Tom had seemingly fallen asleep in Harry's arms, it was hard to tell, but at least the whimpering had stopped. The realisation that he had no idea what to do with the soul shard suddenly hit him. Did he have to be its caretaker from now on? How would that even work in the afterlife. There were so many unanswered questions and no answers in sight. A sigh slipped past Harry's lips and he gazed out through the window to his right. Swirling vortexes of white mist curled around the moving train, creating strange patterns and shapes. It was hypnotic in a way. He was so transfixed with the show that he startled at the noise of someone clearing their throat in front of him, making his head snap to the seats facing him.
In the seat opposite him sat an older gentleman. He looked to be in his late fifties, fair skinned with silvery grey hair, cut short and neat, dark, nearly black eyes and dressed in what appeared to be a charcoal grey three-piece suit, fob watch included. Everything about the man screamed aristocratic and powerful, but unlike the cold sneer Lucius Malfoy used to have, the man looked at him with something akin to fondness. Harry couldn't understand why, because he was certain that he had never met him before in his life. He was fairly sure he would have remembered it. That sort of presence tended to make a lasting impression.
"Err… Hello?" Harry hesitantly said.
"Good evening Harry Potter," The man replied with a warm smile that made his black eyes glitter with amusement. "I see you have brought an unauthorised passenger. I am afraid you cannot bring him along with you where you are going." As he spoke he gestured towards baby Tom.
Harry frowned and held on tighter to the Horcrux baby. There was some instinct in his subconscious that told him the man was trustworthy, but the desire to help poor Tom, or at least a part of him, made Harry reluctant to let him go.
"Who are you, and why can't Tom go where I'm going? You're not sending him to hell are you?" Harry inquired with suspicion. He had no idea whether wizards believed in heaven or hell, or if those things were even real, but if it was, hell sounded like an unpleasant place and definitely not suited for an infant, Dark Lord or not.
"Ah, yes I suppose I do owe you some answers. The first, and possibly easiest question to answer will be that about your so called Dark Lord. He cannot go to the same place as you simply because his soul must be whole to do so. Until all of the soul pieces, along with the main soul have gathered I will not be able to ferry him into the beyond. Your soul on the other hand is whole and can therefore move on, so to speak." The Conductor, as Harry had decided to call him in his head, looked at him to see if he understood what he was trying to explain.
"That makes sense I suppose… you still haven't told me your name or why you are here though." Harry said, frown still firmly in place.
"Mm. " The Conductor hummed. "I have been known by many names throughout the ages. Hades, Pluto, Nergal, Thanatos, Hel, the list is endless. Different civilisations had their own beliefs and therefore gave me and those of my realm unique stories and names. There is however only one of me. People tend to fear or hate what I represent, though there are a few worshippers mixed in." The man paused to look down and rub his thumb against the simple signet ring he wore on his left hand. From where he sat Harry couldn't disclose any details, but it seemed important to the man.
"Who I am, or rather what I am, is Death, "He continued, penetrating, black eyes locking with his own, wide emerald green. It felt like Harry's soul was being judged through that one gaze. Weighed and measured to see if he would be found lacking.
"and you, Harry Potter, are my Master." The Conductor, no, Death , finished. His quite frankly ludicrous words echoed in Harry's head.
"W-what? But that's…That's ridiculous! The story of the Hallows is just a story for kids based around some old artefacts! Besides, even if it was real I never owned the Elder Wand. Voldemort killed me with it!" If it hadn't been for the child in his arms, Harry would have gestured wildly to try and prove his point.
"Why would Death, err, you, even want a Master in the first place… it sounds kinda demeaning…" Harry said, trying to make sense of this bizarre chain of events. He ran a hand through his untameable mop of messy, black hair, making it stand up even worse than it already had.
The ancient being in front of him only smiled indulgently and let him ramble. Time was immaterial where they were, and even if it were not, he had literally eons of experience with being patient.
"The Hallows, as you may have surmised, are in fact very real. They were given to a trio of brothers that I favoured at the time. Despite what the recent rendition of the story might say, the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone and Cloak of Invisibility were not given as a curse, tempting them to come to my realm early. No, the three brothers were each given leave to ask me for something they desired, and I complied within reason. It is sad to say that for the two eldest, what they wanted might not have been what was best for them. Antioch wanted an unbeatable wand, and so I crafted one out of an elder tree with the core of a Thestral tail hair. The wand served him well, however his boasting became his undoing. Cadmus, the second brother, wanted a way to bring his fiancé back from the dead, but that is not something I can truly do, except in rare circumstances. There is a balance that must be followed." And here he looked at Harry with meaning.
"Instead of bringing his loved one back to life, I offered him the next best thing, a way to contact her. And so the Resurrection Stone was created. It allowed Cadmus to summon the spirits of the dead so he could converse with them with easily, requiring no magic or rituals on his part. But just like you surely realised in the forest, the spirits that are summoned still remain dead and cannot physically interact with the world around them. Cadmus, who was already grieving before he was given the Stone, could not bear the thought of never being able to touch his fiancé again, and sadly he ended his own life prematurely." Death seemed to be lost in thought for a little while, reminiscing the past.
Harry remained quiet, listening to the being tell his tale. He was impatient to find out how Death gifting the three Peverell brothers with the Hallows could lead to him being the so called Master of Death, but it probably wasn't smart to interrupt the immortal being who was in control of his afterlife.
"The youngest of the three, Ignotus, who also happens to be one of your ancestors, was a much more humble man. Unlike his eldest brother he didn't want power, nor had he lost someone that he wished to be reunited with. Instead he asked for a way to hide from his enemies in plain sight."
"I thought he asked for the Cloak to hide from Death? well, err… you" Harry blurted out before he had the time to realise that he probably shouldn't interrupt. The being, in the shape of an elderly gentleman, simply quirked an eyebrow in obvious amusement.
"Not quite. You see the three Peverell brothers were necromancers, ones born with the gift, which is partly why they were so favoured, and also a reason why they were feared and had a certain amount of enemies. Ignotus, being very much aware of the danger posed to himself from other wizards, witches, even muggles, therefore asked for a way to hide. I gifted him one of my own cloaks, the very same you were in possession of, and technically still are." Death said while looking pensively at the soul shard of Tom Riddle in Harry's arms.
Harry thought about Death's words. In a way, asking for a way to hide from his enemies would also be to hide from death. Just not Death the being. Harry wondered what he would have asked for if he had been in the position of one of the brothers. He had a feeling it would have been similar to the second brother's request… He would give almost anything to have his family back. Hopefully he wouldn't have to wait long until he got to see them again in the afterlife though. The fact that being the Master of Death might have drastically affected said afterlife still hadn't hit him.
The mention of the Peverell brothers having been necromancers was something that immediately put him on edge. It brought to mind the Inferi in Voldemort's little murder cave. The thought of reanimating corpses left a foul taste in his mouth. It just didn't sit right with him. That being said, Harry didn't actually know much about necromancers, except that they created Inferi and were Dark. But… he had been indoctrinated for seven years into the belief that Dark was bad, and that Death Eater meant evil. When he thought more about it, he realised that he had no idea what the war had actually been about besides pureblood supremacy. What was Dark magic really? He felt stupid for not having taken the initiative to learn this while he was actually alive. He'd followed along with whatever Dumbledore said without question. He wished he'd had more time, without a Dark Lord trying to kill him and a puppet-master pulling his strings.
The train rattled on while the two men sat in thoughtful silence. Eventually Harry gathered the courage to ask what was on his mind.
"You still haven't explained how I got to be the Master of Death… or even why you'd want someone to control you." he said.
"Mm, patience, I will get there very soon, I promise." Death hummed and crossed his legs for a more comfortable position. He still looked very regal, Harry thought.
"The Cloak gifted to Ignotus was passed on from him to his firstborn once he and his wife had settled down somewhere out of the public eye where they felt safe. He decided that his son would now have more use for the protection the cloak could provide him and therefore left it in his care. It since became a tradition for the cloak to be inherited by the firstborn child in the family. A firstborn daughter of the Peverell family, Iolante, would eventually come to marry a man of the Potter family. I think you can see where I am going with this." Death said, a smile gracing his pale, thin lips.
Harry nodded. He knew that the Cloak had been in the Potter family for generations, it was why he'd inherited it from his father after all. He wondered what would happen to it now that he was dead. Hopefully one of his friends would get their hands on it. He felt a little sad that this would be the end of the Potter line though. He obviously had no children himself, being only seventeen and still a virgin. Not that he wanted kids, heavens no, he could barely take care of himself, never mind a child, but it would have been nice to know that the Potter legacy didn't end with him. There was nothing to do about it now though.
"The Cloak is your birthright, and so when you were eleven, you came into possession of the first Hallow. The second Hallow, the Elder Wand, you won from Draco Malfoy on th-"
"Malfoy?!" Harry sputtered in shock, cutting off the rest of what the primordial deity was going to say. Again he got a raised eyebrow in return.
"Yes, the young Malfoy. The night when he disarmed Dumbledore in the astronomy tower he gained the Wands' allegiance. In turn, you bested Mr Malfoy on the night you escaped from Malfoy Manor with your friends, thereby gaining you the allegiance of the second Hallow, despite not physically having it in your possession. It might interest you to know that Tom Riddle never managed to use it to its full abilities because of that. The Wand already had a master and it was not him, nor Severus Snape as he initially thought." Death's deep and smooth voice continued the tale, seemingly not minding Harry's disruption.
"The story of how you came into possession of the third, and last, Hallow should be known to you already so I won't bore you with repeating it." Death said with a dismissive wave of his hand before he continued. "I will however explain to you the reason why exactly you are the only person who have been able to fully master them. "
Harry sat up straighter at the promise of answers, his green eyes sharpening at the deity. Finally they were getting somewhere. The history lesson was interesting, and he would happily listen to it any other time, but right now he just wanted answers for what the hell was going on.
"The three artefacts I created were not just gifts, they were also a test of sorts. It would never be enough simply to have physical possession of them. Of the three, only the wand needs to be won. However there are also hidden traits or trials you might say, that would have to be passed. The first, and maybe easiest one to pass, depending on how you see it, is that you have to be born with the gift of necromancy. "
Harry frowned. Death had mentioned earlier that the Peverells were necromancers, but that didn't explain how he could have mastered the Hallows when he had never even touched that branch of magic, nor did he intend to.
"But I'm not a necromancer…" Harry said.
"Oh but you are! " Death replied with a big grin, clearly delighted. "You, just like many of your Peverell ancestors have been born with the gift of necromantic magic. It is rather unique. Only a very small percentage of the magical population have it. There has not been a Potter necromancer in ages."
"You make it sound like being a necromancer is something you're born to be… not something you choose. Does that mean Tom Riddle was one too? I know he created Inferi... And I'm not a necromancer! "
"It is indeed something you are born to be, young Harry. However, anyone can dabble in certain branches of the magic, but it will never be easy. Other branches of necromancy are strictly limited to those with an innate gift for it. Necromancy is a trait that normally manifests once you have reached your magical maturity, which occurs around ones seventeenth birthday. Tom Riddle on the other hand was not a true necromancer. Granted, he did dabble in a certain branch of necromancy, thereby creating Inferi, but he was not born with the gift and can therefore not be called a true necromancer despite his dalliances." Death calmly explained.
"If that's true then why didn't I get these powers when I turned seventeen?" The young wizard still didn't seem convinced.
Death hummed and fixed his eyes on the baby in Harry's arms. The hand wearing the black and silver signet ring pointed at the horcrux.
"It is because of that," he said, "the piece of Tom Riddle's soul that you hosted until your death. A true necromancer's powers will not manifest if there is something interfering with their soul or magical core. The Horcrux in your scar was doing both. It was intermingled with your own soul so tightly that only by dying would you be able to free yourself of it, otherwise the venom from the basilisk bite in your second year would have destroyed it. In addition, it was leeching magic from your core to stabilise itself and keep safe. This is also part of what fed your link to him. The fact that a true necromancer cannot split their soul should also alleviate your fears of Tom Riddle being one." Death said with a nod as if that cleared up everything. It didn't.
Harry honestly didn't know what to say. Necromancy aside, the thought of a piece of Tom Riddle being so entwined with his own soul and magic made him a bit green around the gills. He looked down at said soul piece, sleeping innocently in his arms. He swallowed away the nausea. It was over now though, he thought, they were separate entities and he, Harry Potter, was free. For the first time in his life! Or, death, whatever. Point was that he was free! A wave of relief washed over him and he let out a deep breath he didn't realise he had been holding.
"Okay… okay. So lets say what you're saying is true and that I believe you. What does being your Master mean ?" Harry asked, raising his head to meet Death's black eyes. They were like an endless void. He imagined this would be what looking into a black hole felt like, hypnotising, making you feel small and insignificant, just a speck of dust in the endless universe. He blinked and looked away, deciding to focus on the misty scenery outside of their compartment window.
Death looked at Harry in silence before he decided to put him out of his misery and explain.
"Being the Master of Death is perhaps not the best title as it is a bit misleading. I am not your slave, nor do you control me. I am however quite fond of you, like I were with the Peverell brothers, so I might be willing to offer a hand here and there. " Death smiled.
"With the title comes a few perks of the position. However they are not important right now so instead I will explain why I chose to look for a Master. There are several reasons. The first is that I am incapable of physically interacting with the mortal realm. By having a Master, I would be able to anchor myself to them, thereby allowing me to take on a more physical form. To put it quite bluntly, I am bored and wish to have some new experiences. Another reason is that I wished for a companion, someone I will be able to speak freely with whenever the mood strikes me." Death didn't say it out loud, but it was clear that he felt lonely.
Death's monologue soon petered off and Harry was left in deep thought of all he'd been told. As soon as one question had been answered two more appeared. All this talk of ancestors, Hallows, necromancy and death left him with a headache, which should be impossible, he was dead for crying out loud! He used his left hand to rub his eyes, willing the stubborn pain away.
"Fine. So I'm supposed to be your anchor to the mortal world because of the Hallows yeah? That doesn't make any sense! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly among the living anymore. My dead body is probably being paraded around as proof of Voldemort's triumph over me," he gave a snort. As if killing someone who let themselves be killed was much of a triumph. But Voldemort loved to gloat.
"Mmh" Death simply hummed at that. He didn't seem interested in elaborating further and instead had his dark eyes fixed on Tom Riddle's soul piece.
Harry lost some of his steam and looked down at the infant as well, trying to puzzle out what it was that caught Deaths attention so suddenly. "Err... what are you looking at?" Harry asked.
"You will have to give it up eventually you know," Death said. "You cannot keep the soul piece with you as it is not complete yet. If you wish to move on you will have to give it to me. This train will never arrive at its destination until the stowaway is gone. "
Harry frowned. "What's gonna happen to him? " he asked slowly. He was worried about the soul piece for some reason. Merlin, was he starting to project himself onto the ugly, sniveling mess that was Tom Riddle's broken soul? How fucked up wasn't that? "You're not gonna hurt him are you?" Yup, he was definitely projecting.
The ancient being gave him a soft smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling. It made him look like a fond father, one who laughed and smiled a lot. "No. No harm will come to it. I promise to protect the piece of soul until the others finally join it. Only when it is whole again can it pass over. " Death's spindly fingers reached into the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out what seemed to be a glowing marble the size of a Snitch from his inner pocket. It's internal light seemed to pulse, growing stronger and fainter then strong again in a sluggish rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. It was beautiful yet sad.
Harry could see spidery, hairline fractures stretching across the orb. They were dark, like ink, and made the otherwise beautiful thing seem sick and broken. Immediately he realised what it reminded him of, or rather who. Tom. He swallowed away the bile that threatened to rise upon seeing the reflection of what someone was willing to do out of fear. Mutilating their soul. Because there was no question in his mind that that was what this was. Tom Riddle's soul.
"I see that you have already formed an idea of what this is?" Death asked and Harry nodded.
"It... It's horrible," Harry croaked out and swallowed hard again. There was such a great feeling of wrong with the soul.
"Yes, it is quite sad. " replied Death, looking at the fractured soul in his hand. "These are the pieces you have already destroyed. Once the final horcrux, along with the main soul piece, are destroyed then they will join the rest. That is why I will have to ask you to give up the piece in your arms. The only way for this fractured soul to find peace is by uniting the horcruxes and letting it heal it's cracks. Will you allow me to do this? " he looked intently at Harry, the air in their train compartment feeling heavier and more sombre.
"I..." Harry looked down at the child, soul, thing... It was awake but quiet, staring at the orb with big, puffy, red eyes. One grubby little hand sprung free from the cloth it was swaddled in and reached out towards the glowing orb. It looked like the child wanted to touch it so Harry leaned forwards until the tip of the child's hand made contact with the soul sphere. A bright, nearly blinding light filled the compartment and Harry instinctively brought up one of his arms to protect his eyes. Once the light faded he lowered his arm and tried to blink away the bright spots dancing in front of him. That was when he realised that the weight he'd been holding for quite some time was not there anymore.
"What the hell was that?!" Harry snapped at Death, ready to chew him out, God or not, only for his vision to be drawn to the soul once again. His eyes went wide with surprise and his jaw dropped in wonder. " It's..."
"Repairing itself, yes" said death smugly. "It is not complete, there are still two pieces missing, but eventually it will be hale and whole again. "
True to the man's words, the blackened cracks in the soul sphere were melding together in places, the colour fading into the soft hue of the orb. The glow also seemed to get brighter and less sickly, the pulsing growing stronger. Harry felt relieved. Even though Voldemort had caused him so much pain over the years, he still felt sorry for the younger Tom Riddle. He had a feeling that he could easily have gone the same route if their positions had been switched. Well... maybe not the soul splitting, he had never been afraid of dying, but definitely their desire to be better than their abusers, to show the world that they were great in their own right. Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, only now realising that he wasn't wearing any glasses. Clearly one didn't need glasses when one was dead, cool.
"So what now? You said that the train would be able to reach wherever we're going as soon as the horcrux was removed. "
"That is correct," Death nodded and returned the sphere back into his inner pocket. "There is just one more thing left to clear up before I leave you to your journey."
The deity gently caressed the signet ring on his hand before slipping it off his finger and holding it out to Harry. "This is a gift for you. Go on, take it," Death encouraged.
Harry hesitated but slowly reached out to pluck the beautifully crafted ring from Death's hand. It was large, like most signet rings tended to be, with an engraved, black top made from obsidian. The stone was inlaid in a simple, silver frame. Inside the engravings of the black stone was the mark of the Deathly Hallows in silver. Triangle, circle, stick. It managed to be elegant in its simplicity. Harry wondered why he was given such a gift. Was it a way to show his status as Death's Master? And why a signet ring, did Death expect him to write any letters soon?
"Why are you giving this to me?" Harry asked as he looked up, only to find that he was alone in the compartment. Bewildered he got to his feet and popped his head out of the door to see if the deity was in the corridor, but no such luck. He was truly alone.
Harry returned to his seat and stared at the ring again. He kept at it for a fraction of a second before he decided to put it on. Surely it couldn't hurt. He knew that there was probably some sort of protocol as to which finger and hand one should wear a signet ring on, but it wasn't something that had been covered in his Hogwarts education and therefore he hadn't learnt it.
A memory of Neville came to mind. He had been helping him learn the blasting hex in their fifth year. Wasn't he wearing some sort of ring on his pinkie finger? The memory was blurry but he thought the ring had been golden. Deciding that it probably didn't matter, Harry slipped the ring onto the pinkie on his left hand. As soon as it was on, the band resized itself to fit snugly around his finger.
"Huh" He exclaimed softly to himself. He hadn't expected that to happen. It was strange how much had changed since he died. Death, not the deity but the state of being, gave you such a different perspective on things, Harry thought. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders despite the whole Master of Death thing. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the soft, leather bench. There were so many things that seemed excruciatingly clear to him now that he was no longer in the middle of it. Dumbledore's machinations and betrayal especially. He'd been such a fool. There were so many things in his life that he'd have liked to do differently now that he knew more of what was going on. However, there was no point in crying over spilt milk, or potion, as they would say in the wizarding world. Harry's lips quirked in a wry smile.
The train ride continued for what felt like hours, but might have been minutes. The newly deceased wizard spent the time pondering this and that, letting his mind wander while he watched the hypnotic view through the window.
At some point during his journey the white mist outside gave way to an influx of colours. It started slow, just an infusion of weak pastels, then it got brighter, red, blue, green and yellow, all the colours of the rainbow were represented. They swirled and clashed, merging into each other to create new colours and patterns. It was a beautiful kaleidoscope of colours that whirled past. Harry was in awe, it was nothing like he had ever seen before. There were even colours he couldn't describe, surely they didn't exist in the mortal world, they were too wonderful and unique.
The whistle of the train sounded the imminent arrival to their destination, and slowly the train came to a stop. Harry looked outside the window and frowned. There was only a single, nearly empty platform in the middle of nowhere. The platform itself was made out of grey stone and there was an equally grey bench sitting next to a Victorian style lamp post. It was like a lone island in the middle of the vortex of colours. Was this his stop? He had expected more of a… actually, he didn't know what he'd expected, but it definitely wasn't this.
"Sooo… I guess this is me," He muttered to himself and made his way out of the compartment. The Hogwarts Express felt eerily silent and empty without the hustle and bustle of schoolchildren going home for the holidays. It was strange being the only one there. Harry pushed those thoughts aside, took a deep breath and stepped onto the platform. As soon as he had both feet planted on the grey stone, the train vanished. Confused, he looked around. What was he supposed to do now? The platform was still on its own in a sea of colours. He didn't dare step off of it in fear of what might happen. What if he got lost forever?
"They could at least have sent a welcoming committee," Harry grumbled. He figured there was nothing more to do than wait so he made the short walk over to the bench. However, as soon as he sat down there was a rush of air ruffling his hair, the light in the lamp post started flickering heavily. Then, the light went out, and everything faded into darkness.
