Travel Log 2: Greece, Mesopotamos to Athens

August 1999

Summer in Greece was sweltering. Thank Merlin for magic. If Harry had thought early summer in Italy was bad – Rome especially – he had not at all anticipated what the full brunt of the summer sun would do to him once they reached Greece. He couldn't even imagine what Egypt must have been like in that moment – their next goal on the list, which they might still reach during the height of summer, depending on how much of Greece they wanted to visit.

As someone who had only ever suffered the summer heat of Britain, Harry had never imagined it could be even worse elsewhere. Britain wasn't even mild in comparison – it was downright cool!

Hedwig wasn't very fond of the climate, either, departing right after delivering her letters to Harry, not even leaving him enough time to pen his replies. She always did come to find him when he had written them, though – knowing, somehow, when the time was just right.

Ron usually gave him rambled updates on their friends and family – Remus and Tonks were now the parents of a little whirlwind of a boy, which had prompted Molly to pester Bill and Fleur about having a baby of their own and trying in vain to convince Charlie to settle down, too. Charlie still had his hands full with his dragons and was apparently more than happy with his current life as it was. Fred and George were very busy with their extremely popular joke shop and Ginny was gleefully teasing her brother about graduating before him.

Harry snorted when he came to Hermione's letter. Ron had already complained about her studying ahead for the school year before it had even begun. Hermione described it more as 'applying all she had learned under Professor Totengräber' – which boiled down to taking the entire curriculum apart. Harry had no doubts she would begin a campaign to overhaul their school system the moment she graduated from Hogwarts.

Rhea didn't write often, but Neville's letters usually contained updates on her as it seemed they spent a lot of time together, more often in the company of Zabini than not. Harry wondered, sometimes, what exactly was going on between the three of them, but never dared to outright ask about it. It wasn't really his business.

"Luna asks whether we have seen a Heliopath, yet," Harry told Theodore.

"If we ever do," Theodore replied, amused, "tell her she will have to come here, herself."

"Surely you wouldn't make her leave in the middle of her important research experiments when we're already on-site," Harry teased.

"The hassles of academia, Harry. I'm sure she knows them all too well."

"How is your paper coming along, then?"

"Splendidly," Theodore said, beaming, and then began to gush about the sheer amount of history hidden in the ruins they had been exploring for the last couple of days.

Harry felt a smile overtaking his lips and let it. Theodore rarely talked much and getting him going was always a delight.

They were currently searching for the Necromanteion of Acheron. Sephoneia hadn't been able to give them more than the vague description found in some historical texts or something. (Theodore maintained they were not historical but mythological in nature, though of course mythology was always grounded in history – but Harry didn't quite care enough to know the precise difference.)

The temple had once stood on the banks of the river Acheron, which was said to lead the way into the Greek underworld, also commonly referred to as 'Hades' after the god ruling over the domain.

"But how can there be a god residing over Death in some sort of underworld domain?" Harry had asked when the topic had first come up. "I've met Death. I've been to Death's Realm."

"Hades is the god of the dead. The god of death would be Thanatos," Theodore had explained. "As for the connection to the entity of Death, Himself …" A shrug. "I cannot say."

All Underworlds belong to me, a voice that sounded like Lynea's had whispered in Harry's ear, then, making him shiver at the unexpected reply.

"And the gods associated with death and the afterlife?" he had asked out loud, to Theodore's visible confusion.

(Could Theodore not hear Death's voice?)

Death had chuckled. They are a part of me. And all things belong.

Perhaps Harry should also write an academic paper – one about Death and its many facets in different cultures and how, apparently, they didn't actually contradict each other. But citing Death as his source would probably not make him appear very credible in the eyes of everyone safe for other necromancers.

Either way, the Necromanteion had been a temple dedicated to Death, though perhaps not in the sense Harry had originally expected it to be. It had been, in the truest meaning of its name, an 'Oracle of the Dead'. It was likely the priests serving at the temple had been necromancers of their time, using their powers to allow their visitors to speak with the dead and Harry would soon confirm the truth of this, for he had resolved to call upon the spirits of the dead lingering around once they had located the ruins of the temple.

There was, of course, an official excavation site and they had visited that one first, but it had turned out to be a fake. The ruins had been real, of course, but there had been no magic around the place, none at all. They had simply been mundane ruins.

The real Necromanteion, when they finally stumbled across its location, was, unsurprisingly, protected by a multitude of magical wards that had hidden it even from Harry's senses. A gaunt hand covered in burns had pointed it out to him, in the end.

Perhaps Harry should have been warier of Death's involvement, but by this point, he knew how futile it was to resist what others might call 'fate'. If Death had plans for him, Harry had no reasons to resist.

The temple, when it was eventually revealed beneath all the glamours and protections, looked like any other Harry had seen in Greece. Theodore happily pointed out all the architectural features that made it unique, but Harry honestly couldn't see the difference – pillars made of stone holding up a roof, remnants of a statue or two here and there. It was, of course, quite impressive. But it was no more impressive than all the other temples they had seen.

What made this one unique to Harry was the magic. Theodore felt it, too, he knew. If the protections hadn't been impressive enough, what they found inside the temple certainly surpassed it all.

It was difficult to describe with words when one lacked the language – in the same way you would find it difficult to describe a newly experienced emotion in words other than the name given to it by people of the past.

'Dormant excitement and anticipation' was the closest Harry came – with a hint of 'dark satisfaction' and 'slumbering peace'. A very powerful thing that filled Harry's chest to the brim, almost made it hard to breathe – but in a good way. There was something waiting, here, below his feet, waiting for him.

A light touch to his shoulder brought Harry's attention back to the present.

"How much do you trust Death?" Theodore whispered.

When Harry's eyes met Theodore's, all he could see was honest curiosity – no wariness, no trepidation and no reverence, either.

"More than myself," Harry replied honestly, even though it was hard to admit.

Theodore nodded. "Let us see what gifts He has prepared for you, then."

It took a bit of a search to find the stairs leading down into the basement and they very carefully watched their steps as they descended, but the stone seemed sturdy despite its centuries of wear. Summoning a small, blue flame to light their search, Harry and Theodore made their way through the empty underground halls. The priests must have taken everything with them when they had abandoned the temple. Or perhaps nothing had survived the passage of time.

At the furthest end of the last hall, they found a lithic sarcophagus. Beautifully carved into its sides were skeletal figures resembling the Inferi only those not loyal to Death created, a large snake winding its way between them.

"It can't be," Theodore breathed, his fingers tracing the relief.

Harry looked between his friend and the sarcophagus, considered the skeletal figures and the snake, reached out to touch the stone to feel the magic carved into it for himself.

"Herpon ho deinos?"

"It has to be," Theodore whispered and he looked at Harry with a sparkle in his eyes. "No one could ever confirm his death. Can you imagine –" A shudder went through him. "The wealth of knowledge to be found here. This truly is a gift, Harry."

Harry hummed. "I – I don't think it is all that easy."

"Why not?"

He looked at the sarcophagus. "We should open it."

"Now? But – That could potentially destroy all the intricate magics carved into the stone – We might never get a chance to examine them again!"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course, I do."

"Then help me open it, please."

Harry didn't know what he had expected, but he couldn't say he was surprised to find a perfectly preserved corpse lying inside, almost appearing peacefully asleep. It looked way younger Herpo the Foul's body had any right to be based on all the accounts describing the madman as an aged wizard well beyond his prime years. With the dark hair curling around its ears and the pale complexion, the body almost resembled –

The corpse opened its eyes, a green not unlike Harry's but unnatural in the way it glowed in the dark, and when it parted its bloodless lips, the rasping voice held the same cadence Harry had last heard in one of Albus Dumbledore's memories.

"Hello, Harry," said the corpse that by all rights should not have held Tom bloody Riddle's soul.

Certainly not the whole soul – for it was whole. It wasn't supposed to be whole. Not after everything Voldemort had done.

The corpse sat up and suddenly, there was a flutter of robes and Harry found himself shielded by none other than Theodore.

"It's alright," Harry tried to reassure his friend.

"Harry, that's him."

"I know," Harry said, his voice soothing. "It's fine. He can't hurt us."

"Of course not," said Voldemort, his tone perfectly polite. "That would defy the point of this."

Theodore narrowed his eyes, not budging from his place between Harry and the corpse. "The point being?"

An amused quirk made its way onto Voldemort's lips. "Why, this is my punishment, of course. A gift from Death, Itself." He raised a hand in front of his face. "I must say, I did not expect to awake in such a nice body. Young, too. Handsome, even. It might almost rival my own."

"I can't deal with this," Harry muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why, Death? Why must you do this to me?"

"We can simply leave him here," Theodore suggested, his wand now trained on Voldemort. Harry hadn't even noticed him getting it out. "If we put the lid back on, the magic carved into the stone should be more than sufficient to trap him inside. He would deserve it."

"I don't think Death would want that," Harry replied, feeling tired all of a sudden.

"Death likes you, Harry. He wouldn't mind."

"It's rude to refuse a gift."

Theodore threw an incredulous look over his shoulder. "You cannot be serious."

Harry gave him a helpless shrug. "I really don't think we have a choice in this."

"I certainly don't," came Voldemort's cheerful voice and when Harry looked at him, the coy smile he found on the man's face completely blindsided him.

"I'm sure we will have a lovely time together," Voldemort purred.

Harry found himself speechless.

"I can't deal with this," Harry said, again, more to himself than anyone else. "Theo, put your wand away, he can't hurt us. You," Harry grimaced, "follow us or whatever."

"Of course, Harry," came Voldemort's smooth reply.

Harry couldn't believe it. Death must have been playing a cruel joke on him.

He had killed Voldemort with his own hands. The matter was supposed to be over, the man dead.

His soul was not supposed to be whole. (A 'favour' from Death.) He was not supposed to be nice. (Completely Voldemort's decision, not that Harry could fathom why.) He was not supposed to stay around. (Merlin, why? Draco was already too much!)

Why, Death, why?