Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was having one of the longest weeks of his one hundred eleven year long life. Granted, it wasn't nearly as hard as when he accidentally murdered his sister and lost both his brother and his lover as a consequence, or when he later had to fight and capture said lover who had turned into a genocidal maniac, but he didn't have so much to do back then.

It was mid-morning on Friday and Albus let himself relax in his office chair at Hogwarts for a moment. He was a tall and skinny old man, with a long white beard and long white hair and half-moon spectacles perched on a long nose broken long ago by his brother. He let out a small sigh and clasped his hands together on his lap. In his many years, he had learned one thing – there is no such thing as a coincidence. Everything that had happened was connected, and he had his suspicions which he dared not express. The consequences of what he was thinking were far too terrible to consider.

It had been mid-afternoon Tuesday when Albus had received an urgent summons by patronus to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He arrived to a madhouse but Director Amelia Bones quickly filled him in on the situation: Peter Pettigrew had turned up, alive and bound, in the middle of the Auror Office. Besides the gross security breach, Pettigrew's survival completely blew apart the case against one of the most famous Death Eaters, Sirius Black. Albus sighed sadly. Poor Sirius, to think he had spent 10 years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. Albus was aware of how much he had failed the young Black, but the end of the war had been such a chaotic time. Thankfully, Sirius had been removed from Azkaban and was now recovering under armed guard.

Soon after the revelation of Pettigrew's resurrection, Alastor arrived with a report of a powerful witch and wizard that showed up out of nowhere with fake names. Albus had watched the conversation Alastor and Nymphadora had had with Hercules Black and Samantha Clover and, much to his surprise, he did not immediately recognize either of them, nor were they glamoured. He had his suspicions as to their identities, but, again, he didn't like thinking about them. And there was the matter of the phoenix tattoo, that also showed up on the car Nymphadora had seen earlier that same day. Albus knew it – it was the symbol for the Order of the Phoenix, his own organization he formed to fight Voldemort. Not many knew the symbol, and even fewer would flaunt it. Despite the mystery surrounding them, he did not think either Hercules or Samantha necessarily malicious, but they were definitely responsible for bringing Pettigrew in, and were planning more.

And more did happen – Bartemius Crouch Jr similarly showed up out of thin air bound and alive, despite having died in Azkaban a decade ago. This threw the legacy of his father, a controversial figure during and since the war, into further doubt, as it was soon revealed that Bartemius Crouch Sr was responsible for Barty Jr's escape despite knowing of his son's guilt, and had been using the Imperius Curse on him for almost 10 years straight. He resigned in disgrace and turned himself into the already frantically overworked DMLE. Crouch Sr was the Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, so the ICW was up in arms that they had been dealing with a criminal diplomat and were demanding answers.

Then, one of the Minister of Magic's undersecretaries had been stripped of her magic. Albus had always thought Dolores Umbridge an odious woman, even as a student, but it worried him. Removing the magic from someone, or removing someone's access to magic, was thought to be impossible and the Department of Mysteries had whisked her away immediately for study. Minister Cornelius Fudge was terrified and demanded even further security from the strained DMLE.

On top of all of this, the goblins were on the brink of rebellion again. It appeared that Black and Clover had managed to break into the Ancient Vault of Lestrange and escaped undetected. It was the first time in history an Ancient Vault had been breached and the goblins only knew of the trespass because their daily inspection revealed it to be picked completely clean. The only consolation Albus or Dirk Creswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, could offer Chief Ragnok was that they had no idea what magic could have been used for the heist which, it turned out, was not very consoling.

This is all not to mention Albus's personal headache. Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, a man – or half-giant – Albus considered a son, had beat Gilderoy Lockhart, best-selling author and, at the time, incoming Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, within an inch of his life. If Nymphadora hadn't intervened, Gilderoy would have certainly been murdered by Rubeus, who was enraged beyond reason. Albus could not muster up much sympathy for Gilderoy. After Miss Clover knocked out his teeth and fled the scene, Rubeus went to help and, when he picked up a tooth, he recognized it as unicorn ivory. Unicorns are the most peaceful creatures in the world and, while they might give hair to wizards they trust and there are legends of them bequeathing horns, dealing in their ivory was unconscionable.

Gilderoy was, of course, arrested and sang like a canary, and the investigation into the dealers and poachers was going swimmingly, but there were many witnesses that saw a berserk half-giant almost beat a celebrity to death, and most of those witnesses were fans of the celebrity. Gilderoy was being strung up by the press, but Rubeus was being strung up right beside him. Even if he avoided prison time, there was no way he would ever work at Hogwarts again. The parents would never allow it and Rubeus, for however much people thought him slow or stupid, could see the writing on the wall. He had already tendered his misspelled and tearstained resignation. It might be for the best – the man had never really stretched his wings.

Albus's moment of contemplation was interrupted by a loud squealing. His blue eyes widened and darted to the source of the sound – it was one of the many innocuous trinkets that filled the glass fronted cabinets in his office. It was a small porcelain pig, now animated and running in circles, squealing loudly. Albus jumped to his feet, waved his wand to silence the pig, and dashed towards his fireplace. He retrieved some floo powder from a secret pocket in his sleeve and threw it into the cold hearth.

"Number 7 Privet Drive," he called and thrust his head into the green flames. After a swirl of fire, he was looking into a small cramped living room that smelled strongly of cat urine. He listened carefully, but could not detect any sound of spellfire or screams. "Arabella! Arabella!"

Arabella Figg, the owner of the house and watcher of Harry Potter, ran into the living room wearing oven mitts. She was a small, shrivelled woman with lank grey hair and large sad eyes. "Headmaster Dumbledore!" she said in alarm. "What's the problem?"

"There are wizards at number 4," Albus said. "I will be coming through momentarily with company."

"But Harry's not even here –" Arabella started, but Albus had already removed his head. He threw in more floo powder and opened a channel to his two most trusted colleagues. "Minerva, Severus, please come to my office immediately."

Minerva McGonagall, his deputy headmistress, arrived through the fireplace a moment later. She was a tall and severe witch with her steel-grey hair tied back in a tight bun and horn-rimmed glasses. "What is the meaning of this, Albus?" she asked. "Do you have any idea how busy I am?"

Albus smiled tiredly. "I believe I do," he said. "Nonetheless, our attention is needed."

The fireplace burst into green flames again and Potions Master Severus Snape stepped through with his black robes billowing. Snape had a waxy complexion, greasy black hair, and a large nose. "What's happening?" he asked as soon as he stepped through.

"There are wizards at the home of Harry Potter," Albus said. Minerva drew in a sudden breath and Severus's dark eyes narrowed. "Fortunately, Harry is not home, but his family is still in danger. Let us away."

He turned and opened the floo to Arabella's house again. He stepped through and saw Arabella peering through the curtains out onto the street. One of the woman's many cats pressed itself against Albus's leg.

"Arabella," he called as Severus and Minerva filled the cramped room. Arabella turned around to reveal she was holding another cat. "What's happening?"

Arabella shook her head. "Nothing, Albus," she said. "There's a car out there, and a young man leaning against the hood. He doesn't seem like a wizard."

Albus looked back sharply at Minerva and Severus. He had discussed Hercules Black and Samantha Clover with both of them, and had shown them the complete memories provided by Alastor and Nymphadora. Albus looked back towards the gap in the curtains and, quiet as a mouse, he padded his way to the window.

He reached out with his wand and drew back an edge of the lace curtain. He peered outside of see Hercules Black leaning against the hood of a light grey 1978 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am and drinking through a straw from a styrofoam cup. Hercules saw Albus looking and gave him a smile and a wave. Their eyes caught for a moment, and Albus was struck by the strange grey hue to the younger wizards'. He darted back behind the curtain and looked at his colleagues.

"It's Black," Albus said quietly. "Which means Clover should be close by."

Severus clenched his jaw. "Black is the more dangerous, we should attack now," he said.

"What's he doing?" Minerva asked.

Albus absently pet a cat that was sleeping on the back of an arm chair next to him. "He's waiting," he said. "For us, if I had to guess." He sniffed the air. "Oh, Arabella, I believe your muffins are burning."

Arabella's eyes widened and she dashed out of the living room to rescue them.

"A trap?" Severus asked and flinched away from a cat that was trying to rub against him.

Albus shook his head and put his wand away. Minerva and Severus glanced at each other. "I believe Hercules Black is ready to talk," he said and walked towards the front door. "Be on your guard, all the same. We still know so little about them."

Albus took a deep breath and opened the door. Hercules was smiling widely and Albus took the chance to get a better sense of the young man. The unfortunate thing about memories is that they're tainted by the mind of the person who provided the memory. Hercules wasn't different, per se, than Alastor or Nymphadora thought, but it was hard to accurately gauge a person based on memories. As well, a century of exploring the deepest secrets of magic had given Albus the capability to sense magic, to a certain extent. And what he sensed from Hercules Black scared the shit out of him. Not only was the young man immensely powerful, but the power felt terribly cold and bleak. He didn't feel dark by any means, but there was something deeply dark about him.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" Hercules called as the three educators approached him. "Professor McGonagall, Master Snape. A pleasure to meet you."

Hercules offered a hand to Albus, who accepted it. "Hercules Black, I presume," he said. Hercules smiled again and offered his hand to Minerva and Severus, who both refused. "I was hoping to meet your companion, Miss Clover, as well."

Hercules smirked. "Sam's dealing with some business inside," he said. "But we're free to chat for a few minutes."

"Minerva, go get her," Albus said. His deputy darted forward but was frozen in her tracks. Albus looked down to see Hercules's wand in his hand. Albus blinked – he didn't even see the young man move and, more than that, he didn't sense his magic at all. "Mr. Black, please let her go."

Hercules raised his eyebrows at the taller man, but lowered his wand and put it away. Minerva fell to the ground and glared at him. "Sorry, Sam gave me strict orders to not let anyone interfere, and she can get scary," Hercules said. "But relax, she knows what happens when harmful magic is cast on the property."

Albus kept his stare at the young man level, but nodded at Minerva to stand down. That last tidbit of information confirmed that his worst fears to explain what had been happening was true.

"Very well, as long as we have a few minutes to chat," Albus said. His voice was strained. He hadn't been this angry in a very long time. "May I ask why you travelled twelve years back in time, Mr. Potter."

Minerva and Severus turned to him in shock, then to Hercules. Hercules had a slight smile on his face and he shook his head. "I forgot how smart you are, Albus," he said and smiled again. This time it was sad and tired – a smile Albus knew he himself had worn many times. "It is good to see you again."

Albus glared at the young man. "Retrieve Miss Clover and please join us at Hogwarts," he said. "I suspect I cannot force you, but you wanted to speak with me and I am afraid of the damage I might do to this neighbourhood if we continue the conversation here."

He turned and stalked back towards Arabella's house, hoping there was a damn good reason why Harry Potter had destroyed the future. He didn't bother to see if Severus or Minerva were following.

Some other time… Some other place…

It was the consensus of other flats in Hargrave Court that Samantha Clover was a good neighbour and tenant. She never made noise, she never made trouble, she always sorted her litter, and she never took up the laundry room. She was always willing to lend a hand to some of the older folks with their groceries and always showed up with soup if someone was sick. There was something off about her, though. She never had any visitors and she never socialized with any of the neighbours beyond polite small talk, and even that was stilted. She was often seen coming and going at all hours and her curtains were always drawn. She also knew more than she should – she knew where Mr. Gibson's dog had run off to and she knew that Mrs. Scott's husband ran out on her before anyone else.

It was a surprise, then, when Mrs. Scott saw a well-dressed, and rather attractive, young man knock on Samantha's door one wintery Sunday morning. She lingered in the hall for a few minutes to admire the dark-haired man, who filled out the grey suit and coat he was wearing quite well. Then, the door opened, Samantha's arm reached out and pulled him in, and Mrs. Scott finally had some gossip on the reclusive and enigmatic young woman.

Inside the large and messy flat, the young man was pressed against the door, Samantha's wand under his chin. She was wearing an oversized grey wool sweater and pyjama shorts and her white-blonde hair was unbrushed. She had been enjoying a cup of tea and a trashy book when she had heard a knock on her door.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Only her neighbours knew where she lived. She had been very careful not to let anyone else know. The man was very pale with intense grey eyes and straight black hair. If he was a muggle, she would just erase his memory and send him on his way, but she was positive he was magical.

The man raised his eyebrows and smirked. Samantha dug her wand further into his jaw and he winced. "Easy there, Greengrass," the man said and Samantha's eyes widened. "Do you really not recognize me? I mean, it's been a while since my picture's been out there, but – "

Samantha's brain made a wild, impossible leap. "Potter?" she asked, then immediately dismissed the idea. Potter had messy hair and wore glasses, and had a scar on his forehead. This man had none of these, even if he bore a passing resemblance to the missing celebrity.

The man smirked. "In the flesh," he said.

"Liar," Samantha growled. Harry Potter hadn't been in the public eye for almost a year, when he suddenly left the Auror Corps and stopped attending events. There were rumours around the Ministry that no one, not even his friends, had heard from him.

The man raised his eyebrows over pale grey eyes that were definitely not Potter's. "I mean, I am," he said. "We went to school together. In third year, I slipped a jellied eel down your robe in Potions class. You were impressively stoic about it."

Samantha's eyes narrowed. Potter had put a jellied eel down her robe, and it had taken all of the etiquette training her estranged blood purist parents had drilled into her as a child not to react. No one had known about the slimy dead thing in her clothes, except for Potter. But that had been another life.

The man sighed. "Look, you're an unspeakable," he said. She tried not to react – her career was her most closely guarded secret and half the reason for her reclusive lifestyle. "You have veritaserum around here somewhere, give me a drop and I'll tell you the truth."

She dug her wand into his jaw further. "I am not going to drop my guard," she said.

The man smirked again, then raised a hand which held her veritaserum – it had her hand-written label on it. "I have it right here," he said.

At this point, Samantha decided to stun the man. There was a flash of red light and he slumped to the ground. She bound him extra-tight and waved her wand in a complicated pattern. She frowned at the series of lights she saw – her wards were still completely intact. This man hadn't even registered. She looked down at him again, then at the veritaserum that had rolled out of his hand.

She retrieved it and forced the man's mouth open. She dripped three drops of the powerful truth potion on his tongue, stepped back, and woke him up. He blinked; his once intense eyes now glassy.

"What is your name?" Samantha asked.

"Harry Potter," the man said listlessly. Samantha furrowed her brow. It wasn't possible, but he was either telling the truth or thought he was telling the truth.

"Why do you look different?" she asked.

"I became the Master of Death," the man replied, and Samantha's legs lost all of their strength.

She crumpled to the ground. "What?" she asked.

The man frowned. "Er, I don't –" he said and shook his head. His eyes returned to their former intensity. "Sorry, I wasn't sure how to answer that one. Can you free me?"

Samantha stared at him. Three drops of veritaserum should be enough to make a giant spout the truth for at least ten minutes, and he shook it in less than one. Of course, this was Harry Potter and the Master of Death, apparently. She fought the urge to laugh hysterically. According to legend, the Master of Death is he who reunites the Deathly Hallows – objects that it is said Death itself gave to magical-kind. Samantha never thought such a thing would be anything beyond legend. She was obsessed with the magic of death; she had written her thesis on ghosts and she had joined the unspeakables to further her research.

"Right, I guess you're processing," Harry said. Samantha had accepted he was Harry Potter – magic had, after all, done stranger things. He stood up, sloughing the ropes that bound him as casually as a blanket, and stretched. "Mind if I grab a drink? You look like you could use one, too."

He walked past where Samantha was sitting. This meant that Harry had the Hallows, no wonder he could slip past her wards like nothing. He had the Death's Cloak of Invisibility, for Merlin's sake. Does this mean he's dead? Probably not but there was definitely a change to his appearance and body. He must have some sort of advanced metabolism if the veritaserum wore off so quickly, or was that his magic reacting? Does that mean he could have fought off the truth potion at any point? Had he been affected at all?

Her questioning train of thought were interrupted by a glass of white wine floating in front of her eyes. She looked from it to Harry, who had a beer. She wondered where he got it from, as she didn't have any in the apartment. She accepted the glass. She took a long sip and closed her eyes, savouring the cool sweet taste for a moment. Then she opened them and looked at Harry.

"What happened?" she asked. "When did you become Master of Death? And what does that mean?"

"Well, I don't know," he said and took a sip of his beer. Samantha stared at him. "For all three questions."

Samantha pinched the bridge of her nose and got to her feet. Shakily, she walked past him to collapse between stacks of books on her antique sofa. Her flat was much larger than any other in Hargrave Court thanks to expansion charms, and she had filled it to the brim with books, scrolls, chalkboards, and models. The room they were in was her sitting room and study, while her kitchen doubled as a potions lab and her bedroom was also her library. Harry floated some books off of a chair and sat down. She looked at him and realized this was the first time they had ever properly spoken, if this could even count as a conversation.

"Why are you here?" she asked. She should have asked before but everything happened so fast. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

Harry shrugged. "You're the top expert on death who won't turn me in to their superiors for experiments," he said.

Samantha clamped down on her occlumency shields but didn't detect any breach. "How're you so sure?" she asked.

He smirked. "You think I'd reveal myself without doing my research?" he said. "I've been watching you for a while."

Samantha's eyes widened and she felt the sudden urge to take a shower. "That is highly inappropriate," she said stiffly.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, but it was necessary," he said.

Samantha glared at him, then shook her head. She could find a way to make him pay later, but for now she wanted answers. Samantha cleared some space on the coffee table in front of her, not minding the books, scrolls, and empty tea cups that fell, and pulled up a blank scroll and a quill.

"Start from the beginning," she said. "The first thing that you think would be relevant."

Harry nodded and furrowed his brow. "First thing would probably be when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby," he said.

Samantha glared at him. "I already know about that, Potter," she said.

Harry shrugged. "I figure it might be important since I became Master of Death later but whatever, you're the unspeakable," he said. It was a good point and Samantha knew it, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging so. "Anyway, during the war, I happened to reunite the Deathly Hallows."

Samantha stared at him. "You… happened to?" she asked. Countless witches and wizards had dedicated their lives to reuniting the Deathly Hallows and no one had ever found even one. She herself had tried to trace the history of the Elder Wand and gave up.

Harry scratched his forehead, now smooth and scarless. "I guess Dumbledore found them and gave them to me, kind of," he said. "It was complicated. Anyway, I got the Hallows and I died." Samantha stared at him again, slack jawed. "Or, I died and then got the Hallows. It's kind of like – I had the allegiance of the wand –"

At this point I'll interrupt the narrative. You don't need to read Harry attempt to explain something you already know. Needless to say, Harry eventually brings Samantha up to speed about the state of the Deathly Hallows and his own soul – since he will also tell her about the horcruxes and such – at the end of the war. She had to drink another glass of wine to both believe and comprehend the insane magic Harry had been immersed in.

"Okay," Samantha said, as she flexed her hand – it hurt from taking so many notes. Her head was buzzing a bit, too. "But at that point, you still looked like – you." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Sorry. I'm guessing something else happened, maybe a year ago, that caused you to change and retreat from everyone?"

Harry nodded. He stood up and paced a few steps to stretch his legs. "Yeah, I, er, died," he said. "Again."

Samantha was, by this point, inoculated to declarations like this, so she instead nodded and pulled out another roll of parchment. "What happened?" she asked.

Harry winced a bit and scratched his forehead again. "I was on the job, tracking down a coven in Wiltshire, and one of them got the drop on me," he said and rubbed his chest. "Got me with a heart-rupturing hex. Hurt like hell, I tell you." He laughed without joy and walked back to the coffee table where he had set his beer. He took a long sip.

Samantha examined him for a moment. Harry Potter had been an antagonistic force in school – he was everything she and her house hated. He was this dumb as rocks, mediocre, all-brawn-no-brain jock who, if you believed the rumours, could get away with murder because Dumbledore thought he could do no wrong. But then the war happened, and Potter emerged as the saviour of the wizarding world, again, except this time he could act the part. He threw himself into reconstructing everything that had been destroyed. He met with foreign dignitaries, he courted old money, he attended every charity event and auction and threw his own. All the while, he worked as an auror, wracking up high profile arrest after high profile arrest and revolutionizing the methods by which they operated. Everyone was saying he'd soon be the youngest Director in DMLE history, and it was common consensus that it was only a matter of when, not if, he'd win the position of Minister of Magic.

Then, one day, almost a year ago, the front page of The Daily Prophet proclaimed that Harry Potter had resigned from the Auror Department with no comment from Potter himself, who had become a media darling. Days and weeks and months went by without a word or appearance and the wizarding world collectively lost their minds. Everyone constantly speculated about what had happened to Potter and Samantha wished they would just shut up. She figured he probably finally took a vacation for once in his life. But no, apparently, he had died and became the Master of Death, and it had taken a heavy toll on him.

"I said when I died before, I was at King's Cross," Harry continued and Samantha nodded. "I wasn't there this time, I was somewhere else, a misty forest, and it wasn't Dumbledore waiting for me, it was Death."

"You met Death?" Samantha asked.

"I think I did," Harry said. He sat down again. "It was a hooded figure in a black robe and I couldn't see their face. They had skeleton hands, though. And their voice was… awful. Like a cold wind on a moonless night."

Samantha nodded. "So, it was Death," she said.

Harry nodded. "They said as much, then bowed, and welcomed me as their master," he said. He took another sip of his beer. "I didn't really know what they were talking about, so they explained. Basically, I can't die now."

Samantha blinked. "You – can't die," she said. She had suspected as much so far, but to hear it stated so plainly was mind-boggling.

Harry shook his head and slumped in his chair. "I'm still wrapping my head around it," he said. "I haven't, you know, tried, but I know I'm different. I'm powerful – too powerful."

Samantha nodded. "The way you escaped my binding hex shouldn't be possible," she said. "Were you even stunned?" Harry looked at her and shook his head. "And the veritaserum?"

"I could've broken it at any time," he admitted. "But I didn't."

"You did," Samantha countered. Harry waved a hand. "And you could've just been acting like you were under its influence, you seem powerful enough to mimic its effects."

Harry shrugged. "You'll just have to trust me," he said. She sneered at him and he laughed. "Hey, there's the Ice Queen I remember."

Samantha set her jaw. "That was a long time ago," she said. "If you hadn't noticed, I left that life behind."

Harry laughed and Samantha glared at him. "Right, here's the thing," he said and looked her in the eye, suddenly serious. She flinched – he was intimidating with his strange grey eyes. "I'm trusting you with a lot here, Greengrass. You may go by Clover or Unspeakable Plume now, but I remember who you were. So, I have to ask, are you still a blood purist bitch?"

Samantha set her jaw and consciously controlled her breathing. "I stayed behind at the Battle of Hogwarts," she said.

Harry nodded. "I remember, you tended the wounded, got a medal for it," he said. "Doesn't really answer the question. Lots of blood purists ended up hating Voldemort, you could've just been braver than most."

"I don't believe blood purity has any bearing on a witch or wizard's magical ability or societal value," Samantha said slowly.

Harry looked at her for a long moment. "I guess trust goes both ways," he said and stood up. "If you've really left all of that behind, then I guess it's nice to meet you, Samantha Clover." He offered a hand and, after some hesitance, Samantha shook it. He smiled. "Can I call you Sam?"

"I guess," Samantha said and Harry sat back down. "So, back to your encounter with Death, what happened next?"

"Right, well, naturally, I was a bit freaked out," he said. "I wasn't really comprehending what was happening and I asked to go back to, you know, the real world. And, I guess since I'm its master, Death complied. And I woke up back in my body, but it was different and I felt different. The witch that killed me was slumped against a wall and knocked out. I erased her memory of encountering me, took out the rest of the coven, and sent them to the aurors along with my resignation."

"And you disappeared," Samantha finished for him. He nodded. "Have you been in contact with anyone?" Harry shook his head. "Not even your fiancée?"

He winced. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley had been the it-couple of wizarding society since the end of the war. They were picture-perfect at every event and, as she was the star seeker of the Holyhead Harpies, their mutual celebrity kept them in the pages of Witch Weekly issue after issue. The news of their engagement had sold out multiple printings of The Quibbler, to which the couple had given all of their exclusives.

"I – don't know what to tell them," Harry said. His face fell into shadow and a heavy weight seemed to appear on his shoulders. "I'm not – human now, I don't think. I don't get hungry or thirsty or tired. I can still eat and sleep but it's almost like I'm just going through the motions." He looked at his hand and flexed it. "This is still flesh and blood but the magic that fills me now is – something else." He shook his head. "How can I have a family? If – if I can't die, how could I watch generations of my family, my loved ones, die?"

Samantha frowned. "But you're the Master of Death," she said. "You can stop that, can't you?"

Harry looked at her. "Can I?" he asked. She realized he genuinely didn't know. "Would I? Should I?" He picked up his beer can and realized it was empty. He put it down with a small groan and conjured another out of thin air with a wave of his wand. "Everything's different now. How can I face them? How can I explain what happened?"

"You could explain it to me," Samantha pointed out.

Harry smirked. "No offense, but you're easy," he said. Samantha scowled at him. "You don't care about me and I don't care about you. I can tell by the way you're looking at me. When you're not glaring, you're trying to figure out what it means for me to be the Master of Death. And that's what I need."

Samantha nodded. "Is that what you've been doing for the past year?" she asked. "Trying to figure this out?"

"I have," Harry said. "It has not been going well."

"Why did you wait so long to reach out to someone?" she asked. She reached to refill her wine glass from the bottle she had retrieved from the kitchen when she noticed the bottle was full. She glanced from it to Harry, who shrugged again. She was starting to hate that shrug. She poured a glass and surreptitiously sniffed it before taking a sip.

"There aren't a lot of experts in death and I was avoiding the Department of Mysteries," he said. Samantha raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "I've seen what you get up to in there – I know if they found out I couldn't die they would test that extensively."

She couldn't disagree with his assessment of her place of work. If she was feeling generous, she would describe most of her colleagues as megalomaniacal sociopaths who saw morality is an inconvenience in the pursuit of the fundamental truths of magic. Due to her distaste of them, she had a reputation among the other unspeakables of being off-putting and unapproachable, which was kind of like a leper being ostracized in a leper colony.

"So, I checked other libraries, other sources, trying to find information about death, but there wasn't a lot," Harry continued. "Eventually, I realized that the DoM was unfortunately the best place to find some answers. I decided to pay a visit and, lo and behold, there was my old school chum studying exactly what I was looking for."

Samantha narrowed her eyes at him. "When exactly did you start invading my privacy?" she asked.

"About three weeks ago," he said. "But don't worry, I didn't see anything you wouldn't want me to."

"I didn't want you to see anything," Samantha said.

Harry smirked and raised his beer to her. "Fair enough," he said and she sneered. "Anyway, after watching you for a while, I figured I could trust you and you could help me figure out what exactly is going on."

"I have to ask, why do you think I won't turn you in?" Samantha asked. "You're asking a lot. Do you realize how desperate people are for news about you?"

"Are you going to tell anyone?" he asked.

"Well, no," she said. She didn't think she had much of a choice. Harry was now powerful enough to wipe this morning completely from her memory if he wanted to keep a secret, not to mention the many other ways he could ensure her silence.

Harry shrugged. "Then there you go," he said. "I know you won't turn me into the DoM, you've objected to at least a dozen experiments since I've been watching." Samantha scowled at him again, but he was right. "And you hate the ministry as much as I do."

She started. "You hate the ministry?" she asked. She hardly hid her own disgust at the institution – nepotism and corruption ruled the roost even after the post-war reformation. To be honest, she had been a bit naïve in changing her identity, it would have been much easier to reach her position as a Greengrass.

Harry nodded. "Of course, why else would I work so hard to change it?" he asked and shook his head. "Honestly, I was feeling pretty burnt out before I became – this." He waved a hand over himself, then sighed. "I tried so hard to make it better, but every time I exposed one corrupt bureaucrat or politician, two more would take his place, like a hydra made of assholes."

Samantha laughed at the imagery and, suddenly, her body realized that she had drank more than three glasses of wine over the past hour or so. "Excuse me, I have to freshen up," she said and, somewhat shakily, walked towards the bathroom. She paused at the threshold to the hall and looked back at Harry. "Don't touch anything."

As she sat on the toilet, Samantha considered the various revelations of the afternoon and, suddenly, the full weight of everything she learned seem to hit her. She was glad there was alcohol already in her system to dull the shock that there was an actual immortal in her sitting room, who also happened to be a disappeared celebrity and the saviour of the wizarding world. She washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her eyes were clear and her pupils weren't dilated – she didn't appear to be under the influence of any potions. To be sure, she grabbed a bezoar from behind the mirror and swallowed it with some cold water.

When she returned to her sitting room, Harry was still there. She sat down and took a large sip of wine. "We can go into details about all of this later, but is there anything else I should know now?" she asked.

Harry nodded and stood up again. He removed his suit jacket and rolled up his left sleeve. "When I woke up after dying, I had this," he said and revealed a tattoo of a crimson phoenix on his forearm.

Samantha frowned – she didn't recognize the symbol but she knew phoenixes were associated with death and rebirth. Then, she started to see the symbol of the Deathly Hallows growing more and more distinct, until it was superimposed on top of the tattoo.

"I can will it to fade, but it never disappears," Harry explained. "I got the tattoo to cover it up – it seemed like bad taste to have Grindelwald's mark on my arm."

Samantha nodded – Gellert Grindelwald had coopted the symbol of the Deathly Hallows for his reign of terror 60 years back. While, in Britain at least, Voldemort had replaced Grindelwald as the image of horror and evil in the public consciousness, many still remembered the previous dark lord.

Harry then pinched the corner of the mark and peeled away the triangle. It smoothly transformed into a silvery cloak and Samantha's eyes widened in shock. She reached out reverently.

"Death's cloak," she whispered.

Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement and tossed it to her. She flinched back with her whole body and protected her face, spilling her wine over herself, as the silk-like garment gently wafted over her. Her face burnt red in embarrassment as she could hear Harry laughing as she struggled to extract herself from the cloak that she had managed to entangle herself in.

Flushed, she waved her wand to vanish the wine she had spilled, then held up the cloak. She ran her fingers over the fabric, if she could even call it that. It was so smooth that she couldn't feel any threads – she looked at it closely and couldn't see any, either. She looked over the whole thing to see if there were any markings, but there weren't. She looked from it to Harry.

"You really are the Master of Death," she said. She was very happy that she was already sitting down.

Harry nodded. He pulled his left arm back and the cloak slipped from Samantha's fingers and flew back into his hands. With a flick of his wrist, it shrunk and settled back onto his forearm. He rolled his sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff.

"I have the stone and wand, too," he said.

Samantha's eyes widened. "I would very much like to see those," she said.

Harry laughed out loud and Samantha furrowed her brow. "Yeah, there's no way I'm trusting you with that," he said. She glared at him.

"You came to me for help," she reminded him. "How am I supposed to help you understand being the Master of Death if you don't let me see the Hallows?"

Harry's look turned steely. "We're talking about the most powerful wand in the world," he said. "Even in the hands of someone who hasn't won its allegiance, it is far too dangerous to let anyone handle."

"Except for you?" Samantha challenged.

"I – am the Elder Wand," he said. He waved his wand and conjured an apple. He tossed it to her. She was slightly more prepared for it, but she didn't manage to catch it. It bounced out of her hands and rolled off under a chair. "I'm not using the Elder Wand now, just my own, but I can conjure food and drink. That shouldn't be possible."

Samantha nodded, feeling foolish she hadn't pieced it together before. She never really liked transfiguration, but she still knew the theory, and Harry had been breaking Gamp's laws all morning. "And the Resurrection Stone?" she asked.

"I told you I tried to lose it," Harry said. "But it came back. I haven't used it."

Samantha stared at him. Of everything she had heard that day, this was the most ridiculous.

"You spent a full year looking for answers, and you didn't use the stone?" she asked. He was insane. There were countless deceased experts on death who could properly explain what was going on with him much better than she could hope to, who would have the benefit of actually being dead and understanding the metaphysical basis of the universe much better than she does.

Harry stared at her. "The dead deserve their rest," he said and sighed deeply. "I thought you would understand that."

Samantha took a sip of wine as she tried to get her thoughts into line. She put down her glass and looked back at Harry. "Look, I know I don't have the same – understanding of death as you do," she said. "But, just based on what you told me about when you used the stone before, and when you met Dumbledore, I don't know if that's true."

Harry drew in a sudden breath, but didn't seem about to interrupt, so she ploughed on. "From what it sounds like, your loved ones were looking down on you and worrying about you," she said. It was a comforting thought. "That at least implies that, whatever the other side is, they are still concerned with what happens here. I can just imagine the original owners of the Hallows looking down at you now and screaming for you to ask them for help."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Agree to disagree," he said. She glared at him. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I have the Resurrection Stone and I will never use it again. And it seems like I have all of eternity to figure this out, so I can take the slow road."

"Well, I don't," Samantha protested. "I'm still mortal, and what's happened to you is – honestly insane. I'd like answers. I'd like to know what you are, because you are finally, finally the bridge between this world and the next."

Harry sighed again. He looked her in the eyes and, now, his eyes were soft. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. "That's a line I won't cross."

Samantha glared at him. She was going to get her answers – she'd just have to work around Harry's misplaced morality. She looked down at the many rolls of parchment containing her notes from the most bizarre conversation in her life. She looked back at Harry.

"Is there anything else, or do you want to know what I think?" she asked.

Harry nodded and Samantha groaned. She flexed her left hand again with a grimace. "This is the last thing, for real," he said.

There was a sudden swirl of flame above Harry's shoulder and Samantha flinched back again. The fire dissipated and a large red and gold bird was perched on his shoulder. It had a large crest and tail with trailing feathers, its black beak and talons were hooked and cruel, and its eyes were intelligent and warm.

"Sam, meet Brandy," Harry said.

Samantha looked from the magnificent bird to Harry. "You named a phoenix Brandy?" she asked.

Harry laughed and scratched Brandy's neck feathers. "I didn't name her anything," he said. "Her name is Brandy, she told me herself."

Samantha looked from him to the bird. "What?" she asked. Phoenixes don't talk. They communicated their emotions through their song but there was no way one could transmit a message as specific as their name.

"We have, like, a mental connection," Harry said and looked at the phoenix fondly. "We can talk in our minds."

Samantha blinked and blew out a slow breath. "Is that with every phoenix, or just Brandy?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Don't know," he said. "I haven't met any others. They're kind of rare, see."

Samantha huffed. "Well, that's – really weird," she admitted. "But I don't think it really affects our course of action too much."

Harry leaned forward. "You have an idea?" he asked, excited.

Samantha shrugged, and delighted in the flash of annoyance in Harry's eyes. "Honestly, I don't have any answers to really explain what happened to you or what it means," she said and his eyes fell. "But I think I know where you can find some."

Harry groaned. "Please don't say what I think you're going to say," he said.

She frowned. "I was going to say the Veil of Death," she said. He groaned louder. "I mean, obviously we'll have to do our best to make sure it's as safe as it could be, but by every account, the Veil is a direct entrance to the Land of Death." She looked at him. "You can't tell me you haven't at least thought of it."

Harry scowled at her. "Of course, I've considered it, but…" he said and shook his head. "I have a bad history with that place."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Well, put on your big boy pants, Potter," she said, then her stomach growled loudly. Harry raised his eyebrows and Samantha pouted a bit. "Hey, Harry, think you could conjure me something greasy?"

Harry chuckled and waved his wand. Two plates of fish and chips, glistening oily in the light, appeared on the coffee table between them. Samantha's mouth watered and her stomach gurgled happily.


AUTHOR'S NOTES -

Yeah, guess what fuckers, this is back.

Readers of my other fanfic, Hogwarts Tea Time, may recall that a few weeks ago I posted a chapter with an author's note where I lamented the state of the world and considered the importance of fan fiction compared to, you know, how fucked everything is. I still don't have answers to these questions, other than being even more certain that I am going to continue wasting my time writing fan fiction.

I'm not sure what drew me to finally go back to this story, other than the fact that I always wanted to continue it and explore these characters and ideas. I don't know - obviously this story is pretty wacky and I'm going to go into some weird territory. Hope y'all enjoy.

So, in this chapter, I officially reveal that the main characters are Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass. I, honestly, don't know what draws me to the character of Daphne Greengrass so much, but they will not be paired together. This may sound hypocritical because my other two stories have them paired together, but I would really like to explore their friendship separated from romantic or sexual tension. So, they are not going to be a romantic pairing. I don't think I'll have any romantic pairings, tbh, but we'll see. I always thought Harry-Tonks has a lot of potential but I've never found any stories that really captures what I would like to see from it.

Anyways, kisses! Don't be a fascist and Rowling's a monster!