AN
Major Character Death continues. And there's another death in here somewhere, I know there is.
June 1997, 6th year
Susan had called him erratic, once. He still was. He had just gotten himself accidentally killed by an old and barmy headmaster, after all. Because he had gotten distracted in the middle of their ... He supposed one could call it a 'duel'.
To be fair, Harry had not expected that Dumbledore would actually straight up murder him.
But whatever, what was done was done.
Harry looked around. This was not what he had expected the afterlife to look like, yet everything felt right – like the perfect place for Death to reside in. He was standing in what seemed to be a vast labyrinth of corridors. Behind him, heavy doors that were impossible to open. To all other sides, stony paths shrouded in twilight gloom, stretching into darkness. Harry chose one at random and began to walk. Despite this being most certainly a labyrinth, Harry had no problem finding what appeared to be an empty throne hall. He did not think it was due to luck.
The throne hall was wide and long, its high ceilings supported by massive pillars. There were high but narrow windows to one side, letting a blue glow light up the hall, making the runes and circles and symbols engraved into every stone surface visible, glistening with fresh blood.
Harry had not noticed this before, but here in the hall his steps echoed. Before, in the labyrinth of corridors, there had been no sound – not his steps, not his breaths, not his unbeating heart. But here, he could hear his shoes hitting the stone, could hear the whispers of the dead all around him, feel the cold seeping into his bones.
There was only the lithic throne here, in this hall, sitting on top of a small dais, empty – and behind it, embedded in the wall, a tall mirror that reflected an ancient archway, cracked and crumbling, hung with a tattered, black veil that fluttered softly in the still air.
Harry turned around to confirm that there was no archway behind the throne – but the moment he took his eyes off the mirror, the scene changed. It was a fluid change, almost imperceptible, and Harry found himself outside. All was made of stone here, too – from the grey mountains looming in the distance to the kind of crumbled skeleton of a building and the worn-down steps and broken pillars. He could see the sign of the Deathly Hallows everywhere he looked. It all seemed surreal.
There was a little girl sitting on the steps, watching him.
Harry found it impossible to guess her age, but she was pale, very pale, paler than pale – her skin was ashen and the blue glow did not do her complexion any favours. Or the burn scars that covered her head and torso and even her arms, peeking out from underneath the silken, black dress. There was a blue flame hovering above her right shoulder and Harry wondered whether it had anything to do with the burn scars, but the moment the thought came to him, he knew it was wrong, somehow.
Her hair was almost completely white, streaked with a few strands of – it wasn't quite red, more like … mahogany. It barely reached her collarbone and was cut to a blunt fringe at the front.
The girl was dead. If her ashen skin and almost completely white hair hadn't been enough hints, the eyes certainly gave it away – white and dead. Very, very dead.
That explained the oddness around her appearance. It all seemed … artificial – from the way her hair fell over her shoulders to the positioning of her hands atop her knees with her long sleeves draped around her – even the satisfied smile on her face. She looked like an imitation that was a bit imperfect in some places and a touch too perfect in others.
Come. Sit with me. said a voice out of this world, a voice that made Harry shiver involuntarily.
The girl's mouth had not moved, but her smile had changed.
Harry blinked, trying to focus on her, but the moment he did, his vision started to blur and it was as if there was a darkness spreading around the peculiar girl, while at the same time he felt himself fading, if only a little bit.
Harry blinked again. He was seeing double – as if what he was seeing overlapped with itself, just slightly off-centre, blurred around the edges.
He realised, with a start, that this girl had to be Death, itself.
Yes. Death said, chuckling. Welcome to my realm. Would you not rather sit for this?
Harry looked at the empty space next to the darkness. Then he shrugged and ascended the first two flights of stairs to settle down next to Death of all beings. As if they were friends.
One might call you my friend. One might also call you my Master – the Master of Death.
"But I'm not," Harry protested. "I only managed to acquire two of the Hallows. Dumbledore is still in possession of the Elder Wand."
You are the Master of Death in other universes already. You will be, in all universes, eventually.
"But I'm dead."
Death hummed. Harry found himself shivering at the sound.
In another universe, you grew up to be a brave and selfless young man. You collected the Deathly Hallows rather unintentionally and lived your life after the war surrounded by the people you loved, by your found family.
An odd change of topic, yet all Harry could do was to ask, "Why?"
Death smiled again. It was the path others had laid out in front of you.
From this close, Harry could see that it was not a very nice smile, the way the burn scars distorted its human-shaped lips – it would not have been a very nice smile even without those scars. Death's eyes were lifeless and empty. It might have appeared to Harry in the shape of a girl, a human, but there was nothing human about it, nothing at all.
"'Others'?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "Was that other me too weak to choose his own path?"
Weakness is a matter of perception. What you are truly asking, is whether you were 'gifted' in that universe and the answer is no – not in the same way you understand that word, at least.
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Oh, I can already guess: Gryffindor. Brash, reckless, impulsive. Ready to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. Kind, probably, and naïve. Stubborn and dumb. Believed the first thing anyone told him about this new and shiny, magical world. But with an oh-so-good heart. The perfect hero," he sneered. "Ready to accept anyone who has ever shown him kindness into his life and call it 'a family'. He probably married the first person who ever showed interest in him."
Boring, so very boring. Harry hated boring things. Harry hated being bored.
He knew what he could have become – had he not discovered his Gift – had he not had his Gift. Life with the Dursleys would have been different. Harry would have been different.
But he wasn't. Harry was no hero. There was nothing to be gained in heroism. Nothing at all.
Death was silent for a moment, expression unchanging, lifeless.
That is certainly one way to look at it.
"Am I wrong, though?"
Not necessarily. That version of you had to face many hardships in his life.
Harry opened his mouth to say 'And I didn't?', but then paused. Because he hadn't, had he? Every stone thrown in his way, he had dealt with as effectively and efficiently as necessary. His life wasn't nice and easy, per se, but he made it that way. Because he could. Because he was gifted.
"Was he happy?" Harry asked. "This other me."
As much as you could have been, given the circumstances.
"And he was the original one?"
There is no original.
"Then why tell me about him? Because he is the polar opposite of me?"
Perhaps.
"He didn't get himself killed by Dumbledore, did he?"
No. You were rather fond of Albus Dumbledore. You met him here, at the end, when Tom Riddle killed you and the Horcrux inside you.
"Wait. You mean he met Dumbledore? Not you? But wasn't he already the Master of Death by that point?"
You did not put any value into that title. You were also not quite aware of it at the time. There was a smile in Death's voice, but not its expression, as it said the next words, And afterwards, you destroyed the Elder Wand and never came back to collect the Resurrection Stone.
Harry blinked. "But – their magic. Surely, he hadn't figured it all out already? There is no way he did!"
In that universe, you were never as obsessed with knowledge as you are in this one. Death inclined its head. Of course, that version of you was also not as 'gifted'.
"Ah, that's right. Otherwise, he would have grown up to be a different version of himself. He probably did – in some other universe."
Yes.
"Fascinating. So he survived the Killing Curse a second time, then?"
Yes.
"How?"
The Blood Protection of your mother's sacrifice tethered you to life.
Harry frowned. "What Blood Protection?"
You mother chose to give her life for yours. The Blood Magic she unintentionally performed that night created a Sacrificial Protection. When Tom Riddle consumed your blood in his ritual to regain a physical body, he tethered your life to his. The Killing Curse could only destroy the Soul Shard within you, because your life was bound to his.
"But that makes no bloody sense!"
Mors vincit omnia. I would have claimed you all the same. But you chose to live.
"So it was because the other me was the Master of Death at the time, after all," Harry said with narrowed eyes.
No.
Harry took a deep breath, then exhaled. There was no use in throwing his hands in the air and getting frustrated at Death of all beings.
"Alright, a different question for you: How far does my Gift extend?"
There is no limit. It just is.
And yet Harry had still managed to die. Oh, the irony.
"Why is there no limit?"
Does everything need a reason?
"Scientists would argue that there is an explanation to everything."
Maybe there is. Maybe there isn't. Does it matter?
Harry considered that for a moment. "No," he eventually replied. "I suppose it doesn't. So I would have become an idiot, had I not been gifted."
Death inclined its head again (Harry had the growing suspicion that it liked that movement). Perhaps a different example – one where Tom Riddle settled down after he had regained a physical body and you did not have to defeat him. You grew up thinking it was your duty, your destiny, but the final battle never came.
"Are we talking about the same Tom Riddle? Insane Dark Lord with a penchant for cruel murders? And what about the Prophecy? Did it not apply to them?"
There were circumstances that made Tom Riddle realize that there were other ways to reach his goal. He chose politics with a touch of violence over genocide. As for the Prophecy, it is self-fulfilling in every universe.
Self-fulfilling. Harry blinked. That … actually made a lot of sense. "What was that version of me like?"
A Slytherin with the heart of a Gryffindor.
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Don't tell me he was compassionate."
You cared about your loved ones and were willing to lay down your life for them. Does that sound familiar?
"Somewhat. Also sounds a lot like the other me you told me about, though – the first one. He was an idiot, too, wasn't he? Are there no versions of me that were actually smart?" Harry exhaled loudly. "So this me, this Slytherin me – he didn't die and come back because of some Blood Protection nonsense?"
You did die. But not by Tom Riddle's hands. And you came back, because this version of you, too, chose to live.
"… so? How did he die?"
One of my faithful servants, a Necromancer, cut your thread to life.
"A Necromancer?"
Yes.
"I'm sorry, what?!"
It is your fate – to die and to choose. In every universe.
"Like it is my fate to become the Master of Death in all universes, eventually."
Yes.
"But what about the –" There was a shift that momentarily disoriented Harry. "– Necromancer? Huh? Wait, what?!"
He looked around. Blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked around again. This – was the headmaster's office. Had – Had Death just returned him? To Life? Just like that? Without warning or – or leading up to it – or even mentioning it or anything? What the – Why?!
Harry hadn't been done! Harry still had so many questions! Death couldn't just do that. (Though, of course, Death could very well do that. It was Death.)
"Oh for – What about the Necromancer? Death! Answer me! Who was it? What did they do? What do you even mean by 'a Necromancer'? What kind of person is a faithful servant to Death of all things?! Stupid, bloody – Argh! Why did it have to return me to the living world now? I wasn't done asking questions!"
Wait. Where was the old man?
Harry looked around. The office was empty, safe for the Phoenix staring at him from its perch by the door. Where had Dumbledore disappeared to? Why was Harry alone? And how was Harry even alive? He had just died. He was not the Master of Death. Not yet. Not in this universe. He hadn't even made a choice, yet. A choice to live – or whatever the bloody hell Death had been going on about.
There was a voice, laughing in his ears – and that laughter was so removed from everything that Harry couldn't even tell if it was mocking him.
"What the bloody hell, Death? This doesn't make any sense!"
But Death did not answer him.
o
In the end, there was nothing Harry could do about the situation. He came to the conclusion that – just like his Gift – some things just were, and decided not to question it. He was alive. Again. Somehow. That was all that mattered. Time to go and find Theodore.
Following his Death – an event Harry had sworn to himself he would never tell anyone about, because his friends would be devastated (and it was also quite embarrassing) – Harry vowed not to double his efforts to get the last Hallow. Because Death would claim the old man eventually and all Harry had to do was wait patiently.
Funny, how Dumbledore's death was announced mere days after that vow.
The headmaster had disappeared right after his duel with Harry and not been seen again. Madam Rosmerta had confirmed that she had seen him enter Hogsmeade and he had told her he had been on his way to the Hog's Head – but the owner of that pub said he had never arrived there.
Then Lord Voldemort publicly announced Albus Dumbledore's death, effectively shattering the peoples' last hope of ever being freed from the Dark Lord. No one knew how Dumbledore had died, though – the Dark Lord certainly wasn't telling anyone.
Now that Albus Dumbledore wasn't standing in his way anymore, the Dark Lord had his Death Eaters take over Hogwarts. Harry decided it was best if he fled, for now, as he wasn't quite sure whether the Dark Lord would actually continue to leave him alone with every last obstacle out of the way.
So Harry took Theodore and Susan and Luna and disappeared.
AN
Art to accompany the chapter:
something-rotten tumblr com/post/692860488571289600/harry-and-death-from-chapter-26-of-sticks-bones
This chapter is technically a crossover with my Old Magics series (specifically part 3, A Touch of Death), but that's unimportant for this story.