AN: A little late since I'm trying to update around the 20-25th of every month. Also Death's introduction, it gets confusing, especially in essence there are two Deaths and Harrys being referred in the story but the other Death should not appear but it depends.
AN: Also no update 'It's a Relative Thing' just yet. I need to finish Chapter 7 before I can get started on Chapter 6, so it might take a while. IaRT's plot is less concrete than 'A Reprieve of Sorts.' But I think it ARoS is easier to write because the plot is definitely less confusing, as a result easier to write even with the more detailed notes I have for IaRT.
AN: I've added a second chapter for 'Not Yet' though and I'm in the works of writing another Fantastic Beast's fic. I'm trying to make that into just one long one-shot.
AN: And lastly, I honestly don't know when I'll be able to update again. I recently got a job so I'll be a busy bee and will mostly likely be too drained to write anything on most days. As it is since the past few days were so hectic I'm not able to properly go through everything. So any mistakes are mine and feel free to tell me any of the errors, like me not spotting an incomplete sentence/thought.
But that doesn't mean I'll stop writing. I might just update everything every other month? We'll all see. So, I hope you all enjoy reading!
The sun set and the world slowly began its decent to slumber. Or at least it did on this side of the world. He couldn't sleep. Or, well, rather he didn't. Not really there were a lot of things in his mind. And the hotel, a rather fancy one at that with a grand view of the city's skyline (because of course, Death had his ways to afford it) but there are no stars at night.
'Good.' He thinks. His relationship with the stars are still a touchy thing.
Or maybe it had more to do with the vast expanse of—of, well space was the best way to describe it, since it was another plane altogether—space that he was stuck on with Fate as he watched his, well, home world end.
Either way.
There's a lot he needs to think about. A lot he needs to sort through.
"If you keep frowning," a voice broke through his brooding. It was Death, tall and stately as ever, moving with a silent, preternatural grace. "your face will end up permanently stuck with that expression. Then your mother will be upset. She will blame me, if that happens."
In Death's hands was a bag of take out, holding it out like he was handing off some sort of award to Harry. He smiled, the slightest of lips curling upwards, then snorted, all the while refusing to budge from where he was watching the darkening skyline, "Mum likes blaming you because she loves seeing you squirm."
Death sighed and carefully dropped the bag on the coffee table. He made his way to Harry, looking him up and down, frowning before reaching out to cup Harry's cheek. "I told you to get some sleep. Yet I come back to you looking… scornful and lost, I suppose is the best way to describe it."
"I am rested," he wanted to bat away the hand but let it be and in turn covered it with his own.
"Stubborn." Death says.
"I wonder where I got it from," Harry says dryly.
Missing his sarcasm, Death replied, "I wonder as well. Eat. It has been some time since you have eaten." He stepped back so he wasn't crowding Harry anymore. He stepped back as a silent request that Harry move to the couch and eat. Harry made a face but complied.
He dropped down on the couch, took his time reaching for the bag. Death had to walk closer to push the bag closer to Harry and sit on the chair.
Harry blinked when he peered into the bag.
"My favorite…" He said in wonder, "I—How did you know?"
Death watched him intently, curled comfortably on the chair, "You mother loves talking about you and I do so love to listen."
"Ew." He said but didn't elaborate anymore. He also didn't touch the food, choosing to just toy with it using the plastic spork that came with it. Under the disapproving stare of Death, he soon caved and took a couple of bites of the food, making a show chewing and swallowing the food before pushing it away gently. Death pressed his lips into thin line but said nothing. Just sighed in disappointment.
"Child," Harry snorted but didn't move to correct the other (since it wasn't like he was wrong. There weren't enough, ah, Beings that were currently older than him, of course. Especially ones he was close to), "how long must you strain your body so? Sleep. Eat. Recuperate."
"In truth, Father," He says, averting his eyes to the ceiling, pretending not to notice how the other melted a bit by the title, "I have no real need for it. Nor do I wish to waste more time with such frivolities."
"Lies," Death immediately rebuffed. The otherwise tranquil literal embodiment of death looked quite upset. Not exactly livid since the other didn't seem to be capable of displaying such emotions. Feeling it? Yes. Displaying it? At best it might come out as slightly pissed. "You are merely… ah, I mourning is one way to put what you are experiencing."
"Perhaps," Harry answers after a moment, not really in the mood to talk. He wasn't in the mood for much.
Death sighed again, reclining further on the chair, eyes also now straying to the ceiling, "Very well. I will not press you any further." Harry sighed in relief.
"For now." Death said sternly looking at him. Harry sighed again, this time in acceptance.
"And," Death continued with a great amount of reluctance imbibed in his tone, "as much as I wish to stay and care for you…" Death trailed off and this time the being sighed, "It does not bode well for any that I shirk my duties for too long."
Harry looked at his hands, clenching and un-clenching his fingers. It hurts to be alone, but it was… "Understandable."
"I do not wish to leave," Death repeated.
"But you must," Harry countered.
Neither of them wanted to be the one to break eye contact, so for the longest moment it was quiet.
"Yes." It was while they were caught in one another's gaze when Death spoke again, shattering the stillness they were in. "I must. But that does not mean I want you to be by your lonesome."
Harry snorted, crossing his arms; but still Death persisted, voice rumbling as he reprimanded Harry, "It is not because I know your mother will be upset with me and that I do not want to upset your mother. I would be upset at myself for considering that I should leave you on your own. That is why," Death sighed heavily, "I have made some arrangements."
Harry raised an eyebrow, arms still hugging his sides, not liking the sound of it one bit.
"What kind of arrangements?" He asks with the slightest hint of trepidation.
"Ah," Death says, looking near sheepish, twiddling his thumbs, "I still need to settle some things, but it is so you would not be alone."
Harry took a deep breath and sighed long and deep, eyes rolling heavenward asking for some patience.
"Father," Harry ignored the way the other melted again, he needed to get his opinion voiced, "I'm touched, I really am, but you cannot just plan things halfway and expect me to be fine with it. Not that I'm encouraging you, but even Mother makes sure everything is in order before approaching me so I have a harder time saying no." Not that he'd ever refuse that Death anything, or this one either since he looked like a kicked puppy, it hurt.
After letting that sink in for a bit and sighing he made his move, "I really appreciate what you're trying to do Father. Especially since I know you really only have my best interest at heart, but whatever it is, I want to be part of it." He paused, before leaning forward and took Death's hand in his own, eyes pleading, "I'm the one that will be affected the most by this, so please. Allow me to have a a part in this."
He hates not having a say. And as long as he can get away with it he wants to do things as he pleases when pleases. And Death. Death cannot refuse him either.
"Very well," Death says, eyes firmly on their joined hands, he squeezes them in comfort before raising his head to face Harry, "but only if you promise to go through with it."
It was another stalemate before Harry reluctantly nodded. Death let go of Harry when he tugged at his hands.
"Of course," Harry said standing, "I think. I think I will rest. I feel drained."
"Of course." Death tilted his head, "Do you wish for me to stay or shall I be taking my leave?"
Harry was quiet while he looked for something to change into. Eventually he replied once he had a bundle of clothes.
"I admit," He says with his back to Death, "I'd rather not be alone."
"Then I shall stay." Death says, getting up to put away Harry's leftovers.
The shower was rather powerful, its spray almost stinging as it impacted his skin. And that wasn't even factoring in the fact that Harry had set it to hot instead of just warm. But Harry was in no hurry to get out of the spray. Choosing instead to rest his forehead against the tile as the water hit his back.
Melancholy and regret danced on his shoulders, trying to make him cave from the pressure. But he won't fold. He's used to losing. Loses.
Though, he admits as he finally made a move to wash himself, unconsciously lowering the temperature, that this instance wasn't fair. He does not get his peace. He was not allowed the privacy to lament about it.
'All because,' he thinks hatefully, scrubbing his hair rougher than he intended, his scalp aching at the unintentional hair pulling he's done, 'of one itsy-bitsy nasty little Fate.'
That Fate was never kind. It was a proud and arrogant creature, thinking it knows best. That little Fate, who thought it could force him to just sit through like a pathetic weakling as his entire world, the one place where he started creating his legacies, died.
All things must die.
It is something he's learned to accept. It was one of the first things he's accepted. But he needed time to accept it. No matter how old he was, he still needed the time. And if that Fate thought he would just allow his person be a puppet for its amusement.
Well, he smirked, eyes closing in pleasure as he tilted his head up and just basked under the spray, letting the suds slide off his body.
It certainly got a rude awakening.
That Fate was no more.
But.
Let it not be said he hates fate. Just that particular one. Or rather the ones that was its ilk. Those were the worst kind of Fate after all. The ones that were young and so full of themselves, that they do not understand their purpose, choosing to satisfy their finicky whims.
However.
Fates, on the other hand, he tolerates and can respect. After all, the Fates were gracious enough to allow him to observe and learn Their Craft. While he will never achieve Their levels of Mastery, he knows a thing or two on how to pull at destiny's strings, not that he would ever want to know more than what They've given him or abuse it even. As he said he respects Them.
The Moirai.
The Crone, The Mother and The Wench.
Though, usually the youngest is called The Maiden but given the attitudes of most of the newly inducted Fate, Wench seemed like a more appropriate title to those arrogant creatures. There were times when he feels for The Crones and The Mothers, as They had to deal with The Wenches. But all he can do is shrug. They are the ones there to beat lessons and protocol through The Wench's skull. And for that he respects Them more.
The Fates are fair because They are balanced.
He can safely say that They more or less have an accord.
Harry was dressed in a pair of loose sweats and a black wife-beater when he exited the steaming bathroom. Toweling his hair dry, he made his way to the bed, where Death was watching the news.
Harry banished the towel back to the bathroom and dropped to the free side of the bed. He curled up om his side with his back against Death and the older being helped him get comfortable.
"You really should be going to sleep now," Death said, running a hand through his hair.
"Must I?" Harry rolled on to his stomach, pouting, "It is still early."
Death patted his arm in comfort, "Now, you said that you would sleep."
"No" He petulantly replied. "I said I would rest and I am sure this can count as resting."
"Be as that may," Death said sounding amused but looking so serene, "Tomorrow will be a busy day."
"Oh?" Harry raised a brow daringly.
"Indeed," The corner of Death's mouth twitched, "As you have said that you wish to be part of whatever it is I am, ah, planning and I have conceded that it would only be fair to include you. Then it is prudent that you will be well rested for tomorrow. I had planned to meet with a Mister Flamel, I should think that you are familiar with the man?"
"I… Yes," Harry pushed himself up the bed, twisting so that he could properly face Death. "I know of him. He and his wife passed away sometime between my twelfth and thirteenth summers, did they not?"
"Did they?" Death said mildly, reaching out so he could attempt to smooth down Harry's hair (no luck whatsoever).
"Father." Harry said, irritation and resignation meeting in his tone, Death was teasing!
"Sleep," Death implored, gently pushing Harry down with one hand, "Regardless of who we are meeting, you will need your rest. We shall meet Mister Flamel for dinner and I have no doubts that it will be a long night tomorrow."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know. Your mother knows. But it helps us sleep at night to know that there will be someone to watch over you at the very least. Your mother and I adore you so and we only want you happy and whole." Death says as he tucks Harry in.
"Neither of you really needs to sleep," was Harry's weak reply.
"Of course, of course." Death agreed, lying down on the bed as well, only he was on top of the covers. "I shall try to be here when you wake."
"Please don't imitate the modern vampire while I sleep." Harry closed his eyes, Death's laughter sounding like t
He woke up alone in bed.
Harry tilted his head to the side, oddly thankful that Death followed his request. He sat up and stretched. The curtains weren't covering the windows, but it wasn't that big of a deal since he slept facing away from the window.
A glance at the electronic clock on the nightstand showed that it was approximately twenty minutes before eight. Not really too early and not late, in his opinion.
He didn't want to get up just yet, so he summoned the remote and turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels disinterestedly, trying to find something to watch.
It was how Death found him, after he reappeared in the room, watching the latest episode of some Telenovela. Harry had a certain fondness for them.
Times and trends may pass but they will always be needlessly convoluted for entertainment. The Spanish ones will always have a special place in his heart, but he wasn't all too picky with what he watches.
'Well,' he thought frowning throwing the remote lightly before catching it, 'Unless it's the same pair of actors that were starring in a new show.'
He gets disappointed with those kinds of dramas. Sure, they're attractive. Sure, they know how to act (mostly). But, and may be it was just him, he gets sick of seeing the same casts together over and over again. He likes variety.
It wasn't all too hard to understand most of the show's plot, even with going by with the one episode he's watching.
"Harry?" Death called him.
"Hmmm?" He hummed in reply, eyes strictly glued to the way the villainess on the screen explained her latest plot to kill the goody-goody girl dead with exaggerated hand gestures to her lackey-friend.
"Good afternoon," Death sighed, crossing his arms, "Have you eaten anything?"
Harry answered curtly, choosing to keep most of his attention on the TV, "No."
Death sighed and stepped in between Harry's line of sight and the TV. Harry scowled but all that Death said was, "Do not make me break the television. It is time for you to eat."
"Fine," Harry sighed annoyed, getting up and making his way to the small kitchen the room came with.
Death just nodded, pleased that Harry was listening, with a flick of his hand the TV was off, "It would do well that you are feeling well when we meet with the Flamels later."
"So you keep saying. Where are we meeting them?" Harry asked as he searched the cupboards for a menu.
"I have made reservations in a certain restaurant. It is rather upscale but not extremely so. Still it would be best for us to dress up."
"Oh joy," Harry said just as he found the menu and flipped to an appropriate page. This Death was a rather… vain anthropomorphic personification of Death. He takes care to dress himself. Harry tries not to think of what he'll wear, Death has it covered knowing him.
After eating, Death did his best to herd an unwilling Harry around so he could actually get ready, when all was said and done and Harry looked like a presentable young man Death nodded, proud at how well he had cleaned up. With only two hours left before their meeting, Death was ready with a snap of fingers.
After a final (failed) attempt to comb Harry's hair into submission, they left the hotel. Like normal people.
Harry wouldn't call it a catharsis, but it was something. The way they, Death and he, have decided to do things. Death especially.
It was… humbling in its own way. To be able to walk amongst the living. Sometimes, its also the only that provides normalcy and stability. Death knows that the other Higher Beings can sometimes be comparably juvenile compared to the young race.
So with slow, but never reluctant, steps, they made their way through the crowds.
"Wouldn't it be easier if we take a car or something," Harry asked after getting fed up with all the curious and admiring stares they were getting and threw a combination of a notice-me-not and muggle repelling charms over his shoulder.
Death chuckled, not at all minding the curious stares as much, "We could but I am afraid that there will a situation up ahead that will require a delicate touch. And as such, it will cause a delay for any and all vehicles in the surrounding area. Unfortunately for us, the street the restaurant is in is also affected." He finished with an airy smile and careless shrug.
"Ah, of course," Harry rolled his eyes, "Forgive me for being remiss with my duties."
"There is nothing to forgive," Death firmly said.
Harry smiled, something slow small and maybe grateful but said nothing more.
As Death said, something came up and there was a lot of people milling the streets, all looking annoyed and harried, because the traffic wasn't moving. Harry's spells were still up, as such muggles would unconsciously give them a wide berth. Though at Death's silent prompting, he did cancel out the spell once they were nearing the restaurant building.
There was a bit of a line but nothing too long.
"Please tell me you made reservations," Harry muttered, looking at the line.
Death chuckled and patted his arm, "Of course I made them."
Harry sighed and muttered something under his breath in relief. Of course Death still had to butt in with a smile, "I put it under Peverell."
"What!" Harry hissed, surprised but mindful of the people around them. "Why use that name?"
"I have mentioned that we will be meeting the Flamels?" Death began just as they got in line. "I needed a way to capture their attention, and using the name guaranteed it."
"I can hardly see why using that name will catch their attention." Harry insisted.
"Ah," Death said, eyes closed in thought, "Would it really be a surprise to find out that these people came from the same reality that you grew in? That they would possess the knowledge to travel through dimensions or created it themselves if such knowledge didn't exist?"
"I—" Harry blinked, shaking his head and looking at the other, "A little, I admit. I was told that with the loss of their stone, they decided it was time to move on. I have not really given them thought since then actually. They're not dead?"
"They are not, they have only moved on as they have promised." Death said, moving forward to talk to the hostess and mentioned their reservation. Stepping back closer again to Harry, he finished, "And it was commonly known that Death was always eager to welcome anyone with Peverell blood staining through their veins into Its embrace and as a result, those of Peverell blood tend to die younger. They may be apprehensive."
The hostess smiled at them after confirming their reservation sand they were lead away to the more private rooms. While walking, Harry took in the restaurant.
The Lavender Nights looked beautiful. Even if it did have a bit of an odd name. Very odd. Especially considering that there were no hints of lavender motifs or the actual flowers in the restaurant.
If anything it should be called something like Autumn Nights because it was decked in the colors red, orange and yellows, it was all tastefully decorated, of course. Though admittedly, the colors reminded him of the Gryffindor common room, albeit, with the style a little too, ah, formal than what most Gryffs would prefer.
'At least,' he conceded, 'it would be for Gryffindors that were still in school or had only recently graduated from Hogwarts.'
Harry was busy taking it all in as a familiar flash of blond hair caught his eyes.
'Is that…?' Just as he was turning his head to that direction, the divider got in the way, he shrugged, no real loss.
Their guide left them with the promise that their waiter for the night will be by shortly with their menus. They both nodded and she left.
"Ready?" Death asks.
"Never." Harry says and opens the door.
AN: Actually before I leave, I just want to say something about a review a received for IaRT, it was a very valid criticism, I suppose, but I've long since made peace that not everyone will like what I write and some may even 'vocalize' it. I get that IaRT may be too wordy and dry even, my own fault really but it was the way I felt the story should be written. That story's pace will be slow and seem like it's distracting and avoiding anything happening because—well, I did say I was trying a third-person limited POV that had slightly a stream of consciousness flow. I'm trying to make the drag be less apparent but honestly, that story has a different style/format and premise compared to others I've written, as a result, the style of it's written and told is affected. 'Til next time!