Five: Tell them the truth, but they'd think it's just made up

Previously: When Harry and his crew arrive at Luna Park after a silent alarm has gone off, a group consisting of Aurors and some onlookers are there to arrest him, or to take him in for interrogation. They are not really sure, but the group is not in the mood to find out. Harry refuses any co-operation, because he knows nothing good comes from any of that after having to deal with both ministries for way too long, and they end up fighting. When Ron gets hit, Harry loses it for good, and it's up to Daryl to save the day.

Notes: I'm terribly sorry that this took as long as it did. I could give you a million reasons (mostly from my private and work life as those who follow me on Instagram might know (Eyeseemorewrites if you want to chat!) but still ... I had this piece written for ages ... literally ages. Probably before finishing the first part of this series, yet I couldn't get it to work. I'm still not confident in it, but since a lot of you were asking (thank you so much for that), here's a snippet, and I hope the next chapter will flow a bit easier! It's unbeta'd (for now), so bear with me. Hope you like it!

Being in Death's dreary plane of existence was something that Harry could not wish upon anyone. He knew from experience that people passed through here when they died, but it wasn't the most pleasant of spaces. It also wasn't unpleasant. He had been there himself more than once, and as Master of Death Harry had ways to visit it, if he needed to speak with one of the entities. He'd woken up there whenever he died – again.

Wielding Death's magic, something Dumbledore and Grindelwald had dreamed of in their days, was not something that anybody could do. Nor take it lightly as they had done. Harry often wondered if they had really known what the magic did or would do. Deaths magic was powerful, indeed, yet it took that from you which you wanted to gain.

Unconsciously, Harry understood why Gellert had wanted to have the three relics in his pocket. Harry felt like Gellert would have been the better option to control them. Albus Dumbledore had failed with only two in his possession, and one close-by. Gellert had wielded the Elder wand for quite some time. Not that Death had been happy about that.

The young-looking wizard mused as he looked around the room as it matched whoever had passed just now. With the death walking, Death had a harder time than ever, so he wondered if he was there to help his true Master.

Dumbledore had had it all, but he hadn't appreciated what he had. Harry doubted if his old headmaster would understand that he was so much happier at rest where he was now, then that he or Gellert would have kept the relics. It was good that both souls had passed via Death to their final resting place. Maybe that had been for the best. People often got greedy for the wrong reasons.

Wielding Death's magic was an honour, a gift, but mostly a burden. It wasn't something to consider lightly, and that's probably why Harry was the first one in so many years to do so, and had Death accept it. Maybe his heritage helped as well, as he did carry the blood of the Peverell's with him.

One of his ancestors had also managed to do it once, but that person had quickly put the cloak aside as soon as it had become clear to him what he had to do. A smart man in Harry's books. Harry had not been as fortunate. For one thing, he had no idea what would happen if he used the relics that night – he didn't know he was using them - and for another, he didn't even have a clue what he was doing most of the time. Not to mention when he was only seventeen years old and barely versed in magic. Kept from the world, only learning the basics.

Later on, the then Master of Death, had read about it in one of the journals a Peverell ancestor had left for him in the main library. If his father had not followed Dumbledore so much leniency, and had listened to his uncle who had urged him to read the diaries back in his time, he would have known what the cloak had been and could have acted on it appropriately. No one would ever have found them if they had used the magic of the cloak. This magic was the only reason the magical part of his lands wasn't visible to anyone but whom Lord Peverell deemed worthy.

Now Harry was wondering if he needed to do the same to Luna Park. Problem was; the non-magical inhabitants couldn't live there anymore if he did so, and that wasn't a path he wanted to take. It also was a decision he could not make lightly.

Here, in the infinity of Death's embrace, Harry could exist as if he were nowhere. The passage of time was different here, the surroundings were different. It was no longer Kings Cross, or a vision of it, but a combination of his current study - a place where he had felt at home - and a view of the Hogwarts grounds. In fact, it was as if Hogsmeade was actually in front of his eyes. Of course, none of this was real, he knew, but it gave him the peace he needed to relax and enjoy his inner peace.

It was not usually death that visited him when he reached this point, but it was usually Fate and Destiny that did so. Though the beings chose their own forms, and were recorded as women in several cases, they were mostly neuter. Just like Death. They were everything and nothing at the same time, and if you were unaccustomed to them, as Harry once was, you could be in for some unwelcome surprises.

He took a deep breath and walked towards the place where he felt all of them reside. This was going to be a long day – or something like that.

The feeling of Death around him was not an unfamiliar one, as Harry had gotten quite proficient with using the magic that came with the title, yet it could be an overpowering sensation. If he didn't control it himself, it was a lot more taxing on him than when he ignited the powers himself. Today it was one of those days that it was too much, and Harry wondered how that was possible.

All he had in mind was the day of Severus and Mariet's wedding. The flowers, the garden that looked more perfect than ever before, him dancing with Luna, Carol and Narcissa. Even Pansy, who had stolen him away for a dance before hanging off Theo's arm for the rest of the evening, or having a few Scotches with Minerva and Severus. It had been crystal clear, beautiful and meaningful, and then his mind had drawn some gaps.

All Harry could remember were flashes of Death's magic, picking and plucking magic away from those before him.

People who had hurt his family, people who opposed him. People who stood before him and tried to defy him. Sheer power, determination, the availability of the suffocating power in him. Harry felt it at his fingertips, readily available for him whenever he chose.

A vivid memory came back to him, supported by Death's magic in which he was able to visualise it completely. Harry had heard the incantation vaguely in real time, but now it was magnified, and he knew it wasn't 'just' a spell or hex. He could feel the magic that spun around them, and it was dark magic that even Harry wouldn't wield on his worst days. The Master of Death had a few fall days, and he had done some questionable things in his life in the past, Ron could attest to that, but ...

Ron.

Harry now saw Ron's fall, as if from memory, while it was in front of him in real time. He saw the incantation, could taste the magic leaving a foul taste in his mouth, and saw Draco running towards his brother in anything but blood. Ron. A sharp breath caught his chest. There was no need for breathing in this realm, he wasn't alive anymore. He hadn't been alive for a long time, but it still tore into him. It was painful and there was a sense of panic that he couldn't breathe.

He had to be able to breathe, he had to save Ron. That was his task.

The memory started looping like he was in a bad Muggle film, and he saw Ron fall over and over again. Fall, rewind, fall, rewind, and again, and again, and again.

He saw the wizard who had cast the spell laugh, and then it went black again. As if taking a deep breath, he saw it again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

It seemed that this had become his worst day ever. The sharp inhales of breath running its course through his body. The dulled pain from his head as he watched it over and over, like Fate wanted to teach him a lesson. Somebody tried to take one of the few things he still cherished from him. Even dying the second or third time hadn't affected him as much as this did now. He knew for sure he was dead again.

Ron was the one who would always stand up, have a plan, and not get hit. Ron was the one who would protect him, care for him, let him be him.

Ron should have known better. He should have shielded himself. Scratch that.

Harry should have protected him; he shouldn't have let anger take over. Harry should have thrown a shield up immediately. Ron had been Head Auror for crying out loud. Ron was supposed to win these things.

Ron was able to protect himself.

Harry should have. He was strong enough to do so. He'd always had been. He had to be for Ron. He just had to. The memory looped again, and Harry trashed in agony. The hurt he felt right now was worse than when he had died the first time.

Moody had been Head Auror as well.

Shacklebolt too.

Tonks. Beautiful, funny Tonks.

O his poor Teddy. He missed his Teddy. He should take care of his young charge.

Remus.

Sirius.

It all started with Cedric. He had lost soo much, he couldn't bear the thought of losing Ron. Another flash came before his eyes, as he tried to will it away.

Not Ron … do not take Ron from me.

Ron falling down triggered another memory of seeing that old fool fall down the Astronomy tower all those years ago. That still haunted him in his nightmares. Harry always had admired the man, even if he didn't agree with everything that happened in his life, especially through the hand of Dumbledore, but he had known the game plan all along, hadn't the old fool.

No, no he shouldn't go there. He didn't want to be there. It needed to stop.

Another flash of Ron falling to the ground.

Stop, please, NO!

No … no … no!

"NO!" Harry awoke with an agonising yell from a slumber that seemed to have lasted days or even weeks, as he felt his senses slowly come back to him. He looked just as surprised to be in his bed, as he had been when he had ended up on George's couch on that faithful day.

Two well-formed arms enclosed themselves around him immediately, and he felt a hot breath in his neck all of a sudden. The smell was unmistakably Daryl, his instincts told him. He was safe.

Daryl.

He felt Death closing in on him. He hadn't died, that was obvious of the entity's reaction, but the Master of Death had lost so much control that he had used too much of his magic. Harry's core was depleted. Death smiled that toothily grin that the other hated, as he explained the missing black spots in his memory, as Harry lay there in the arms of the man he had come to love. Harry could feel his magic only softly thrumming in the back of core. It was still there, but it was weak. Like it was being used for something else…

"Ron!" The realisation came immediately, but the directness with what he tried to sit up, was way too much for his body, and Daryl pulled him back immediately.

"He's fine, he's in the hospital, but he'll live." Daryl was trying to soothe him, and somehow it kind of worked. "Take it easy, Harry, please darlin'. Don't overdo it!"

Harry had officially lost control that evening. He knew that now.

The Master of Death took a deep breath as he tried to recollect what happened here, and with his Master before.

Harry had made the wrong choice; he had made a reckless mistake. He could have hurt people badly. Harry needed the control over his magic to stay stable, so that he would not hurt innocent people. Only the ones that needed to go, should be able to feel that, not the people who weren't ready for their journey yet. Death had warned him, but fate had engulfed him in a hug. Some things were just meant to happen.

The wizard started breathing heavy, something akin to a panic attack, and he tried to catch his breath but he failed.

"It's alright, my darlin'. It's all alright, I promise." Daryl stroked with his hands through Harry's hair. "People were more worried about you, than mad at you."

"R- ron?" Harry said again as his voice cracking from being out of use, and yelling just before that. The force of his actions came down upon him again.

"Not quite there yet, Red was wounded pretty badly, and he is still recovering from an almost lost of his magic or sumthing," the squib shrugged. "Severus and Draco's Da knew some counter spell that helped fix him up, and …" Harry couldn't listen to much more, as the dam broke and his emotions let out once again, and Daryl held a once-mighty Master of Death tightly in his arms, while Harry let the tears roll freely over his face while he tried to ignore Death who was gloating in the corner of the room. Glad that his apprentice finally let loose.

Present time Hallow Mansion, Ron's bedroom

It had taken Harry another week of living in Death's realm, half aware that he wasn't there, but also not onto the real world, to fully recover before he had been allowed out of bed by Draco. Daryl had barely left his bedside, and even Merle had visited him all the time while trying to get him drunk because the ex-soldier said it would help. Harry laughed it off, and appreciated the man's enthusiasm.

Christmas was fast approaching now, and Harry felt like he had lost time. Precious time. Time that he could have spent with his loved ones. Only a few more days till Christmas and Yule.

When Draco had cleared him that morning, it had only taken him fifteen minutes to get showered, and plant himself next to Ron's bed, where George hadn't left the room just as Daryl had done for Harry. Ron had been awake for a few days now, but that hadn't deterred his brother nor Draco from caring for him around the clock. Harry only added to that.

The dam of emotions that broke as George took Harry in his arms was probably even worse than when he had just woken up. Harry barely got around his words, and he was trying to make sense of his emotions, as he heard Ron's voice get through to him.

"Enough, Harry!" Ron's voice was stern as hell, and he shook his head from the bed. "I know the dangers of fighting well enough. So stop." He accepted the cup of water that the blonde doctor in the room handed him, while he still looked sternly over at Harry. Almost if he tried to channel McGonagall. It was a scary sight.

"I should …"

Ron intervened again with an angry look on his face.

"Yep," he popped the 'p', "So should I, mate. I should not have the audacity to block spell work like that. I should have rolled out of the way or transfigured it. I wasn't thinking just the same as you. We were tired, we had too much to drink after a lovely wedding, we were angry, annoyed. We went into the fight without thinking. It happens, now shut up, and let me beat you at chess." The smile that flittered over the redhead's face, became mischievous. "At least now you know how it feels to watch over someone's bed constantly, huh!"

"I don't appreciate the sentiment at all," Harry sniffed, but he understood. In fact, Ron had probably done more days sitting next to Harry, that that he himself had been tied to a bed for rest.

"We were all tired and angry, Harry." George repeated as he laid a hand on Harry's. "Don't be mad at yourself, we won't be either."

"I know the next few weeks will be shite, no worries. Draco has been hovering around me, bloody hell, he's still worse than Mum." Ron laughed as they heard the blonde wizard cuss something or someone as he was being compared to the former Weasley Matriarch. "Draco also told me that without our bond, I would have been depleted of my magic and probably have become nothing more than a Squib. Your magic protected mine, so take that, mate."

"Only decent thing it did then."

"You should pull it back, it's still sustaining me but I see the toll on your face." Ron tried to make his case.

"No." Harry's voice was firm.

"Harry!"

"No, Ron."

"Overbearing jerk."

"Pesky bastard," George interrupted. His eyes hung low, and he had bags under his eyes from barely being awake.

"George!" The other Weasley in the room exclaimed, and both men looked up towards him. The mischievous smile on his face said enough.

"Leave us, you pesky sod, go take a shower and sleep. Take Luna for a walk or something, but get out of my room, you git." Ron chided him. The older Weasley shook his head as his younger brother berated him, as he left the room to give the men some room to catch up. He had some plans indeed.