hoping for. I guess I'll just have to work with the cards I've been dealt."
Ron reached out to squeeze Harry's knee. "I'm sorry."
"So am I."
"If you really don't age, we'll have to find some way to make sure you at least look like you do." A contemplative look settled over Hermione's face as she began attempting to find some way past this issue. "The last thing we need is for the wizarding world to become aware of this mess."
"It might be a bit too late for that." Harry snorted ruefully. "Remember how I mentioned Xenophilius thinking I've brought about the end of days?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah, what's with that?"
"The Hallows come from an ancient object that was all about balance. Xenophilius believes that the wizards who possessed the Hallows and used them for their own personal gain upset that balance; with them reunited they'll attempt to right the balance by wiping out the wizarding world. He's declared it his personal mission to warn the wizarding world of their coming demise. I have a feeling he's drafting an article for the Quibbler as we speak."
"How does he even know you've united the Hallows?" Ron asked. "He shouldn't even know you were interested in them. Hermione obliviated him, didn't she?"
"Yeah, but according to him the charm was hastily cast, weak enough for his wards to stop it. I guess he took what I said to Voldemort during the final battle about my being the master of the Elder Wand, and added it to what we talked about that day and came to his own conclusions."
Hermione looked appalled with herself. "Fuck."
A bubble of surprised laughter burst from Harry at the sound of the expletive leaving his friend's lips. "Don't worry about it, Hermione, I don't blame you. We all did the best we could in that situation."
"You seem awfully calm," Ron observed.
Harry shrugged. "I tried reasoning with him, tried to convince him the Hallows would do no one harm, then not to tell anyone, but he won't be swayed. I have a feeling he's going to use the Quibbler to spread the news, but they've never exactly been a reputable source."
"Not before the war, no," Hermione pointed out, "but during, when Voldemort had taken control of the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler was one of the only reliable sources of news. People subscribed and they listened to what he had to say. Now that the Daily Prophet is back up and running he likely has less followers, but he still has them and they still listen. It may not be a lot, but it'll be more than enough to cause you trouble."
"Then we go and stop him from writing that article." Ron declared this as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. "Ginny said he and Luna have been staying at the Leaky Cauldron since their home was pretty badly messed up. We'll go up there and give him a talking to. And if he doesn't want to be reasoned with, then Hermione can obliviate him. Only this time, try and do it right, yeah?"
Hermione gaped, clearly affronted. "That is a terrible thing to say."
Ron frowned in confusion. "What? My suggestion that we obliviate the man for a second time or that the only reason we have to is because you couldn't get it right the first time?"
Hermione scowled and very pointedly didn't answer.
Harry smiled, feeling lighter now that he had a potential solution to this newest set of challenges. "All right, let's go. Let's do it."
After spending a few minutes hashing out who would say what to Xenophilius, Harry, Ron, and Hermione apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. However, the moment they landed, they were met with a surprising amount of chaos; Aurors were swarming the place, searching every nook and cranny while wizards in strange, navy blue robes stood along the edges of the room, specifically near the exits and entrances as they muttered obscurely. The moment the Aurors caught sight of the trio, they were herded out into Diagon Alley where a large group of patrons was already gathered. At the forefront was a supremely unconcerned looking Luna.
Harry made sure to shield his face and, subsequently, his scar as he moved to stand beside Luna and question her on what was happening.
Luna smiled excitedly up at him. "A muggle came into the Leaky Cauldron." She was near bouncing on her toes in excitement. "Just walked right in. And no one even noticed until she began making a fuss about two hags who had gotten into a duel because they found out they were dating the same ogre."
Ron's jaw dropped. "Really?"
"Yes." Luna nodded. "It's terrible isn't it? You would think they'd realize they were dating the same man. Perhaps he didn't know? They did look very similar."
"Not the hags, Luna, the muggle. How did she even get in? The wards are meant to keep them from realizing this place even exists."
"I reckon it has something to do with the way the wards are beginning to fail. They're not as strong as they once were."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked to Luna sharply, unsure if this was another of her wild tales or if there was actually a basis of fact to what she was saying.
"Surely you've noticed it by now?" Silvery eyes looked between the three friends quizzically. "The magics we've cast to keep us safe is dying, they won't keep us hidden for long."
Harry felt something uncertain and just a little bit worried settle in his stomach, this was too much of a coincidence. "Luna, what do you know?"
"More than a bit, Harry. I wasn't in Ravenclaw for nothing."
Luna didn't even flinch when Harry gripped her wrist and dragged her further into the Alley, away from the crowd, Ron and Hermione followed uncertainly. "Luna, you know what's happened to me, you know what I've become. Did you tell your father about it? Any of it?"
Luna frowned. "Of course not. That's your secret to keep."
"Yeah, well today he cornered me in Gringotts, certain that I had united the Hallows, he said that bringing the Hallows together would destroy our world and now here you are telling me that the magic that's been set to protect us is dying. What do you know?"
"You're hurting me, Harry."
He immediately released his grip on her wrist, but he didn't retreat an inch. "Please."
"Daddy's always been obsessed with the Deathly Hallows," she admitted. "His parents told him stories of them, though in those stories they were only the Heart, not the Hallows. It was a story that was passed on from generations. He told me of it only a few years after Mummy died, he told me about how once the Heart was whole again we would all die. Our magic would fail us and the wizarding world would find its end. It frightened me terribly so he never told me again, but I never forgot."
Harry's hands felt as if they wanted to begin trembling, so he tucked them beneath his arms. "Do you think the stories were true?"
Luna looked pointedly to where the Aurors and the blue robed wizards had moved to investigate the outside of the pub.
"Is there any way to stop it?"
Luna smiled, sad but not at all afraid. "No, there's nothing you can do. I know it's hard to accept, you who were born to be a hero, but we are finished, our end is inevitable."
Harry left Luna, Hermione, and Ron to watch as the source of the Leaky Cauldron's breach was searched for. Luna's words had left a tight band of worry around his chest, but he refused to allow himself to begin actively fearing for his friends' fate until it was confirmed by the only source he could trust. First he apparated to Grimmauld Place to collect a few leftovers from several weeks ago, then he apparated to a place he'd intended to never return to again.
Privet Drive was still empty, wherever the Dursleys had been moved they must have liked it quite a bit as they had yet to return. Or maybe they had been forgotten about and were still huddled in some drafty hovel fearfully waiting for Voldemort to track them down and murder them for sharing blood with his greatest enemy.
Either way, he didn't care.
He took great pleasure in placing his wreath of asphodel, henbane, and ash wood atop of one Petunia's prized dinner platter and setting the whole thing alight, no doubt irreparably damaging the china. He used one of the pristinely kept steak knives to cut into the flesh of his palm and allowed his blood to mix with the flames.
"Again with the sticks and the flowers. I thought after our last conversation you would have learned, but it seems not. That is most disappointing."
Harry glared coldly at Death. "Whether it has your oh so revered mark of approval or not is no concern to me, it worked in bringing you here and that's all that I care about."
Death snorted inelegantly, he waved his hand and extinguished his fire and then, just to spite him, returned the plate to its once pristine condition. Harry responded by shattering the fine china across the linoleum.
"Well, we are in a mood today, aren't we? What has you in such a snit, little quark?"
"The Heart, does it intend to destroy the wizarding world?"
A slow look of amused realization hijacked Death's features. "This upsets you."
Harry felt something deep within him shatter, he hadn't spoken the words he'd been seeking, but Death's reaction was confirmation enough. "Yes, this upsets me," he hissed. "Those are my people, my family, and you failed to tell me that they would all be dying because of me."
Death didn't even have the grace to look ashamed or repentant. "Lives on earth are so fleeting, entire races and species die out only to be replaced by another in a single day. I confess to having forgotten about their coming extinction."
Harry flinched at his blasé words. "But it can be stopped, yeah? If you harvest the Heart from my soul, would it save them?"
"No, the Heart has been united, it is whole again and it must restore its balance."
"Those are good people," Harry protested. "They've done nothing wrong."
"The Heart makes no distinction between those who used it to do wrong and those who exist now. It was magic that has upset the balance so magic must right it."
Harry wilted, his people would die because of him and, according to Death, nothing, not even the power he was to be granted could stop it. "How long do they have? How long until they're all dead?"
"Oh, it will not be immediate. They will have a century, two if they're careful. But they will no longer grow, no longer thrive, their death will be a slow one." Death idly paced the length of the kitchen, running thin fingers along the lurid, floral studded wallpaper. "The magics that have kept them hidden for so long will fail, it has already begun; those who they wished to keep their existence hidden from will become aware of their lurking presence. They will be frightened of these strange new people, they will want to try to control them, want to regulate their powers. Of course your people will not stand for such a thing. And so there will be war. As it wages, pestilence will strike. Sickness will spread killing the weak and rendering many unable to bear children to continue their lines. The disease will shut down butchers, bakeries, markets, they'll have to venture into the world they are at war with or famine will take them." Death seemed spellbound, almost reverent by this point. "Only when they are weakened, suffering, and unable to reproduce, only then when my Heart feels as if they have paid their due, will I, Death, take them as my own." Death bestowed Harry a smile, both pitying and terrifying. "And then they will be gone, as if they had never existed. The era of magic is ended."
