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Harry had finally done it. Voldemort was defeated, the Elder Wand was 'destroyed' — a fake for the story to spread whilst the real one was safely in his possession — the invisibility cloak was still his and now, in the woods as he was, the stone was his. He possessed all three of the Hallows and should anything go awry upon his claiming of the mantle, the world would be safe in his absence. He'd personally seen to that.
He took a breath, and then, he picked up the resurrection stone.
Nothing.
Harry looked around, his breathing more rapid as adrenaline began to surge throughout his body. He'd done it, he'd collected the three Hallows and should be, rightfully, the master of Death; perhaps the most powerful being, but if not, surely a contender for the title… but why hadn't anything happened?
He wondered, briefly, if there was some sort of ritual or phrase that needed to be said aloud. If there was, he hated to admit it, but he'd not thought that far ahead. Merlin, he'd been on the run for months just so he, 'Mione and Ron could destroy all of Voldemort's Horcruxes — there hadn't been time for some light reading regarding the Hallows.
"I'll go home and have a kip, then," Harry said aloud with a huff as he made to store the stone, disappointed that it'd not worked immediately. "Master of 'Death' —" he scoffed at the title. "Maybe it really was just a tale."
No sooner had he finished speaking, did the temperature around him grow cold. It felt as a Dementor's cold might, maybe even colder, but whatever brought the cold lacked the aura of dread that always accompanied the aforementioned dark creatures. Nonetheless, Harry's wand was in his hand, his new wand. Whatever had arrived, he would dispatch or come to terms with, and then he'd head home to figure out what he had to do.
But much like what had happened when it came to the Hallows and their supposed activation, no creature appeared, nor did any sign of magic occur. Harry was, for all he could tell, alone in the woods with his wand out and acting paranoid.
He huffed. "Just the wind," he said aloud to himself as he made back whence he'd come.
And that was when he heard a voice, deep, cool and distinctly feminine. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."
In an instant, Harry turned to face the noise, his wand raised and his stance poised to strike. He found the person the voice belonged to within a second of his turning, and it was there he saw a female figure adorned in a black robe that would've dragged for a meter or two behind her were it not levitating above the ground. Her visage, meanwhile, was indistinguishable behind the dark, overhanging hood that she wore.
Were it not obvious then, the incredibly large, almost exaggeratedly-large scythe at her side, gave away the identity of the person that stood before him. It was who he'd sought, and with the items still in his possession, he reckoned he was the 'Master' of the being… he'd definitely need to do some more reading.
Harry had made the decision to return home with his new… companion, of sorts. As tempted as he might be to stay in those woods forever and speak at-length with, well, Death, he figured privacy would never not be needed. There were far too many Rita Skeeter's on the planet for him to risk one such person overhearing his conversation.
That was why Harry was standing around his parlour room in Grimmauld place with a queer look on his face. In truth, he hadn't truly expected to summon Death, it'd been more an impulse upon having collected everything, but now, here the being was before him, and sat on one of Sirius' old couches.
Harry figured Sirius was probably having a grand old time of laughing at him as he watched this unfold.
"Death?"
The figure didn't shift at the mention of its name. It stayed doing as it'd been doing since it'd arrived and sat down; that being to look at him straight-on without so much as a flinch or glance around the place. He couldn't be certain if the being wasn't curious, or if it was simply awaiting a command of sorts from him. Maybe it wasn't even really death, but something that magic formed, like the smoke from Voldemort's Horcruxes.
That was a possibility, in Harry's mind.
"I await your orders," the same, gruff, feminine voice said aloud. "Master."
That one word came almost as an after-thought, and in it, Harry could hear what almost sounded like spite, or annoyance. A strange tone for a being such as the one before him to have, especially since it was she — or it — that had created the Hallows in the first place. Since there was only one such set in the world, he figured Death had learned from that mistake.
"Could you tell me about the Elder Wand?" he asked after mulling over his previous thoughts and many more. "Does it simply make your magic stronger, or is there something special about it that I've not yet realised?"
He had initially wanted Hermione's help, but when he'd faked the wand's destruction, that bridge was burned lest he wanted a very long conversation. Even then, he reckoned Hermione would still try and convince him — heatedly if need be — that the thing needed to be destroyed.
But he couldn't do that. Not now, not with all three in his possession. He could do so much good for the world with this being by his side. Harry could see to it that all of Voldemort's deeds are undone, and the Magical world thrives as it once had.
"Ambition should be tempered, on occasion," Death said from across from him, the hood shifting as she turned to face him… before promptly appearing a foot from him in the span of a blink. "Any magic put through the wand is remembered. With your will, coax out the secrets it possesses. You have the strength of mind to do so with ease."
Harry saw the hood shift again, but as before, there seemed a magic that surrounded it, preventing him from seeing the face of the being before him. As for the tone of its voice, it remained gruff as ever, but there seemed an undertone that he only just picked up; it spoke of challenge, but in a way that wasn't remotely subversive.
He looked at the figure with an arched brow, and then, coming to his decision quickly, Harry rolled his shoulders and whipped out the wand. With a query of his brow, he focused exclusively on the item in his grasp, and that was when he felt it. There was a pull, almost like Fleur's allure, but it felt far less sweet and far more heavy, and demanding. Harry had half a mind to let it in when it began to tease promise and hope… but he forced it back, overcoming the pull at his mind with a fierceness that wasn't unknown to him.
As soon as he did so, it felt as if his mind was flooded with information and when he turned to speak to Death, Merlin, he nearly had a heart attack when he looked at her.
No longer was the being dressed in a long, flowing black robe with a face that couldn't be seen. Instead, and as he felt the magic of the wand come to life in his hand, the being, Death, seemed as what a classic depiction of angel might be; that meaning with large, feathered wings, a tall, thin, figure, long black hair that flowed well down her back, and a visage that seemed more perfect than even that of a Veela or Siren.
One could tell the being was divine in nature without so much as a second glance, and even lacking an allure that the aforementioned Veela and Sirens had in one way or another, there was nothing but the perfection of the being that brought one to it.
"Merlin."
That was all he could say when he looked between the newly-awakened wand and Death. He wasn't usually the most eloquent when it came to words, but even then, he was usually better than that.
"You're worthy," it, no, she, said with a nod, stoic and with her eyes locked on his. "And so I appear in a form not unpleasant or unsettling for one that might claim the mantle of my master. The wand answers to you now, and will grant unto you all the strength of its former masters, with their knowledge included — your soul will be safe from me, you'll not age, you'll need no sustenance nor sleep, no illness or disease might affect you."
Harry blinked. He'd not felt as was oft described in tales, that being a sensation or rush of energy. There hadn't been so much as a hint of energy flowing through him, and yet, he believed every word Death said to him on account of the words and feeling of the wand alone.
"Just me?"
She nodded at him in much the same manner as she had before. "You alone hold the title, and you alone reap the rewards. You'll live a life of solitude until you find a magic to cease or slow ageing exceedingly, but how long might that take? How empty might such an existence be?"
Harry nearly narrowed his eyes at the being as it spoke such words aloud. Undoubtedly, it wanted to goad him into destroying the artefacts or renounce his title — he didn't know if he could even do the latter action — but he'd not do either action. He could and would do good with this, and besides, he'd not be alone.
"I won't live a life of solitude," he said with a wave of his hand. He had plenty of friends and family, and he'd be a wicked Uncle. "And even if that happened, you'd still be here, wouldn't you?"
Death's brow furrowed, a look of confusion marring her otherworldly features.
Harry simply grinned.
He couldn't help but grin as he looked up from the table he'd been working at. It'd been a month since Death had formed an attachment with him, a month since he'd become her master. It wasn't quite like how he'd thought everything would go.
That thought hit him as Death walked over and set down a tome that he'd asked for earlier that day.
"As requested," she said with a dip of her head. "Would you like assistance?"
That made him raise a brow. "I thought you couldn't help me."
She seemed to smile, a rare thing, and similar to when he'd first called her Mortem, a word for Death that didn't sound quite as crude.
"A hint or two will go unnoticed," she said as she waved off his concern. Mortem moved closer to him, sliding into the space beside him with a grace and fluidity he'd never get used to.
He raised a brow then. In that past week or soon, she'd been sitting far closer to him and staying near his person throughout most of the day. He'd even catch her watching him curiously, until he'd notice and she'd look elsewhere.
"What?"
Mortem glanced at him. "It's as you said," she gestured to her person with a flowing motion. "I'm here."
Harry shook his head with a fond smile growing on his face. She'd grown on him in recent times, and when Hermione and Ron went away to find the former's parents, she'd become his only constant companion as he delved into books she brought to him. Books to help his friends and eventually, family, live longer.
He looked at the book, and then back to her. He couldn't help but keep his eyes focused on the being beside him.
"Another question?" she asked with a brow raised.
Harry grinned as a thought crossed his mind. "Yeah," he said with a nod as he shifted a smidge closer. "Another question."
Her answer suited him just fine.