Parts of this chapter are based on/inspired by the television show Trollhunters. It is incredibly awesome, you should go check it out. Plus, Guillermo Del Toro. So, yeah. Awesome. :)
Emma Simôn, one of the many receptionists at the Ministry of Magic, sighed. The day was dreadful. Nothing was happening. All around her, people bustled, going up to every counter but hers. That stupid rumour...why did it have to dog her steps even after Hogwarts? Still, that didn't matter now. What mattered was that she would give anything to just have one person, one person, approach her desk. Was it too much to ask?
She glanced up, observing the crowd. It was made up of the usual darkly robed witches and wizards, all in a constant hurry. The Ministry was so fast-paced she sometimes found it hard to even consider how they did it. A head of messy blond hair bobbed above the rest. She frowned. That wasn't someone she remembered seeing. Normally, people wouldn't be able to tell who someone was just from their hair. Emma watched the crowd so much she knew when someone new was arriving.
A jolt of excitement rushed through her. She then cringed. What had her life come to that she considered the possibility of someone coming to her desk was thrilling? That was pathetic. Emma wouldn't let that dissuade her, though. Right now she was craving human interaction. And if this mysterious new man could be her ticket to talking, she would take it with no hesitation.
She continued watching him as he pushed through the crowd. The closer he got, the more she could make out. He seemed to be wrapped in a silver cloak or cape type thing, not a robe, that could easily be made out of stars from the way it glistened and twinkled. The effect was rather unearthly. Under the cloak, he wore simple black clothing, though there was something lethal and tactical about it. She squinted, getting a closer look at his face. Green eyes, a faint scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt…wait.
Holy shitty Merlin.
The man was Harry Potter. It had been so long since he'd turned up in the Wizarding World that she'd forgotten what he looked like after the appearance change. She may have only been eleven when it happened, but it was all over the news. Even now it was occasionally talked about. And it seemed that Harry Potter was making a beeline straight for her desk. Two distinct emotions filled her; the first, giddy excitement that made her feel drunk, the second an all-consuming dread. What if she messed up? What if he didn't like her? Maybe it would be better if she just hid under the desk. That wouldn't work now. He made eye contact and smiled.
"Hey, I need to be registered as a visitor and saw your desk was free. It is what you do, right?" There was an odd American lilt to his voice, intertwining with his Surrey accent. It was strange and rather charming. She felt her cheeks pink.
"Yeah, it's what I do. I'll need your name and occupation, please." What? Why was she asking for his name? She already knew his fucking name. This was not normal. It wasn't like her to get tongue-tied like she was now. Then again, he was very good looking. Lithe, lean, deadly. There was a calculating look in his eyes, accompanied by something unearthly, something beyond. Nope, no, she wasn't doing this. She wouldn't get distracted. Oh, how she wished for blinders right now.
He chuckled. "Harry Potter. My work is...difficult to describe."
"I'm afraid that I do need it, sorry. No exceptions, not even you for you, Mr Potter." She pulled out a notepad, ready to jot it down.
His hands shot up, waving in a gesture of surrender. "No, I would never have expected that. Please don't do that, it would make me feel dreadful. And my work. Um...I work for the American government. Is that enough?"
"So you're a government agent, of sorts." She tried to find a way around a subject that wasn't meant to be broached.
Relief washed over his face. "Yes, that's the perfect way of getting around it. Thank you so much."
"You're most welcome." She scribbled it down. The words would be copied directly into the magical files deep down in the Ministry. The endless notebook, a recent invention, was a game-changer, not to mention incredibly helpful. "Right, now all I need is to register your wand and for you to tell me where you're off to, then you're good to go."
He twitched his wrist and a long, pale wand slipped out of his holster. He handed it to her, waiting anxiously as she took it. The second she did, a feeling of dread overtook her. It was different from before, though. This dread was cold, neverending like she was peering in a bottomless void and could never escape its slimy clutches. The wand pulsed slightly, almost like it was alive. She wasn't going to hang around to find out. Speed was of the essence.
She placed the wand on the little set of peeling scales that sat behind the desk. The result came back immediately: Elder wood, fifteen inches...there was no core. Or at least no core that she knew of. Emma wasn't going to stick about to find out. As much as she liked Harry Potter, his wand freaked her out. It was...otherworldly, for lack of a better word.
He took it back with a smile, casually unaware of how it affected her. She shivered, trying to get the feeling out.
"Now I just need to know where you're going."
"Department of Mysteries."
Emma started. "I'm sorry, only authorised members of the Ministry are allowed down."
"I think that you'll find I am quite authorised."
"I don't think...oh yeah, you are." The answer came to her clear as day. Of course, he was authorised. How had she missed that? "Go right on down. Have a nice day." She waved at him as he walked off, smiling dopily, tidying the already neat stacks of paper on her desk.
What a nice man.
As Harry walked to the elevator he couldn't help but cringe. Confunding that lovely woman was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed to get down there, though, and couldn't let his morals get in the way. It was his assignment from SHIELD, he was here to complete it. If he had his way, he would have sneaked into the Department of Mysteries. Fury wanted everything to be as above board as possible (for once) so that Harry didn't get investigated. Sure, he didn't know exactly what Harry was doing, seeing as this was during his 'leave.' This didn't matter. Everything needed to run smoothly.
And it did.
The elevator doors squeaked shut in front of him, the cool voice of a woman sounding inside. Wow, it was a long time since he heard that. It brought back memories, most of them unpleasant. A deranged cackle sounded in his ear, a flash of red light, a torture curse leaving his lips. No, no. He wasn't here to dwell on the past. He was here to prevent the future.
"Are you alright, dear?"
Harry glanced down to his left and saw a woman that more resembled a sultana than she did a human. "Yes, yes, I'm fine." It didn't escape his notice how shaky his voice was, how hoarse, how forced. All these years later and those memories still reigned supreme over his terror. Usually, he tamped down on his. Here, though, they were in their domain, and he cursed it from the second he set foot in that thrice-cursed telephone box.
"You look a bit jumpy. When you get home, have a nice cup of tea. It should calm your nerves."
"Thank you, I guess."
She reached up to pat his cheek, her leathery fingers barely brushing his chin. Her hand smelled of cats. Perhaps she was a distant relative of Mrs Figg. "You're welcome, dearie. Take care of yourself. This is my stop now." She bent down, picking up a large box off the floor. He could almost hear her bones creaking as she moved off the elevator and down the hallway. Though he doubted that the tea would do anything to help his nerves, he did appreciate the woman's sentiment.
Harry spent the rest of the elevator ride in silence. He ran through the plan in his head, mentally preparing himself for where he was going. Some people would scoff and say he had no need, no reason, to be unnerved. Harry knew better, not being so arrogant as to assume he needn't be unsettled. The memories held in that room were painful, still occasionally haunting his nightmares.
"Nice one, James!"
He shook his head, exiting the elevator as the cool female voice sounded once more, for the last time: "Department of Mysteries. Enjoy your stay." He stepped off. The doors rattled shut behind him, followed by the whirring of cables as the elevator ascended to the top floor of the Ministry. He stared down the hallway before him, eyes darting back and forth, taking in every detail. This was all too familiar. Not in a good way.
"Not the time, Potter," he muttered to himself, ducking into an alcove. The above-board part of his mission was completed. He couldn't be happier. If there was one thing that would distract himself from the shitstorm going on inside his head, it would be sneaking around. He always enjoyed sneaking, especially with the invisibility cloak that he was now hidden over. In an instant, it switched from shining silver to see-through.
Perfect.
A wandless silencing charm was cast on his feet so no one could hear him and he was off. Stalking through the dark halls like a cat after its prey. It was strangely exhilarating. Shadows flitted from wall to wall. Harry followed them, playing a little game. No one could see him, no one was around to see him, yet Harry smiled. This wasn't something that came to him often. Sure, he could sneak around the tower all he wanted, but this was something different.
As he neared the door the haunted his dreams in fifth year, Harry stopped, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. Calm. He needed calm. His fingers wiggled, silver sparks dancing between the digits. They popped and spluttered slightly. Harry was completely oblivious to this fact as his senses flood outwards, covering an obscenely massive area. This was a newfound ability that came with being the Master of Death, being able to sense those who evaded it, those who decided they were above it. Right now, that was exactly what he was looking for.
Who he was looking for.
The dream from several weeks ago, the one that forced him to come here. If there was one thing that Harry knew, it was to trust the strange visions and dreams he rarely received during the night…
Floating.
Darkness.
Unmoving.
Strange light overtook his vision, grey, rotting like the flesh of a zombie. Huh. Rotting light. How strange. That was a new one. It began spinning, rotating, pushing him around aimlessly. He remained limp like a ragdoll, unmoving, floating, cocooned in glowing darkness and rotting light.
"Harry…"
The whisper came from every angle, everywhere. His eyes flicked around, nothing to be seen.
"Harry...come to me."
Where was the voice coming from? There! An archway, chiselled from crumbling stone, hewn with rough hands, rose out of the mist. Whispers increased until they became deafening. He couldn't move to block his ears.
"I need you, Harry. Come to me, Harry. I'll teach you, Harry. The merits of your station. I've been watching, Harry. Waiting." A childlike giggle danced around him. "I need you, Harry." The whispers increased, the arch becoming clear as day. A blinding light, a new light, shone through the holes of the rotting one.
"You know where to find me."
The second Harry awoke from that nightmare, drenched in sweat, room stinking of death and decay, he knew where it was. It wasn't a coincidence, he didn't believe in those anymore. So, here he was, getting closer to whoever spoke those words, whoever was tinged with rotting light, entranced with the throes of death. He could feel them, a pinprick in a festering cesspool of darkness. They were right there. Once again, his dream didn't fail him. But oh how he wished it was something else.
His eyes snapped open. An invisible string woven with magic began guiding him towards the pinprick. Every step grew heavier, but that didn't stop him. If there was one thing Harry had in spades, it was his never-ending iron will. He wasn't going to let the ever-growing weight in his stomach stop him. No, he concentrated on the string, following it through the rooms. They flashed by, his plodding footsteps propelling him further until he reached the second to last door he needed to go through. He wasn't hesitant he may get lost; the magical string took care of that. No, it was for a far different reason. Harry wasn't about to let that stop him.
And so, with leaden fingers, Harry turned the large golden handle of the heavy door, pushing it opened.
It didn't creak. Instead, it whispered. The shivers began creeping up his spine again. They didn't stop him though. Harry stepped through the door. Shelves as high as a skyscraper brushed the ceiling, each holding thousands upon thousands of orbs, some glowing, others dulled. Once, many years ago, one of them was for him. If it wasn't for that thrice-damned prophecy...hang on, he wasn't meant to be going that way.
This wasn't the aisle he wanted to be in. The room must be messing with his head. Harry needed to pay attention to the string, instead of being distracted by memories of times long past. He would have time to be creeped out once he left the Department of Mysteries. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled his nerves, turning around following the trail, extending his senses now that he was getting closer to the pinprick. It was bigger here, more the size of a knut.
He walked, seemingly aimless, until:
The door appeared in front of him, sliding sideways through the aisles. A golden doorknob gleamed at the centre, begging him to turn it. This was where the string went, where he needed to go.
A red spell, an insane cackle, Remus holding him back as he screamed in agony.
Harry turned the doorknob. A gust of stale, musty wind rushed out, so cold that it hurt when he breathed it in. There was a distinct tingle that came with it, running up and down his skin. Hairs stood upright as a soldier, goosebumps decorating his skin. His mouth became dry, lips cracking in the breeze. No matter how long he prepared himself for this moment, standing in the doorway was an entirely different thing.
Harry's heart began beating faster, the foreign beat of the strange brand of magic this chamber held. For though he was the Master of Death, this room housed a bastardised version of his magic. Sometime in the past, it was touched by a Masters' hand. Over the years the magic grew stronger, became corrupted. Now that he really, really, listened to the hum in the air that only he could hear, he became disgusted. This was where the knut, the pinprick, the elusive spirit that called in his dreams, was hiding. They thought that because the room was so disgusting, teeming with so much corruption that he would just stop.
They hadn't met him.
His steps echoed around the chamber as he descended the crumbling stone stairs. His cloak whispered along behind him, disturbing tiny pebbles and debris. A bright light shone down from no discernable light source. In the centre stood the desecrated arch. Ancient runes decorated the dark stone, chipped away through the years. And inside the arch, the veil fluttered innocently, tantalising him with the thought of what could be, who was behind it.
The snapping and hissing of a battle, shouted spells, screams as his friends were tortured.
Though the room was silent, the closer he came to the arch, the louder the voices became. Minimal at first, before rising to a crescendo. Harry could almost feel the people attached to them, visualise them in his head. Hundreds, thousands, of people were wrongfully killed in here, the room used as an excuse to get rid of those who 'weren't' needed.' Harry ground his teeth. The more he learned about this place from his connection with Death, the more he wanted to leave. It was disgusting.
In between the voices, he felt something more. Several solid somethings hiding in the walls. Half alive. Brought back from the dead? There was no one in here yet there was. He shook it off. Perhaps it was a part of Death Chamber's charm. Harry gave a dry chuckle. Wasn't that ironic?
He stood at the base of the arch. In an instant, the wind snapped up a notch, pushing his hood back off his head. Harry gulped. Ever so slowly, in trepidation, he extended his hand. Harry stopped an inch from the dark arch. Silver sparks once again danced around his fingers, leaping back and forth between his hand and the Veil. Nothing was stopping him from just placing his hand on is except the bastardised magic filling the room, the memories that clung to him like there was no tomorrow.
"Haven't you waited long enough?"
"I've waited fourteen years…"
"I know." A simpering smile.
"I guess I can wait a little longer. NOW!"
Harry shook his head, clearing the memories.
"Get a grip, Potter." His hand shot forward, covering the last little space. For a second, nothing.
Then it all happened at once.
Screaming spirits filled his head, crying out for release, to be freed from their misery. Thousands of them, spanning back thousands of years. Men, women, all kinds of magical beings. All trapped inside the Veil. Harry found himself screaming out as well. Their pain was overwhelming, overpowering, the stench of captivity clouding his mind. This was worse than he ever imagined. He had to do something to help these poor people, anything at all.
Tears escaped from his eyes, running tracks down his cheeks. Harry didn't notice; he was still fighting the agony that burrowed into every crevice of his body, mind, made him shake like a leaf in a winter storm. They were in pain. How could nobody else hear them crying out, clawing at the walls of the abyss for an escape? They only wanted to pass on, to be at peace, leave the limbo they were trapped in.
Harry was so engrossed in the turmoil that he didn't notice the plodding footsteps approaching him from behind. It was until a peeling, grey hand landed on his shoulder that he whipped around. His hand sparked when it disconnected with the arch. It must have been what was in the walls, what he was stupid enough to discount as a 'feeling,' as part of the makeup of the room.
Standing in front of him was a walking corpse, wearing a tattered, filthy dress. Its mouth hung open, jaw cracked, teeth missing. Lank hair hung around its blank face, emaciated body shuffling along, skeletal arm outstretched. Black flesh, infested with all manner of insects, could be seen inside the gashes that covered its skin. At one point, this thing was a woman.
Now it was an Inferi.
"Bombarda!" The Elder Wand was suddenly in his hand. The inferi blew up, body parts splattering all over the room. This didn't bother it, as it kept crawling towards him. Harry spun around and felt his eyes widen. There were hundreds of Inferi plodding towards him, groaning, skin grey. This was...this was even worse than when he retrieved the false Horcrux with Dumbledore. There were so many more here. Luckily, Harry remembered the spell to get rid of them. How could he forget?
"Incendio Maxima!" Great bursts of flame leapt out of his wand, baying for blood at the feet of the inferi. They knew no fear, still shuffling forward. The fire reduced them to nothing but ash drifting to the floor. Nothing remained. Harry grit his teeth, aiming the fire at a new group that appeared out of the walls. There was more to this possible necromancer than he thought. These corpses were old, ancient. Not killed by the one who reanimated them.
Then it hit him
The screams he heard before weren't from those within the veil. They were the screams of the Inferi within the walls, begging for release from their hellish prison. The thought was enough to make Harry vomit; the inferi weren't completely dead. They were vaguely aware of what went on around them, unable to control their cracking bodies. The more fire that he used, the fewer cries he heard. They...he was...by eliminating them he was setting them free. Just like him with the sceptre.
There were too many, though. Hordes of them escaped the walls, slowing encroaching upon Harry. He wasn't able to direct fire at all of them, give them the peace they so desired. Even if he couldn't die, Harry didn't want to be mauled by the Inferi. He took another step back as they became closer. His back bumped up against the Veil. The screams once again filled his head, but there was something else beneath them. This was different.
The string...it was what he was here for. The possible necromancer, the knut, the pinprick. It was right there, buried beneath the screams of those long dead. It, she, was there, inside the Veil, hiding, beckoning him. As the inferi came ever closer, the fire unable to keep them at bay, Harry realised he didn't have another option. Whatever was behind the Veil, wherever it took him, he was about to find out. Apparating away wasn't an option; there were wards installed after they broke in. Who he needed was inside. No other option.
Besides, it wasn't like he could die.
Time to test how far his abilities went.
With one last burst of fire, Harry merely stepped backwards into the Veil. He was pulled backwards, seeing the inferi clawing for him, their screeches unearthly.
Then, nothing.
.
.
.
Where was he?
.
.
.
.
What was this place
.
.
.
.
.
Who was he?
.
.
.
.
What were these memories swirling round as he was dragged downwards into the inky black abyss, unable to move, unable to speak?
.
.
.
.
Who was that boy with inky black hair fighting a serpent?
Why was he seeing this?
Who was it?
Who?
.
.
.
Unbearable cold. A red-headed woman screaming as she was struck down.
Why did he flinch?
.
.
.
And then…
.
.
Nothing.
.
.
.
.
Harry gasped, gulping in great breaths of air. An impossible weight crushed his chest. But how was that possible? He was upright, limp as a ragdoll, unable to move, unable to speak. How was he breathing if he couldn't move? Where was he? It was strange. A gate seemed to have taken up residence in his mind, barring all his rational thoughts from exiting. All he could do was ask why, what, where, and try to stave off the panic that threatened to consume him.
Why was he here? It was something to do with...death? A scaly skinned woman missing something? No, that wasn't right. He was..done...gone...never to return. So why did he feel the pull of the living from the square of light above him? Who...how...no, that wasn't right.
Nonsense.
That was...what...all he could do. Be. Nonsensical. In his head, he giggled hysterically. The sound bubbled up in his throat. A strangled sort of high pitched choking that wouldn't be out of place in a haunted house. Or with a headless chicken pecking around the yard. No, headless chickens didn't peck, they had no beaks.
"Hey, new guy!"
Now he was hearing voices. It sounded familiar. Tickled something in the back of his brain. Had he heard it before? Maybe.
"You can move, you know. Don't stay out there too long. You'll freeze."
Why?
"Why?" The word burst forth before he could stop it. Wait. He moved. That...that was good. A good thing. A very good thing. Maybe he should try it again? "WHY?" Okay, that came out louder than he expected. There was no echo. What was this place? What was that voice? It had to be real, there was no question about it. If he could speak, the voice could be real. No, not could be. Was. "I CAN SPEAK!"
"Of course you can speak, nitwit." The voice suddenly became clear. "Just think yourself towards me. Don't freeze."
"Freeze?" he asked dumbly.
"Yes, Freeze. Stuck out there for weeks. Not the most pleasant thing."
Harry shook his head. Slowly, the gates were opening up, letting out his memories piece by piece. The voice sounded so familiar, it was on the tip of his tongue.
"How?"
The voice groaned. "Just think. It isn't that hard. I know you can't see me, but you can hear me. Just think."
Wait.
He knew how to do that. He was doing it right now. More memories freed. Alright, time for him to concentrate. Just think.
Breathe.
Think.
Go.
"AAAAAAAHHHH!" He was whizzing through the air, so fast his eyes began to water. His limbs flailed uselessly at his side like deflated bicycle tires. Or like someone had removed the bones after he...after...THE QUIDDITCH MATCH! Lockhart, the rogue bludger. Dobby. Dumbledore. Ron. Hermione. It was all coming back. Everything, from his childhood at the Dursley's to his feelings for Natasha. Steve, Tony, the fight with Loki. The floodgates were open. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. Again, he was screaming, this time in pain. Pictures flashed before his eyes, a lifetime worth of events being crammed back inside him within the space of a few seconds. Something about...
The voice…
"Oof!" He crashed headfirst into someone. A knee jabbed him in the stomach, an elbow knocked his head, inky hair obscured his vision. "Get off me!"
"Well, that wasn't the thanks I was expecting." The voice was painfully familiar. They crashed down onto the solid ground. His limbs could move again, he could think clearly.
The cloak was twisted around him. Harry stood, dead grass crunching under him. The cloak straightened itself out, swishing around his feet. The stone still fasted the two sides, Elder Wand secured in the holster. So...this was what lay behind the Veil. A limbo of sorts. Complete with strangely familiar rescuers. Speaking (well, thinking) of rescuers, Harry still needed to see who it was who had that voice. There was still one memory that was struggling to get out. Perhaps this was who it pertained to? Did he even want to find out?
"Are you alright? Not often that we get someone new here."
Harry finally looked up. What he saw had his heart dropping in his throat.
Standing in front of him, looking gaunt but healthy, covered in prison tattoos, wearing the same clothes as the day he died, was Sirius Black.
Sirius.
"Sirius...it's you. Merlin, you're here!" Without thinking, Harry surged forward wrapping his arms around his Godfather. Harry was now taller than his by a slight margin, which was strikingly different than the last time he saw him. Tears welled again. For once, Harry didn't care. For once, he would let himself become that vulnerable fifteen-year-old whose godfather was murdered in front of his eyes.
Sirius pried his arms off, giving him a strange look. "Who are you? Do I know you?"
Harry almost flinched. "Sirius, it's me. Don't you...don't you recognise me?"
"Should I? Look, I don't know any blond Adonis looking people. I would remember if I did. And prank them until I looked better." He ran a hand through his hair. "It would take a while, though, with how I look now."
Harry gave a watery smile. Sirius was the same as the day he was lost to the world. Snarky, slightly arrogant, with a grin that would send the Weasley twins scampering for cover. Or, George. George would go scampering for cover. And no wonder he was acting weird. He didn't know about the whole sperm donor thing. At least Harry didn't think he did. Perhaps he did, but that didn't mean he would know what Harry looked like now. How to prove his identity?
Aha!
"Watch this." Harry took out his wand. Sirius's eyes bulged.
"How do you have Dumbledore's wand?"
Harry ignored the question, too busy concentrating on bringing his magic back to the surface. Although he had all his memories, the air was still thick, pressing down on his magic. It was hiding well. Not well enough that Harry couldn't bring it back. After all, it was his.
"Expecto Patronum."
A great silver stag bounded out of his wand. The pressing feeling was immediately alleviated, a feeling of weightlessness left in its wake. Prongs left behind glowing hoofprints. Instantly, it went towards Sirius, whose eyes were shining in wonder, in hope. He outstretched his hand, caressing the muzzle of the Patronus.
"How?" he whispered, stepping even closer to the stag. "How is this possible?"
"Sirius, it's me."
Sirius turned to Harry, looking at him as if for the first time. His eyes took in every detail, from Harry's low eyebrows to his large, calloused hands. The longer he looked, the more his eyes widened in both hope and fear. Finally, he locked eyes with Harry, realising who he was.
"Harry," he breathed.
"Got it in one."
This time it was Sirius who surged forward, wrapping his arms around Harry, so tight he had trouble breathing. Harry wasn't one to complain. He returned the favour, just staying there in his godfather's embrace, in his arms. This...this was more than he could have asked for. This was worth all the fear, all hesitation, all the paperwork. For a long time, they stood there like that, neither willing to let go. There was no way to tell how long passed. Neither cared. They were reunited, even if Harry would have to leave soon. He wasn't going to think about that now. He was going to make the most of his time here with Sirius, no matter how fleeting it would be in the long term. Sirius's body shook slightly.
Eventually, Sirius pulled away, eyes red. Harry wouldn't usually peg him as one to cry. "How are you here? Scratch that, why are you here? Was there another battle? You should be alive, not in this hellhole. And why do you look so different? What happened? It can't have been long, you only look twenty."
Harry blinked. That was the sort of tirade that he expected from Hermione."There's so much to explain. I...I'm still getting over that you're here."
"Well, where did you think I would go?"
"I dunno, no one knew what was behind the Veil. We all just assumed you were gone. Forever."
"That ain't what happened."
"I can see that." Harry sighed. "Merlin, we've only been together for a few minutes and you're already pestering me." He sat down on the grass, absentmindedly pulling it out. Sirius flopped down next to him. "I'm here on an assignment, or a mission if you want to sound fancy. My boss doesn't like the idea of a possible necromancer running willy nilly across the world."
"Oh, you're here about her?" Sirius grimaced. "Yeah, that's fair. But seriously, why did your boss ask you to jump into the Veil? They do know there is no way out, right? You're stuck here forever. What possessed you to listen to them?" His eyebrows knitted together, fists clenching. "You can't just go around sacrificing your life like that. I know you have a saving people thing...but this is not how I wanted to meet again. You're still so young."
"I can get back out. I don't know how, but I know I can." Sirius sat up straighter, jaw dropped. "Crazy, right? Turns out I'm really bad at dying." He shook his head in disbelief, gazing at the square of light in the ceiling. "Is that the way out?"
"It's where people come from, yeah. No one can get out. Trust me, we've tried."
"Well, I guess I'll have to be the first, then."
"Yeah, you and your nineteen-year-old ass. Then again, you've always managed to pull off the impossible."
"Funny thing is, I'm older than I look.
"Oh yeah?"
"Turned thirty-two a few months ago. Had a great birthday."
"You're thirty-two? What genes did you get and where can I get me some of them?"
Harry chuckled. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject of his 'three parents situation' with Sirius. Perhaps the best way to do it was to be completely blunt. Get it over and done with. Sirius certainly wasn't one to beat around the bush, unless it was to do with a prank. In that case, he could drag things out for months on end. Harry had experience with this. To say it was frustrating would be a gross understatement. He thought that Sirius would appreciate this.
"I, uh, discovered…" The words lodged in his throat. Typical. Alright, Potter, get it over and done with. Spit the words out. The worst part will soon be over.
"What did you discover?" Sirius leaned forward, keen to hear the news.
"James isn't my biological father?" Harry cringed, waiting for the explosion.
Sirius didn't move. Didn't even blink. His body was a statue. He made a small noise, almost like a whine. Harry shrank down, wrapping his hands around his knees. He may be an adult, but Sirius' reaction was the worst thing he ever experienced. It was hell, not knowing what he was thinking, not knowing what to say, what to do. Would it have been a better idea to wear a glamour? Hide who he was? That wasn't something he'd done since 2011 when he discovered that Steve was alive.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have told you." Harry didn't even look at Sirius. It was like he was thirteen again, facing judgement from Professor Dumbledore. Not the fire-like anger, though. The quiet disappointment that got to him far more than yelling, the crack in the voice that betrayed how hurt they were at what you'd done.
"It...no, don't say that. Never say that. It isn't your fault." He chuckled slightly. "It all makes sense now. I was so confused when Lily said, 'he's our son, it doesn't matter where he came from or who his father is.' That sent Moony and me loopy for days."
"She said that?"
"She sure did. So did James. They loved you so much. Sure, it's a shock, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of what time we have here. I'm no fool, Harry. Never be afraid." He glanced down. "Who is your biological father? What happened?"
"Okay, first of all, there was no cheating happening." Sirius let out a breath. "You don't need to worry about that. Dad was infertile. So, a sperm bank in London, and here I am. There is nothing more to it.
"My biological father, who I live with now, is wonderful. He's stubborn, bull-headed and has the most righteous set of morals you will ever come across. Seriously, don't even try to sway him. He's an amazing soldier and cares for those around him so much that I sometimes think I'm imagining it. Fun fact, he was a soldier in World War Two."
"What's his name?"
"Steve Rogers." Sirius straightened. Harry snorted. "Ring any bells?"
"Your biological father is Steve Rogers, Captain America?"
"Yeah, crazy, isn't it? How do you know about him?"
"The best way to disappoint my mother, knowing about the walking flag. She went mental."
"Sounds like her…" Harry trailed off. There was something off, something moving towards them. Something...someone. Tinged with death, reeking of dark magic, so much so that Harry felt suffocated. Sirius seemed to be suffering in the same way. He stood, turning around, and came face to face with the most repulsive woman he'd ever seen.
She wasn't rotting away like the inferi were. Neither was she as beautiful as a siren. She sat somewhere in the middle. It was the little things that made Harry lock his jaw. The way her sunken eyes were glazed over yet saw everything. How her hands twitched, nails sharp as claws, begging to hurt someone. Her wand looked to be carved out of bone, black wisps circling the end of it. She was thin, emaciated, matted hair hanging around her face, yellowing teeth showing when she smiled knowingly at him. But that wasn't what made Harry take a step back from her. No, it was something far worse.
She was empty.
Where her soul would usually sit, there was nothing. Nothing. A vast pit, endless abyss. It was disgusting, it was evil, it reminded him of Voldemort. Who was this woman, this thing? It was her he was after. What did she do get to this point? How did she still live, be more than a vegetable without her soul? He shivered again. This was far worse than he expected.
"Sorry to cut the reverie short, Sirius," she sneered. Her voice was hoarse, wheezing, rattling in and out with every breath she took. Dementors sprang to mind. That made Harry hate her even more. "See, I've been waiting for you to arrive, have no idea how long I've been waiting. I nearly died trying to get you here." She giggled. "Now isn't that ironic? I can't quite die, I'm here. But with you, I can get out. With you, Harry, I can―"
"Alrighty, I'm going to cut you off right there. We don't need another one of your rants, we've heard them all before. Leave, please. We're catching up here, or can't you see?"
"Oh, I can see very well. I just don't have the energy to care about your poor little feelings right now." She raised her wand, firing a non-verbal spell at Sirius. Harry erected a shield. The spell harmlessly pinged off. Her lips thinned.
"Who are you?" asked Harry. Perhaps, with her penchant to prattle, she would let slip some vital information. He wasn't surprised she was after him. Being Harry Potter, it wasn't anything new. Being a part of the Avengers only heightened that.
"You mean you don't know?"
"Why would I know? You're some crazy necromancer lady who hacked into my dreams."
"Yes, I suppose I did do that, didn't I. Yes, that was very fun."
"Not for me, it wasn't."
"Wait, what do you mean, you hacked his dreams?" interrupted Sirius. "How the fuck did you do that? Scratch that. Why the fuck would you do that? I know that you have some serious mental issues going on, and don't even mention the necromancer side, but what drove you to do it."
"Some people have more powers than others, mutt. You'll find out soon enough why I did it. Sit down, the adults are talking." She turned to Harry. "You answered my call. You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I'll finally be free from this hellish prison."
Harry crossed his arms. "And what makes me think I will help you?"
"You're the Master of Death. It's your job to help me."
"No, it isn't. I don't quite think that you understand what being the Master of Death means, Vigneaux." The name came to the forefront of his mind. Time to show her what it really meant to be the Master of Death. "I don't help those who desecrate themselves or others. I have no true mastery over Death, no one does. It's just a title. What comes with the title is protecting others, helping those who deserve to be helped. You," Harry stepped ominously closer to her, "don't deserve that help. So go and check your priorities and come to terms with the fact that you're never getting out of here on your terms."
"You...this isn't right."
"Nothing ever is."
"You're supposed to help me!"
"I would never help someone who gave up their soul for power."
"That was the best decision I ever made." Her eyes began to grow dark, cracks appearing all across her face. "You should understand that. You should understand the most!"
"I will never understand."
"Uh, Harry, we should get out of here," said Sirius. "She's going to blow in a minute."
"No, we stay. This is who I'm after. I can take care of her, don't you worry."
"I'm your godfather, I'm obligated to worry."
"YOU FOOL!" screamed Vigneaux. She levelled her wand at Harry. "If you won't share your power, I suppose you'll have to die." Harry stayed silent, smirking at her. "BOMBARDA!" The curse impacted his chest. It exploded outwards, leaving a gaping hole that you could see through. The pain was so intense that stars danced in front of his eyes, the darkness encroaching the edge of his vision. He didn't stop. Didn't scream. Didn't show any indication of the pain apart from a slight grimace and the narrowing of his eyes.
"That won't work on me."
She didn't reply. Her eyes were fixated on the Resurrection Stone fastening the Invisibility Cloak. Her twitching hands reached out, groping in the air for it. Harry took a step back, placing a protective hand over the relic. She was transfixed. Harry's chest healed up, yet her eyes still stayed.
"How do you have that?" She rasped. "What gives you the right to wield such power?"
"The Resurrection Stone?"
"You fool, it is so much more. You know it, deep down inside you. That stone is so much more than what you think. Give it to me, I can use it properly. GIVE IT TO ME!" She dove forward, arms outstretched. Her eyes were fully black now, face cracked up like a smashed ceramic.
Harry sidestepped, but not soon enough. Her nails gouged into his cheek, digging so deep he could feel the air on his bones.
"Aagh!"
"Yes, that's right, hurt. I'll cause you endless amounts of pain until you give it to me! It is my right!"
Harry snapped.
"THIS IS NOT YOUR RIGHT! THE ONLY RIGHT YOU HAVE IS TO SUFFER FOR ALL THE PAIN YOU HAVE CAUSED. I KNOW ABOUT THE INFERI. I KNOW ABOUT ALL THE PEOPLE YOU KILLED. There is a reason you're here and I can feel it. I am not stupid, nor am I dumb. I know what you did, the lives you ruined. I'm not going to give you something that will only let you further your agenda. You're disgusting. CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"I―"
"No, you don't get to speak. What you get is this." He raised his wand and uttered an incantation that only he could use, only he could survive. It was one of the abilities that came with the Master of Death title. She was never going to be the same. Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.
Little wisps of black, the same type that whispered around her wand, began to escape her. She screamed when she realised what was going on, what he was doing to her.
"NO! YOU CAN'T!" She desperately tried to keep it in. "THIS ISN'T RIGHT!"
"This is as right as anything will ever be."
Vigneaux sank to her knees, no longer screaming. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. And this was as lost a cause as any.
"Please…"
"No," Harry spat. "You lived for hundreds of years leeching off the life force of others. Countless deaths have been caused because of you." He twisted his wand and the last wisps of black disappeared into it. If he wasn't careful, they would disappear inside him. To prevent this, he closed his eyes and muttered a second incantation. He knew the second the wisps were destroyed completely, never coming back.
Vigneaux's eyes fluttered back in her head. She slumped over, crumpling to the ground. Harry bound her with ropes and double-checked that she was unconscious. Fury was going to be pleased; the mission was completed three weeks early. This was a win for Harry.
A sharp breath sounded behind him.
"Harry, what's going on? How are you alive? What the fuck is going on?" exclaimed Sirius, who was currently losing his mind. This was beyond anything he'd seen before. Anything he would ever see again. "What did you do to her?"
"I stripped her of her magic so she will never be able to use it again. I'll also be taking her out, as she isn't truly dead in here, and this place only feeds her powers. Don't worry, she is still alive. My superiors have several questions for her, as do I." He fingered the Resurrection Stone, wondering what could have caused her to get into such a tizzy over it. He needed to take a closer look at it. "And when I said I have a problem dying, I meant it. Master of Death and all, immortal for the foreseeable future."
"That...that's a lot. Remind me not to get on your bad side."
"You could never get on my bad side."
"Sap."
"May as well call me a tree."
Sirius groaned. "That was abysmal."
"You're welcome."
Sirius sighed. "You really should be going. I know we haven't had long, but this place, it does things to you. If you can leave, you should. I'll be okay here. I've got a few friends. Murphy, nice guy, a bit of a homicidal streak. Anya, her idea of playing a prank is lighting my house on fire. Dayan, he's just a nut. I'll be alright."
Harry's eyes widened. He could do something, something good, something for Sirius. He would probably be comatose for days afterwards, but wasn't a part of his 'job' helping people pass on? Guiding them to the afterlife? "Sirius, I have to ask you something."
"Yeah?"
"If you had a choice, would you pass on?"
"Yes. I would finally be at peace. Don't get my hopes up, though."
"I can do it."
"You can...what?"
"I can help you pass on. Help you be with Mum, Dad, Remus and Tonks, the Longbottoms, Dumbledore, everyone. I know how to do it. I can do it."
"You...can?" Sirius looked at him with eyes that were all too hopeful. "I would give anything…" He rushed forward, enveloping Harry in a hug even tighter than before. "I don't usually give hugs. You've caught me here." The words were thick with tears.
"Yes, I can do it. I can do it now."
"Will it hurt?"
"It's quicker than falling asleep." Harry pulled back, choking on the mirror of when he was in the forest. "Goodbye, Sirius. Enjoy it, okay? And remember me."
"How could I ever forget?"
"You won't."
Harry took a deep breath, placing his hand on Sirius's shoulder. A bright silver light shone out, bright and brighter until Sirius was nowhere to be seen. It was so quick that it happened in the space of a blink. The heavy air lightened, coming to a sense of calm, a sense of peace. And even though Harry would miss Sirius, would grieve his godfather, he was grateful to have one last chance to talk to him. And to help him finally be at peace?
That was what set his heart to rest.
The next few days flew by in a blur. Harry took Vigneaux out of the Veil, past the inferi and to SHIELD, where she was taken into custody. He then returned to England for Winona's birthday. Time in the Shadow Realm, as he had named it, passed differently, which was something he was sure Hermione would love to look into. He was still light, still elated, from his conversation with Sirius.
He arrived at their door, present for Winona clutched in his hand. Hermione would disapprove, while Ron would whoop in exhilaration. It was just how his friends were. Because it would be extremely obvious what the gift was, he put it in a long, thin box. It wouldn't do if the mystery of what it was was ruined the second she saw it. That, and he wanted to escape the wrath of Hermione for as long as was humanly possible. Despite the fact he knew that she would warm up to it, she was still extremely scary when she wanted to be.
The bright red door opened, Ron standing behind it. Rather amusingly, his hair blended in almost perfectly with it. That had to be the handiwork of Hermione, who knew how to play a good prank or two when she wanted too.
"Harry, you're back! Just in time, too. Winona is running up the walls waiting for you."
He chuckled. "Why am I not surprised? She has endless energy. Sometimes I wonder where she gets it from."
"I don't wonder sometimes, I wonder always. Honestly, it's exhausting. At least she's mellowed out a bit. She was a literal demon when she was five."
Harry didn't have the chance to reply. He was bombarded with several children. They clung to his legs like limpets, bowling him to the ground. Ron had the reflexes to catch the present that Harry threw him. He didn't want it to get damaged. It would never work the same if it did. He also didn't want to give Winona a broken birthday present, even if it technically was her fault that she broke it.
"Uncle Harry! You're back. Don't go away for that long again," pouted Winona.
"Alright, I won't. But save that sadness for a rainy day, button. Today is your birthday. There's no time for sour moods here."
"Can we open presents now? Please, please, please? Please, Dad, please?" Winona changed her tactics the instant she laid eyes on the massive, scarlet wrapped package her father was carrying. Harry used the distraction to pry three children off his legs. No matter how much he loved them, they still scared him to no end. He shivered to think of what they could do if they stayed attached to his legs.
"You'll have to ask your mother, miss."
As if summoned by a charm, Hermione appeared from around the corner. "Ask your mother what?"
"Can we open presents now?"
"I don't see why not."
Years later, Harry would swear that Winona turned into a human hurricane, rushing herself over towards the coffee table containing gifts so quick she was almost invisible to the eye. The destruction she left in her wake, however, was not invisible. Harry took his present from Ron and placed it down next to the other ones. They all sat down around the crowd of kids. Each one of them was clamouring to see Winona open their gift. He did have to admit that it was utterly adorable. No, not adorable. Little maniacs in the making.
When it came to his present, Harry watched anxiously. When Winona ripped the wrapping off and saw what it was, she squealed in delight, running her hands over the handle, fiddling with the bristles. The broom wasn't top of the line, as he didn't want to give her one so fast she would fall off it, but it wasn't so slow that she would have a boring time.
The rest of the party passed in a blur. Everything went well, except for the many, many, many, stinging hexes sent his way for giving Winona a broom. And the book on Animagus transformations that Hermione gave him after he inquired after it. Even though she was nice, at the moment, she was terrifying. She would mellow out.
Eventually.
Merlin, Hermione was scary.
A few days later, in the evening, Harry found himself sitting in his room, examining the Resurrection Stone. He turned it over and over in his hands, seeing if there was anything new to discover. He had to admit, something about it did feel different. Stronger, more lethal, cold. Even more so than before. While the Elder Wand was now warm and alive in his grasp, the Stone never changed.
He picked at one of the gouged lines of the Gaunt family crest. All of a sudden, an orange light began shining out, so bright he needed to squint. To his astonishment, the rest of the stone began to crack, revealing another stone beneath, glowing a bright orange. What he thought was the Resurrection was only a casing for what lay inside.
When the bright orange stone fell into his hand, the casing disintegrated into nothingness, a feeling of...rightness swept through him. He didn't know what this strange artefact was, why it was contained within the Resurrection Stone, or why it pulsed with such raw power that he almost burned himself. As he bent down further to inspect it, he found himself becoming entranced with it. Not getting lost within the strange, swirling stone, merely interested. This...this was new. Something for him to look into. Perhaps it had something to do with the sceptre. Bringing it into the experiments he was planning could be a good idea...
Outside, people looking up saw an impossible light show coming out of the windows of Avengers Tower. They marked it down as another quirk of New York and kept on their way.
Across the universe, the Mad Titan looked up when he felt the awakening of another Infinity Stone, and smiled.
Okay, I just want to get over the vital stuff before I launch into my massive Author's Essay below. There is a poll on my profile for what Harry's animagus form should be. Please go and vote, I appreciate your feedback. I got a lot of requests for birds, which I like the idea of, so whittled it down to three. Second, this chapter was a monster to get out, and I hope that I made up for the delay with the last one. There was no hope of making it shorter, the original version was 15000, and there was no way I was putting that out. I hope you enjoyed this shortened but still long version. Third, I have put something below that may be of interest:
I thought some of you may be interested in a list of what Harry's powers are as the Master of Death. They are as follows: He has increased strength, increased stamina, is able to sense things to do with death, can survive most injuries, and is able to see when people are going to die, though he doesn't use this power. There are more that may be introduced, but that's it at the moment.
Okay, now, onto the Author's Essay. Please read :)
When I started this story back on the 24th of February, it was a silly little challenge. I wanted to see how long I could go updating daily, without a plan. I had every intention to abandon this story when I finished the challenge, marking it as complete. The thing is, the more I wrote it, the more I wanted to write. Plans began popping up in my head. Every time I sat down to write, uncontrollable excitement filled me, in a way that I've never experienced before. I realised that there was so much more I wanted to do with the story, so much more that it could be. I couldn't abandon it, not when there was such a spark in my chest. I didn't know where it would go, nor where we would end up. I drew up a rough plan and got writing, settling for weekly updates on Sunday.
And here we are six and a bit months later, at one of the most important milestones I have ever reached with my writing. One hundred thousand words, over 500 reviews, 2000 plus follows, 1400 plus follows, and so many views I still think I am hallucinating. Sure, there have been rough patches, but it is you guys who got me through them. It was your kind reviews, your wonderful engagement that made me sit down and write more of it. Sure, I still had that fire, but couple it with the motivation you guys gave me, and I felt like I could conquer the world. As far as I am concerned, I have conquered the world.
Right now, I have been typing for seven hours straight. My fingers are shaking, I can't feel my arms, my eyes are going in and out of focus, my legs won't stop jigging, and yet I still sit here. I am so happy that I nearly cried earlier today. This story, this community, means so much to me that I don't quite know how to deal with it. There are days that I wake up and think I'm still dreaming. How could I be so lucky to have this as my reality? I'm just the small sixteen-year-old girl from New Zealand, not some successful fanfiction author. I have to slap myself, tell myself that this is me, that this is real. I am so lucky to have each and every one of you.
There is another thing I must confess, too. A few months back, there was a time where I struggled to write. I was getting negative reviews, and going through a difficult time. Then I was pulled back from the edge by those of you who were kind enough to leave reviews, to favourite and follow, let me know that my work was appreciated. There are several people who I would like to thank personally:
Geekymom: Your reviews always brighten my day. Thank you so much. I don't know what more I can say.
AliceCullen3: Every time you review you leave a smile on my fave. Thank you for sticking with me.
Makyrayami Ookami: You've done so much for me. I always think of you when I update, even though I don't know you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Octaviaxanadu22: You know exactly how much you mean to me. You make me smile every time I speak to you, especially with how you put up with my ramblings. Thank you for sticking with me (and this fic) through thick and thin.
There as so many more people I could thank, just know that you are appreciated. I love each and every one of you, so, so much. I'll leave it here, don't want this to get too long, do we? Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can't wait for everything that comes from this moment.
Sincerely (with all the hearts in the world, the galaxy, the UNIVERSE),
Mariadoria
P.S: I love all of you. Alright, I'll stop now. Love you all. :)