Planning Stage 5: An Ending
October 1998
In the end, slitting Voldemort's throat was easy. All that training and they didn't even need any of it. With the spirits Harry had tasked with tailing Voldemort, figuring out a time and place where the man would be alone with his snake was no hardship at all. Scraping together what was left of their funds, they bought a second Invisibility Cloak and then debated who would take on the task of killing Nagini.
Lynea volunteered.
In hindsight, that already should have made Harry suspicious. But he had been too surprised and too elated to think about it at the time.
Not counting Sephoneia and Rhea, Lynea was the fastest when using the Old Arts. Trapping Nagini exactly how they had planned to do it all those months ago was easy for her. Harry didn't need to watch her do it to know she would have no problem taking care of the last Horcrux while he sneaked up on Voldemort (using the new cloak, having given his own to Lynea, for he could still not bear to wear it – Lynea had been most delighted for reasons Harry didn't want to know) – and slit the man's throat right then and there, additionally stabbing him with a Basilisk fang for good measure just like Theodore had suggested.
Harry looked down at the body for a long moment, his mind drawing a blank.
It had been so easy.
It had been nothing at all like the time he had murdered the death row prisoners under Sephoneia's instructions or when he had – when he had killed Draco.
It hadn't felt the same.
Harry ascribed most of that to Voldemort's soul being mutilated far beyond recognition by the many times he had ripped it apart, perhaps his body being artificial as well.
Harry had learned how valuable a life was. It had been one of the most important lessons Sephoneia had ever taught him.
It was why he decided not to turn Voldemort into an Inferius. It was why he decided to give the man a proper burial like he had done for so many people before.
He turned to Lynea to ask whether she would help him, but the look in her eyes made him stop short.
"I'm sorry," she said, a wistful smile on her lips, green eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. "I'm closing this chapter for you. I know you will understand."
He never saw her raise her hand.
o
He recognised the corridors. Looking behind him, Harry found the same heavy wooden doors he had passed through last time. He was sure they would not budge now, were he to try to open them. He ventured deeper into the labyrinth instead, his feet taking him where he needed to go without his conscious input.
He hadn't noticed the absence of any sounds until he entered the Throne Hall and there were suddenly noises all around him – whispering, rasping voices too faint to understand, his steps suddenly echoed in the empty room, wide and long as it was with the ceiling high above him. To his left, narrow windows let in a faint blue light, illuminating all the runes and circles and symbols engraved into every surface, filled with fresh blood.
It was cold, so very cold in this hall that was empty safe for the lithic throne on the other side, sitting innocently on a small dais. As he approached, Harry noticed there was something behind the throne. He had to step around it to fully recognise the ancient archway with its tattered veil reflected in the mirror on the wall. Turning his head confirmed that there was no real archway behind the throne.
He turned back to the mirror – to try and see more of the dark hall the archway stood in, see whether he could identify it as that one room in the Department of Mysteries. But the moment he turned his head, the scene around him changed.
Hello, said a voice that sent shivers down his spine despite the warm familiarity it was tinged with. I have been waiting for you.
The voice belonged to a young girl that sat on some worn-down steps between broken pillars, leading to crumbled buildings framed by tall mountains. All was grey wherever he looked except for the bright blue flame that hovered above the girl's right shoulder.
The girl wore a hat with a black veil that partially obscured her face, but having just looked into Lynea's eyes the moment she had killed him, Harry could clearly see the similarities. The girl's hair was more white than mahogany and there were severe burn scars all over her body, vibrant in a stark contrast to her impossibly pale complexion. But the shape of her face, how she held herself, the way her lips formed a smile – Harry didn't need to be able to see her eyes to know the piercing gaze would be the same one he had seen in his last moments.
She was dead, Harry realised – in all the obvious ways. And the more he looked at her, the more he could see the discrepancies. As if someone with no understanding of the living had taken one look at – well, Lynea, in this case – and done their best to imitate what they saw, yet lacked the necessary information of what made up a living being. Too perfect in some places and too imperfect in others.
Come. Sit with me. she said, though her mouth did not move.
Seeing no reason to refuse, Harry slowly approached to sit 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.
Harry blinked. "Master of Death?"
A tale as old as time. Your friends will know it.
"What tale? Er – If I may ask."
A chuckle. There were once three brothers that impressed me so, I granted each of them a boon. The oldest asked for a powerful wand. The second oldest wished to see those who had already departed from life. The youngest asked for something that would allow him to leave without being followed by Myself.
"Dumbledore's wand," Harry realised, "and –" He racked his brain, vaguely remembering Sephoneia mentioning a stone capable of calling on the spirits of the dead. He couldn't recall it's name. "– the stone. And my Invisibility Cloak."
The Cloak he couldn't bear to wear anymore – because of Draco, because of the way it made him recoil ever since his last visit to Death's Realm.
"Why did Sephoneia just hand them to me? Why would that make me the Master of Death?"
You are fated. My loyal servants all know it so.
"And I have to die to become – your Master?"
No.
"Then why did – Why did Lynea kill me?"
She knew it was necessary.
Harry barely managed to refrain from groaning in frustration.
"Why was it necessary?"
It is your fate – to die and to choose. In every universe.
"There are others? And I'm – what? I'm the Master of Death in all of them?"
You were. You are. You will be.
Right. Okay. That was – Right.
"Wait – you said I can choose?"
Yes.
This bloody –
"Why can I choose?"
There is a tether binding you to life, still. But you may choose whether or not to return. Your soul is now free.
"Oh." Harry paused. "Free?"
Yes.
Was it a good idea to try and strangle Death?
"Free from what?"
That which bound you to him who fears me so.
Harry's eyes widened. "V- Voldemort?"
Have you made your choice?
He was still reeling from the fact his soul had been bound to Voldemort's. "Hold on –"
I see. Until we meet again.
"Wait –"
"Welcome back."
Harry flinched. That wasn't – He whirled around, almost losing his balance due to the sudden bout of dizziness overtaking him from getting up so fast after having just been literally dead not a second ago.
"How did you get here?"
Rhea gave him one of her best eerie smiles. "I followed you, of course."
She hadn't even been with them when they had decided to finally kill Voldemort.
Rhea watched him, now, waiting patiently until Harry had regained his bearings. He was still in Voldemort's office. The man's body still sat in his chair. Nagini was dead on the ground, still bound by the restraints Lynea had created earlier.
"Where is Lyn?"
"Where she is meant to be."
Ah.
"Wait. Does that mean Death is now a woman? Should we call Him 'Her', now?"
Rhea outright laughed at him. "Death has no need for pronouns. Death simply is. Whether He decides to wear Lynea's face or not, what you call Him by is up to you."
"Oh. Okay," Harry said, feeling a bit dumbfounded. He swallowed. "She – Death said Lynea killed me, because – How did she know I was –"
"Oh, that." Rhea shrugged carelessly. "Snape told us ages ago. Dumbledore had plans for how you were supposed to find out. But Dumbledore never knew Snape had already died."
That – was a lot to take in.
Rhea continued to watch him, still waiting patiently until Harry had sorted through his tumultuous thoughts.
Eventually, he turned to Voldemort's body. "Will you help me bury them?"
He could almost hear the smile in Rhea's voice when she replied, "It would be my pleasure."
The work was a familiar routine to Harry and he quickly lost himself to it, finding his calm far easier like this – but it was still a bit odd to work with Rhea after getting so used to having Theodore by his side for these tasks.
Harry wasn't surprised to learn Rhea carried all the necessary tools with her. They worked in silence, preparing the bodies, Harry unwilling to speak and Rhea apparently content not to ask any questions – or perhaps she didn't have to, perhaps she already knew. They had to sneak out of the office more carefully than Harry and Lynea had sneaked in, for in the time Harry had been dead, the Malfoys had returned home.
Draco distracted his parents for them, while they left the manor hidden under the Invisibility Cloaks, disillusioned Voldemort and Nagini floating beside them. The track back to the edge of the property, where the anti-apparition wards ended, seemed so much longer than it had the first time, getting in. And then Rhea took off her cloak – the Cloak – and offered Harry a gloved hand to apparate them to a graveyard Harry had never been to before.
"The house on the hill is our – my grand-aunt Naenia's," Rhea explained. "She owns a funeral parlour and a mortuary. The graveyard technically belongs to Father Wilson's little church, but it is basically hers." Rhea paused. "Lynea lived here. I thought it fitting to close the chapter of the Dark Lord Voldemort here in this graveyard."
Harry furrowed his brows. "She said something similar before she – She said, 'I'm closing this chapter for you.'"
"It was an analogy she liked to use – You are the author of your own life and certain parts are simply chapters in the story you are writing. You can keep writing them or close them as you wish, but sometimes, others will close them for you. I think she took the idea from a book or something and made it her own."
Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent.
Rhea brought them to a small house at the foot of the hill, next to the church – the funeral parlour – where they acquired a headstone. Then they entered the graveyard, chose an unoccupied little corner and began to dig a grave.
End of Part 2
AN
Part 3 will follow next week.
Sorry, forgot to update yesterday - my Hufflepuff and I went to a cosplay ball on Saturday and another dancing event yesterday.
Different Harry, but this artwork I made for Sticks & Bones also fits the scene with Death:
something-rotten tumblr com/post/692860488571289600/harry-and-death-from-chapter-26-of-sticks-bones