Hello, Harry
FatesShadow83's prompt(s): HP/Supernatural, HP/Castiel, Instead of summoning the Horseman of Death, Lucifer's ritual summons Death's Master.
"And who are you?" It's a purr that rumbles like oncoming thunder. Harry looks up to see him, a man that is not merely a man. Harry has enough experience with souls (well, one soul, Tom's: but Tom had split his soul) and possession to know that the soul of the mortal body isn't the being speaking to him. Harry tilts his head, as if seeing for the first time the mass of bodies ringing where they stand.
"Why would you do this?" Harry asks his own questions first, and feels he has the right to, and as he felt the tugging in his gut to summon him here, feels his questions are by right of more importance. Dead blue eyes regard him, measuring.
"To summon the pale Horsemen…." Harry feels the wand, like a cane, between his fingers. His black ring blinks with white, and his shoulders shrug under a cloak that shimmers like starlight. The man who isn't a man at all sees these things as well, as if for the first time, and he blinks, and smiles – slowly, licking his lips as if eager.
"Ah, I see my apologies are in order. Death is like a grim black dog to be leashed, least he be at your throat with teeth tearing into you instead of the enemy. You have Lucifer's thanks for your coming so swiftly, Master of Death." The being in the body of a broken man, does bow, with flare. For the bloodline of the first Horsemen is magnificent, and survives to breed glory and immortality. It is worth an angel's bow, it is worth worship – and has been before the days of Noah: for to be the Death's Master, Harry was his direct blood descendant.
"What?" Harry asks of Lucifer, baffled, but Lucifer takes it to mean to speak swiftly of what he wants, and speaks plainly.
"Are you not the last of Death's bloodline upon this Earth? Are you not alone? You should not be, Master of Death. It is a lonely and terrible thing, to be lonely among these lesser…things. God would not want you to suffer their company. God creates and destroys, and it is time for this world to end. Summon up Death, and have him lead the Horsemen." Lucifer knew full well that Death could be summoned up and asked to do a task, but that was the extent of what could be predicted: Death's Master was a lore that the likes of Lucifer had never hoped to set eyes upon. They often were hidden in plain sight, watchers – not doers. When they died, they were the Reapers. This boy though, was yet young.
"I see." Harry narrowed his eyes and tapped his finger against the wand-cane.
"Take all the time you need." Lucifer insists, sensing that Death's Master thinks him hasty. Harry tilts his head in agreement, and is gone like a sigh.
Harry Potter does sigh when he reappears.
"One mad man after another, hmm?" Death turns to look upon his descendent, smiling slow and with memory far older then the Earth. Harry bows his head to his elder in agreement, knowing well that Death serves his own mad man, though most know him by the name of God. Such are Harry's ancestors, so old that their mere names hold power to sway worlds into command. Harry could call them by other names, but that would not change who they were – who he is.
"Lucifer, I think." Harry looks over a still lake, with no storm brewing above. If the world is to end, there should be a storm to give warning, that there is not gives him hope, and his smile is bright when Death's laugh fills up the air.
"Ah, that boy! Much like your Tom, I do think." The same ambitions: that same thirst for renewal through a final damning destruction. It would, after all, be to much work for such as them to rebuild the world, as such of the powers God and Death had done. Over and over, so much so, that no one saw the power of it, they took it for granted: as physics, as science and nature.
"I would rather meet someone not so mad, is there no one attracted to me in that like?" If any would know, it would be Death.
"I think you would be surprised today." Death leans back against the dead bark of the park bench. He snaps his fingers, and an angel appears. He staggers out of thin air, blinking as if woken from sleep abruptly. Angels, of course, do not sleep.
"This one I brought back for you." Death says easily, confiding and confident, though the angel's eyes are wide with shock at finding this information out.
"What would I do with him?" Harry leans forward, looking curiously at the angel, as if there is something worthy of attention to be seen plainly. His chin rests on his hand as he looks; he winks at the baffled angel: he is rather adorable, in a too pure way.
"Whatever you want: his life –and death - is yours to command." Death waves his hand, as if parting himself from that responsibility. Harry takes it up, as easily as nodding.
"What is your name?" Harry eyes his angel, who looks nervous.
"Castiel." He says, wary. Harry looks to Death, who blows him a kiss – hinting. Harry sighs and rolls his eyes, standing up he is shorter then the angel in front of him.
"Show me this world, what is its worth? Perhaps Lucifer is right, but perhaps… he is wrong." Harry extends his hand, and after a glance to him – and then to Death – Castiel does not hesitate to take the hand offered to him. In a blink, they are gone, and Death's small smile is divine.
Castiel, being Castiel, takes Death's Master to see the Winchester's who first fascinate him. He gives no explanation to the brothers, who sit side by side in a moving car: Harry and Castiel take the back seat.
"These are they who would be vessels, of Lucifer– and that of Michael." Castiel nods first to Sam and then to Dean. It is Dean who slams on the brakes, seeing in the rear view mirror a boy he's never seen the likes of before.
"Castiel!" Sam says, turning to point a knife toward Harry. Harry blinks to see it. It's glyphs ring, singing in joy.
"What the hell! Who are you?" Dean demands, his eyes narrowed upon the two.
"I would not do that. That knife knows its makers blood." Harry warns, while the knife sings and the glyphs gleam. It's as if the knife is showing off. Harry smiles to see it, he reaches out fearlessly to touch it, and the knife – with just that bare touch - cuts him quick and clean, the blood greedily dunk up by the knife – it's glyphs as gold as that shining blood had been. Sam is very pale.
"You made this knife?" Sam demands, knowing he had gotten it from Ruby's hands. A demon carrying a demon-killing blade had seemed strange to him, so he had always wondered how it had come to be.
"I did not say that." Harry looks away, out the window, seeming bored.
"Death's Master." Castiel simply says in answering Dean, now that Harry is so obviously disinclined to speak. He would not dare interrupt such as Harry.
"Holy hell…" Dean mutters, and catches the envy green eyes glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. His lips are quirked in a smile that gives Dean the chills. He knows he's out of his depth, and remembers something like those eyes winking at him in Hell.
"Lucifer did mean to summon Death, but those that would deal now with Death must first go through me." Harry smiles fondly into empty air, as if he can see Death in the distance. Perhaps he does, or not, for Death can not hide from his Master.
"You should thank him when next you see him, in making the mistake." This Harry addresses to the brothers, who trade glances. Harry ignores their speculation.
"Yeah, we'll do that…." Dean mutters, though Harry doubts with reason that he ever will.
"Lucifer asks of me to let loose Death upon Earth, to call the Horsemen to ruin, to begin again anew." Harry looks again out the window, as if seeing what Lucifer would ruin.
"You can do that." Sam doesn't doubt it, but he wants it plain and simple.
"Sam…." Castiel warns, too late, for he ceases to speak as Harry turns to Sam Winchester.
"I am Death's Master." Harry blinks at Sam- seeing the confusion there, but it as if he can not put it more simply or in another way. It is what it is.
"What if I bleed you with this knife that likes your blood so much?" Harry's eyes flick to it, there is sorrow in his eyes.
"It will do what it is meant to do. By a Master's hands it was built for a final sacrifice –willing or nay. If I were to be that sacrifice, Death would be let loose. Not even the Lord Maker God could leash Death. I am to be the last of Death's Masters. In short, you would serve Lucifer well to go through with your threat." Sam carefully puts the knife away his own eyes are wide, under the watchful eyes of Dean and Castiel: as if they expect the knife to leap by itself for Harry's throat.
Harry seems not to care.
"What will you do?" Castiel asks, soft – for both Winchesters are speechless, waiting and watching. They are also tense, for they know that Death's Master would be their last enemy – if he is to be an enemy.
"Let it be as it is. I see no fatal flaw in God's creations." Harry's white stone ring did blink black. His shoulders slumped in relief, body going lax against the backseat, he is still and pale, but he breathed. He slept. Castiel gathered that limp and frail body up in his arms, and for the first time the brothers noticed how small Death's Master truly was.
"He's a boy." Sam is shocked at that realization.
"Yes." Castiel agrees, with bowed head.
"How old is he?" Dean asks, gently.
"He is new born, last born. If the son of God is Jesus, this is the son of Death." Folded and cradled into Castiel's arms, Harry's face rolled toward them, eyes open and the lightning bolt scar vivid red against his pale skin.
"My name," Death's Master says defiantly, "is Harry."
They had, after all, never asked – and it was time proper introductions be made.