When Harry turned nine, he finally asked the question he'd been avoiding since finding out about his heritage. 'What happened to Lily and James Potter?'
By then, Harry had come to believe that his invisible friend was exactly who he claimed to be—Death. Between believing that he was a complete nutter or that he was magic, Harry would much prefer the latter. As Death, he would have to know something about what happened to his parents.
Harry wasn't really shocked or surprised when he heard the story of how he'd lost his parents. His companion had of course mentioned the First Wizarding War when explaining what Harry would be submerged into as soon as he made an appearance at Hogwarts. He'd heard tales of the Dark Lord in great battles and the fear that only his name had brought.
Over time he explained more, settling more and more pieces of the puzzle into place for Harry to see. It started with the night his parents were killed and how he had supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord—Harry had scoffed at that part and the incredulity of an infant defeating an all-powerful wizard. The tales were told unbiased and apathetically, which Harry found strangely comforting. People always say that history is written by the victors, and Harry much preferred his information without opinions attached.
Harry found the complex and fantastical tale to be fascinating, and would often ask about Voldemort and Dumbledore and Grindelwald and the epic that had become his life. Harry soaked up all of the information like a sponge, along with more spells and charms and even a hex or two, wizarding etiquette, basic lectures on the wizarding world system and how it relates to the muggle world. It was a lot to take in, but surprisingly, Death was a good teacher. Apparently the dead didn't like to converse with him, they were too scared to, and so he enjoyed discussing the different things he'd witnessed about the changing world (both muggle and magical) around him, with Harry.
When Harry's tenth birthday came and went, Death began to focus more on the Hogwarts curriculum and social structures within the school. Harry's demeanor in regards to Hogwarts mellowed out quite a bit, but he was still very excited to see this new world that'd been just out of his reach all those years.
Along with more information about the school, Harry was also given more information on the man who had killed his parents. More specifically, who he was before he'd barged into Godric's Hollow. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a powerful and prodigal half-blood boy before he slowly transformed into the dreadful Dark Lord that had terrorized Wizarding Britain for decades. An ambitious boy who sought out immortality, despite the grave costs, in order to avoid a mundane and 'muggle death'.
Harry was given vague information about Horcruxes. Harry didn't know the specifics, but he knew the basics of how they were made, how they tampered with the soul, and that Voldemort had somehow made more than one and it was one of the main contributors to Tom Riddle's devolution into Lord Voldemort.
It had shocked Harry to find out just how similar their early lives were. Half-blood orphans left in the care of muggles who feared and hated them. Harry didn't feel bad for Tom. They had such similar experiences, but Harry wasn't headed down the same path. He wasn't consumed by rage or the need to prove he was superior. Harry didn't feel much of anything towards his relatives, in fact. They weren't good people by any stretch, but they also weren't worth the time and effort.
No, what Harry gained from hearing about Tom Riddle was understanding. Tom Riddle was the largest puzzle piece in this whole convoluted and complex story, and without him nothing made sense—Voldemort didn't make sense. But now Harry could understand. He didn't agree with the choices Tom made that led him to becoming Voldemort; in fact, Harry thought that Tom was an idiot and rather petulant for taking so many needless and dangerous shortcuts and allowing the consequences to pile up as he lost his sanity and slowly diverged from his set path.
While Voldemort's chosen path brought him closer to vengeance and total control, Harry, on the other hand, felt no desire to rule anything or to bring any attention towards himself at all. Finding out how famous he was in the Wizarding world had not been a joyful event for Harry. Being ignored was something he was good at, and while it might sting to be ignored by everyone, it also allotted an abundance of privacy that he'd grown to value.
Harry's relationship with his relatives didn't improve—if anything, they became more vicious as his eleventh year approached—but Harry was able to manage much better now that he knew magic. Harry was fairly good at wandless magic and was able to create a system that helped to keep him fed properly and heal any injuries he'd acquired from his 'accidents' or a bashing from Dudley by the next morning. Nearly a decade of malnutrition couldn't be wiped away that easily, though. Harry had gotten himself up from 'sickly' to just 'skinny' over the past couple of years, but he still forgot to eat all too often and it was hard trying to sneak himself food during the day and eating himself full in the cover of night wasn't healthy or nearly enough.
The Dursley's kept their distance though. Since Harry had become quite good at wandless magic, revenge was only that much easier. With the instruction of his companion to learn how to do this rather harmless bit of magic, Harry learned how to release his magic into the air around him. Apparently, Harry's magic was only slightly above average in its raw form for his age, but would still be very oppressive and intimidating to muggles. With a simple cold glare and the temperature dropping significantly as the air seemed choked with magic, his relatives were far more reluctant to go out of their way to bother Harry.
It was quite a useful trick and when Harry asked his friend if wizards and witches used the same trick on each other the being had affirmed that it was a common power play to assert a higher role in the wizarding hierarchy. The dark, immortal creature also seemed convinced that Harry's magic would . . . change? Increase? Something like that, when his eleventh birthday came along.
Harry had steeled his resolve and refused to ask him any questions about what would happen on his eleventh birthday because he knew he wouldn't get an answer and he would only end up more frustrated with not knowing.
…
A little over a month before Harry's eleventh birthday was his dear cousin's birthday. The morning started with the squealing and shrill whining of a spoiled boy who 'only got 36 presents!' Harry was already irritable from the racket Dudley had made trying to sneak down the stairs the night before to get a peek at the gifts laid out around the living room. Harry's headache was a livid pulsing through his skull and behind his eyes as he made breakfast.
Even worse, later as he was serving them breakfast, Harry heard Petunia mention something about Arabella Figg (their next door neighbor) breaking her leg and being unable to watch Harry while they took Dudley to the zoo. Which meant that Harry, Dudley, and Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss would be taking a little trip to the zoo together and Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut about the whole thing.
Vernon Dursley glared at Harry through his rearview mirror throughout the drive to the zoo, as if Harry had somehow snuck into their neighbor's house and broke her leg himself to somehow weasel his way into going to the zoo with them. Even if Harry could do that—which he probably could, considering—why on earth would he want to?
So they made their way to the zoo, packed with rambunctious children that seemed to have been there on a school field trip, judging by all of the matching uniforms flitting around the place unsupervised.
In the Reptile House Harry watched on as his cousin and his friend pounded on the glass like Neanderthals to try and force the coiled up Boa constrictor to wake up and 'do bloody something!' Harry was thinking about how the smooth scales would feel under the pads of his fingertips and just how powerful its constriction would be when Dudley and Piers wandered off to look at Kimono Dragons and the snake finally lifted its head from the heap of olive green and black patterned scales.
Feeling the absence of his companion's chatter all morning, Harry decided to ramble idly to the snake. To his bewilderment, the snake seemed to understand him and responded with a lethargic nod. His wonder was interrupted when Harry was suddenly roughly shoved out of the way and to the ground so Dudley could shriek and pound the glass like a gorilla. A tendril of hate curled tight in Harry's chest as he imagined strong and thick coils wrapping around the squishy body of his cousin and squeezing until—
The glass vanished and Dudley toppled right over into the tank with the snake. Harry's focus was solely for the constrictor as it slid out of its tank and onto the same cement floor Harry was still sprawled on. Then, suddenly the snake spoke in a low hissing tone and thanked Harry before declaring he would go to Brazil. The screams of other terrified patrons filled Harry's ears and he couldn't help but wince at the trouble he'd undoubtedly caused himself.
That was the first bit of unintentional magic Harry had done since Death had begun teaching him how to get a hold on his magic.
The incident seemed to pull said being's attention back to him and Harry immediately asked him if that snake was magical or actually a wizard or witch like what his companion had mentioned some time ago, animagus, wasn't it?
'No, even in the animagus form, animals couldn't talk. What you experienced is what I believe to be Parseltongue. It's an extremely rare ability among wizards that is particularly unique to the Slytherin bloodline. As of now, with Voldemort being the last of that line in the world—other branching lines are far too diluted for the ability to appear—you and him are the only Parselmouths I know of.' Death answered with a slight hint of fascination. Harry hadn't even noticed he was speaking a different language. The prospect of an entire language passed through DNA was incredible, but something else struck him before he could dwell on the possible implications of this newfound ability.
'Wait, does that mean that he and I are related?' Harry frowned slightly, positive that he would have remembered the house name being mentioned when they had talked about Harry's ancestry and lordships.
'Of course not, little one. It's to do with the night you last faced each other. Don't worry about it right now, it's yet to be important. I think you should be more focused on the ghastly plum color your uncle is turning.' Death pointed out and Harry's mind snapped back to the present.
…
By the time Harry was shoved back into his cupboard with the door locked securely behind him, his head felt like it was splitting from the constant screeching from his aunt and growled threats from his uncle. Harry swears that if harpies existed, Petunia must take after one somewhere in the family tree.
Harry wasn't actually upset about being locked in his cupboard again. It seemed that this whole 'balance' thing is really throwing its all at Harry. Every other day he seems to be caught in some life-threatening situation that only magic could help him out of. As much as Harry hated to admit it, one of the safest places for him—so close to his birthday—was probably right there in that cupboard.
Harry took his punishment of a week in his cupboard sans meals without a fuss and soon returned to a summer of hard labor and gardening and cleaning and cooking until his fingers and back ached and his mind lulled into the numb buzz his chores always brought on.
Harry felt equal parts nervous and queasy thinking about his birthday and everything that comes after. The thought of getting his wand and all of his school supplies, of seeing Diagon Alley for the first time and Gringotts, of meeting other wizards and getting his hands on magical books! It all had him nearly bursting out of his skin and running off to go do all those things early.
…
Harry's Hogwarts letter arrived a week before his birthday. The moment he saw the red wax seal on the back of an envelope he sent the letter zipping through the air soundlessly and slipping under the door to his cupboard so he could read it later. Knowing his relatives as he did, whatever reaction they might have to the letter beckoning him into the world they despised was bound to be dreadful.
Later that night, when Harry was finally alone, he read the letter inviting him to attend Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry with a list of required materials on the back. Tucked between the pages was a train ticket with words that seemed to catch in the light and show different words underneath. Underneath, Harry was able to read 'Hogwarts Express' and 'Platform 9 ¾.' It also told Harry the time and place of departure. Harry figured that this must be how students got to Hogwarts.
Harry didn't want to wait until his birthday to get everything he needed, but his friend had informed him that he would first need to access his Gringotts vault(s) and since he had neither a key nor adult escort, it would be best to wait until his magic was fully settled before trying to claim anything. He hadn't fully understood what that all meant, but he didn't ask because too many 'useless' questions made for a very irritable Death. Harry nearly rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of that thought.
…
The morning of July 31st began with Harry waking up much later than he usually would and sticky with a clammy sheen over his whole body. Every joint and bone and even tooth ached and his muscles trembled slightly as he got out of bed. When Harry left his cupboard he was immediately reprimanded from another room for being lazy and sleeping half the day away. Fortunately, Harry was too busy trying to stumble his way to the loo to really hear any of it.
Once there, Harry was met with the frightening reflection of himself. His grey-pale skin was shinny with a cold sweat, colorless and fragile enough that the blue and purple veins under his skin were visible all over. His eyes were bloodshot and the purple smudges underneath only made it so much worse. He looked hunched and frail and so close to the brink of death even he didn't think he should be up walking around.
Death was an extreme conclusion to jump to, but Harry's fever-delirious brain was refusing to take logical steps, leaping immediately to horrible situations and possibilities.
'What's happening? Is something wrong? Am I dying?' Even his mental voice sounded meek and slightly raspy. There was a long silence that followed. Every passing second caused the panic to rise in Harry's gut until it wrapped around his throat and made it harder to breathe.
'Calm down Harry. . . This is exactly what's supposed to happen, so don't worry. I guess that it is time to tell you, since you have made it far enough and survived my requirements. . .'
Fever and aching muscles forgotten, Harry felt a burst of energy as he eagerly awaited the answers he'd been craving for years! Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, Harry stared blankly at the decorative hand towels as all of his focus went to whatever his friend was about to say.
'When Voldemort cast the killing curse on you, you didn't actually survive. Your bright soul came through the veil and warmed even my cold dead hands with its light. For several reasons—including how much of a waste your death would be and how interesting the land of the living would become if I gave you a second chance—I decided to bring you back. I asked your soul for permission first, of course. I told your soul that if you could survive until your eleventh birthday without me interfering with the universe trying to balance for your revival, then I would bestow several gifts upon you so that your soul could have a chance at gaining what it so desired.
'The first gift is a portion of my own magic. It is a completely insignificant amount to me, but it will be quite . . . beneficialfor you. My second gift is actually something that I had given to one of your ancestors; the cloak of invisibility is so strong and impervious, even Death can't find you!' That part came with a hearty chuckle that made Harry feel a little more relaxed. That is, until Death continued.
'My last and most important gift is, immortality. If you die, you will cross into the land of the dead, and then be whisked back into your body before it even starts to cool. Aside from coming back each time you die, you will also be more resilient to death in general. My gift, for becoming such a dear friend and companion to me, Harry Potter, is the ability to do whatever you like and achieve anything you want without fear of a timeline. Immortality is not a gift without burdens, but having gotten to know you I do not regret my decision for a single moment.
'I care not what you do with your gift, I do not bother with light or dark and the state of the world is not my concern. All I ask from you is that you use this gift to find happiness. I have watched your life from the veil, I have witnessed your suffering without being able to do anything but watch until you were much older. I have, for the first time, felt sorrow for a human and I will admit to the devastation it brought me. Find what your spirit calls for in the night and I will be content with my decision.'
Harry's mind reeled with this new information, though it didn't feel quite real yet. He felt detached from it, like they were talking only in the hypothetical. Which is why he had no problem asking,
'And what is it? What does my soul 'call out for' so to speak?' The question felt like it had more weight than everything Death had spoken of in the last few minutes. Something so deep and . . . vulnerable had him feeling hesitant. Did he really want to know what his soul desired? It was too late to take the question back now, though, with the answer already filling the air behind him.
'It calls for the song of another. Not quite the same, but they make such a beautiful melody together. It will come, in time. When it does, I wish you all the happiness.' There were faint underlying notes of pride in his companion's tone that made Harry feel both happy and distressed at the same time. Pressure, especially emotional pressure, was not something that Harry dealt with well. It was never a requirement in his life, there were barely any positive expectations for him at all, much less ones to be emotionally competent with others.
Not wanting to linger on the uncomfortable topic of souls and songs and what have you, Harry changed the subject to a more urgent matter.
'So . . . how does this work? I feel like shite until the exact time of my birth? Or is my body just adjusting to the new gifts?' Harry could still feel the energy seeping from his body as the minutes ticked by. If his companion hadn't seemed so sure that this is exactly what was supposed to happen, Harry would have feared that this was the universes' last leg at wiping him out, one last super-sickness to get him for sure this time.
'Not quite . . . yes and no. Your primary gift is immortality, Harry. In order to accept your gifts, you must first give one last sacrifice before you reap the rewards. Your body is adjusting in order to receive these gifts, primarily, it's adjusting your magical core to make room. That is why you feel . . . 'like shite' and it will continue to get worse until finally you heart stops and you make your first visit to me with your gifts. You will, of course, be sent back right away, but the experience will be exhausting since you will have no energy left to begin with. I'm sure that you will pass out as soon as you come back so you don't have to worry about the discomfort of your core adjusting.'
The words sent a ringing shock through Harry's body and it all seemed to finally snap into focus. This is real! I'm going to die, and then come back? I've died before! Will it hurt? What if he's wrong? What if I don't come back?
The panic was settling in.
It felt like he was in a vacuum.
Too much pressure. No air.
Black smudged the edges of his vision. His bum hit cold linoleum floors and he curled in on himself.
'Calm down, Harry. . . You need to breathe and focus or else you'll pass out. Raise your arms above your head . . . a little higher—that's it! Now focus on slower deeper breaths. Don't worry about whether you can feel it yet or not, just go through the motions and the breath will come.'
When the panic slowly began to subside, Harry found himself with his back bowed against the porcelain tub and his knees close to his face. It took quite a while to come back down from the panic attack, but all too soon reality came back in the form of Dudley pounding on the door yelling something about taking a shower.
Harry sighed deeply and pushed himself off of the floor with shaky arms and legs. A few hours later found him back in his cupboard, clutching a bottle of water loosely in his hand as sweat dripped down from his hair line and down his back as he panted hoarsely with eyes half closed. Harry was leaning against the wall opposite of the door, staring at off-white paint had had been scraped away in some places in long scratches that came from blunt little fingernails.
Harry didn't know exactly when it was going to happen, but it felt like any second now. His heart thudded lethargically in his chest and the low pulsating thrum in his ears marked the time slipping away.
While he could still move, Harry shifted until he was laying on his back and staring up at the worn wooden underbelly of the stairs. Instead of thinking about . . . certain undesirable topics, Harry decided to think about one of his favorite stories. The rich and indulgent tales of Alice in Wonderland. Harry had always hoped that one day he would see a white rabbit hopping through the garden muttering under its breath about being late. He always hoped that he'd stumble upon a rabbit hole on accident that took him far away from 4 Privet Drive.
Closing his eyes, Harry pushed through the rasp of his vocal cords in order to hum a soft and haunting tune under his breath. He didn't know where he'd heard it from, perhaps one of the movies they blare from the living room, but it soothed him. His breath evened out and his sore body relaxed against the cot as the minor notes filled his space and washed over his mind like cool water on an overheated body. He found as much comfort in the haunting song as one might find in his mother's arms, as strange as it sounded.
As the last mournful note rang through the air with surprising clarity, Harry didn't pull in another breath and he fell asleep. . . At least, that's what it felt like at the time.
When Harry opened his eyes again he was standing in a small meadow in the middle of a forest. Vivid and bright colors would have hurt his eyes, had it been real. Had he been alive.
Thick, ancient trees surrounded him, covered in moss and crackled old bark. A babbling brook somewhere nearby filled the area with a delicate trickling melody and the cool breeze carried hissed notes that were harmonious through the trees. The grass was thick and soft beneath his bare feet while the sun gently warmed his skin. The sweet scent of thriving nature untouched by man filled his lungs and he felt like laughing with how amazing it felt, despite him never being much of an outdoorsy person.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Harry whipped around at the sound of a familiar voice and couldn't help but grin at the imposing figure before him. A towering, yet hunched, being made of shadows and billowing black robes that even the sun couldn't touch. Harry was laughing before he even realized he wanted to laugh. 'Found something humorous, have you?' Death asked with amusement in his own voice. Harry took a moment to settle down before answering, though the grin didn't dissipate what-so-ever.
"Yeah, you! I just imagine all the poor souls who died and thought that they were in heaven before seeing you! You must have scared quite a few in your time." Harry mused, imagining the terrified shrieks and squeals when their dream land suddenly gained one hell of a nightmare.
'If you were anyone else, I would have taken great offense to that.' Death said, though the grin was easy to hear in his voice and there was no hint of a threat in his words. 'As much as I would enjoy talking with you here for a while longer, I'm afraid you must leave now. It won't matter later on, but as it is your first time here, lingering for too long would not be wise. Do take my previous advice and rest when you return. When you're ready, we'll take that trip to Diagon Alley and get your supplies.' Death said as he approached Harry.
Once Death stood directly in front of him, Harry didn't get the chance to speak before one black skeletal hand pressed gently against his chest and it felt like someone had slammed his bare heart with a sledge hammer before the world around him snapped into nothingness.
