Everything is J.K. Rowling's. I only claim the plot. Everything else, including the characters and the magic, is hers. Please let me know what you think. I encourage feedback of all kinds; just be nice about it!
Told you I had the next chapter mostly ready, just had to do some editing. I don't think I've ever posted a chapter so quickly after the previous one, but I'm going on a work trip and wanted this posted before I became unavailable. So yeah, don't expect the next chapter any time soon, though I do have parts of it written already. But the next chapter is visiting Hogwarts, and that is going to involve a lot of Dumbledore/Harry convos and wordplay that will take time to perfect.
I hope you enjoy this chapter, though. Death is very unhappy, and Harry gets in some pretty serious trouble. It was interesting trying to balance punishment while also still trying to maintain the parental figure persona that Death embodies. The thestrals were also an interesting and kind of difficult interaction to write. Harry doesn't have bad memories of the thestrals as he does with the Dementors, but they are still creatures of Death. Anyway, hope you like those too. Not much Harry/Marvolo interaction but there is a little sprinkled in.
You Abandoned Them
Harry sat in the center of the Ritual Room, gathering his nerve. He hadn't been this nervous about speaking with Death since the very first time, and even then, he hadn't feared punishment and retribution – not like now. Two weeks ago, he'd met and negotiated with the Dementors, and now he finally had to face Death.
Sitting in the center of the room, Harry breathed deeply, staring at the charcoal marks and the candles sitting solitary and tall, waiting to be lit, at the white barren walls and floor and ceiling. In the still, sterileness of the room, he could smell the aroma of pomegranates clinging to him stronger than ever. However, that might have been his fault, too. He'd been a bit overzealous in washing before this meeting. Some subconscious part of his mind hoped that if he smelled of pomegranates strongly enough, then maybe it might appease Death a bit. He doubted it, but he figured the worst that could happen was that he smelled more strongly of pomegranates than he normally did. Because despite all his shower products being scented with the fruit, he'd also been eating the seeds all day. He'd avoided Marvolo's questioning gaze each time a newly filled bowl of pomegranate seeds appeared in Harry's hands; Harry didn't feel up to explaining his nervous, superstitious hope.
With a shaking hand, he lit the candles and watched the white room go dark as the flaming white pillars of fire ignited, bright and ghostly. Ankles pressed hard into the cold floor, the white shift doing nothing to ward off the chill; he closed his eyes and focused on his magic, on calling for his Master.
The cold held an icy bite to it, and Harry's anxiety grew heavy in his stomach. Swallowing thickly, Harry forced his eyes open. He'd never seen the room so dark. The white pillars of fire were gone, snuffed out by the thickness of the shadows. Harry couldn't even see his hands resting on his knees.
"I've done as you asked." His voice sounded distant and empty in the room's darkness, like he was listening to himself at the other end of a long tunnel. Harry pressed his fingertips into the flesh of his legs in hopes of feeling something, but he couldn't feel anything. He sat suspended in darkness, cut off from his senses. The darkness pressed heavier against him, a weight against his chest, and Harry fought to breathe, to stave off the panic.
Death didn't speak, didn't shout as they'd done last time, no. It was so much worse than the last time Death was angry. This time, the blended voices rose in unintelligible sounds, each enraged and disappointed and wrathful, piercing the highest volumes of sound, a cacophony of audible agony echoing in his head and shredding his ears. Harry thought his eardrums might actually burst and bleed. The paralysis gripped him, the frigid cold and the screaming and the wailing and the shrieking overwhelming his deadened senses.
"Please, please, stop, please," Harry begged, forcing the words out on his shallow, panted breaths. He pushed the pleas past his numb and frozen lips, past his choked and convulsing throat. He wasted his borrowed, stolen, uneven breath to beg for mercy. "Please, I'm sorry, please."
The shrieking faded, and while he was no longer fully paralyzed, Harry remained unable to see and unable to feel anything, but the weight that remained heavy on his chest and the hot tears grew frozen against his cheeks.
"Perhaps I have been too lenient with you," Death said, the tone aloof and musing. Harry felt a fresh wave of fear clinging to his throat. "I've offered too much praise. You've been my first Child in centuries; perhaps I have lost my touch."
"No, Master, no," Harry whispered, unable to stop the shivers from wracking his body now that he could move again.
"I ordered you to speak with your subjects. I ordered you to bring those mutinous creations of mine to heel. I did not permit you to negotiate. I did not permit you to create new tasks and responsibilities for my Children." With each sentence, the shadows pressed on him from all sides, an invisible, shadowed hand wrapping around and squeezing him tighter.
"You abandoned them!"
The squeezing stopped, the weight lifted off his chest, but the darkness persisted. Death stayed silent. Harry tried not to be too obvious about how he greedily sucked in the air to fill his aching lungs.
"You abandoned the Dementors, your Guards. You say I'm your Child, your most powerful, but how long will it take before you abandon me, too? Is it now? I've stepped out of line. Are – are you done with me?" Harry asked the question without thought, and it wasn't until after he'd spoken that he realized how much the fear weighed on him. He tried to sound defiant but knew he sounded more like a small, scared child.
The pillars of fire ignited again, bright against the black, and Harry flinched at the burning white light. While still heavy and thick, the darkness retreated marginally, and he could finally see around him. Harry looked down at his hands and saw his nails digging into his thighs, drops of blood welling up along the long scratches. Horrified, he pulled his hands away.
"They betrayed me," Death said, seething with all the frigid chill of a blizzard. "You should have punished them. You should have ensured that my wrath and disapproval of their treason and mutiny were properly understood." Harry worked his throat, trying to get some moisture into it to argue his point and fight past the terror that shook his limbs. "They abandoned me," Death whispered. The words were a frosty breath that hovered in the room's stillness, clinging to Harry's spine.
"You once said that I was chosen more specifically than any of your other Children, that you didn't choose me for my meekness," Harry said, licking his dry and cracked lips nervously. "And punishment and fear that's not me… you knew that when you chose me. You asked me to speak with the Dementors, and I used the methods best suited for me." The silence hung in the air, and shivers racked his limbs. Death remained silent. So Harry, stupidly and foolishly, decided to push his frail luck. "If you were so angry with them for straying, why did you let them? Why did you never reach out to them or something; let them know you were still there?"
"I had no Children to speak on my behalf. I had no power to reach my Guards or Guides."
"What do you mean you had no power? You're Death. You're a literal primordial being."
The shadows coalesced, forming a humanoid shape for the first time that night before dispersing to fill the room with a steady, contemplative, and solemn pulse. Then the shadows flared a light grey, like a sigh. "I am Death, inevitable and limitless. However, Death cannot touch Life. As my Child, you are my voice and my body. Only through you can I be present for longer than a final breath. It is why you are so drained after speaking with me on these nights. You hover between the planes of Life and Death. Your energy and magic fueled and sacrificed to commune with me. When you Claim someone, you are purposefully and forcefully dragging me close enough to touch Life, allowing me to Claim the one you wish, disrupting the natural order and disturbing the veil separating the planes. During a natural death, the soul is already near enough to my domain, so there are no disturbances. Alternatively, it is why you, as my Child, have the power to block me from taking a soul, allowing you to return Life to someone."
Harry stared blankly at the candle at the tip of the triangle he sat in – stared but didn't see. Sure, he'd read the journals and the guidebooks and thought he'd gotten a good grasp and understanding of what he was, what being a Necromancer meant, but... having it stated so plainly, so blatantly explained why Necromancers were so powerful, had his mind reeling. Right now, right this second, as he spoke to Death, he was essentially in both planes of existence. He was both dead and living right now.
Harry shivered and felt nauseous. He became intimately aware of every breath that rushed to fill his lungs, acutely conscious of his heart beating steadily in his chest. He didn't want this. He'd never asked for this power. With trembling hands, he wiped the wetness from his cheeks and used his white shift to dab at the beads of blood from the scratches he'd dug into his legs—the red stained the white shift, distorting it in a grotesque imitation of his own life.
"You understand now."
Harry nodded. His head felt too heavy for his neck, and his movements were too wooden.
"You acted on my behalf. You made a decision in my name. A decision that I did not approve of. This decision will have far-reaching consequences not just for yourself but also for my future Children. You have altered my span of influence. You have curtailed the abilities of my own creations. You placed limitations on my Guards without my permission."
"I understand. I still don't regret it. It's not ideal, but I did fulfill your orders. And I'd rather suffer a day than for the entire world to suffer endlessly."
"You will not suffer." The darkness lightened to almost gray, a fuzzy haze. "The memories, freely given, will not cause undue stress."
But will it cause some stress? Harry thought but decided against asking that particular question. "So how do I do it?"
"Much like allowing your magic to run freely, you will do the same with your memories."
"Right, but how?"
"You will know."
Harry gritted his teeth. He hated that answer because he didn't know, and he never did, and he was getting tired of just winging it at every turn. Was it so hard to be given specific instructions? "You sure? Apparently, I'm not great at doing things independently."
The shadows thickened ominously and filled the room. Harry's fear, which had settled into a manageable level, spiked high again, clogging his throat. He held his breath, only letting it out when the darkness faded. Harry clenched his hands into fists and winced as the action brushed against the scratches he'd given himself only a few minutes ago. Clenching his jaw again, he decided against mouthing off too unnecessarily, at least tonight.
"You must speak with my Guides soon."
"Are they at risk of mutiny, too?"
"Do not be obtuse, Child. You can sense their connection. You need not ask questions you know the answer to." Harry grimaced, his cheeks burning at the chastisement. "It is long overdue and, based on your actions with my Guards, should have been dealt with first."
Harry sighed, his chest still sore from the crushing pressure, his limbs still trembling. He craved stretching his legs and waving his arms, reaffirming in his mind that he could truly feel them, but doing so would disrupt lines of the markings in which he sat, so he refrained.
"What else do you desire of me, Master?" Best to get his to-do list quickly so he could cut off this conversation and hide in his room for the rest of the night cocooned in blankets.
The darkness pulsed, and Harry wondered if Death would give a lecture or just let this night be done. The darkness flared out in a stuttering wave before Death finally spoke. "You must still Claim the other before the Tainted Light."
Harry nodded, though even the thought of killing Umbridge wasn't enough to lift his spirits right now.
"You have begun work on my runes. This is good. Use them to tether yourself, make them permanent, and you can draw constant protection and power from them. You will need them in the events to come."
Make them permanent? How was he supposed to tether himself to runes? He'd save those questions for later, though. He wouldn't ask them tonight, not when his mind felt so shattered, not when his emotions were too raw.
"Gather my gifts. You have one, and the Tainted Light has the other two. You must gather them if you are to proceed properly."
Get the Stone and Wand, Harry translated mentally. It was on his list of things to accomplish, and he hoped he'd get at least one of them during the upcoming visit to Hogwarts, both if things worked perfectly.
"Will my…er…your Cloak protect me from the wards that Dumbledore set around the school?"
"The Tainted Light is not more powerful than me. Detection wards were never a concern for my other Children."
"Well, apparently, a lot has changed in the centuries," Harry said bitterly. "Like polyjuice potion, because someone was able to use it to enter my manor without my knowledge."
"With time, there is progress," Death admitted, "it is difficult to determine the degree until it is tested. However, unless one is deeply acquainted with Death magic, it would be impossible to replicate it enough for detection."
So Death didn't know with complete certainty if the Cloak would protect against the wards, but it was a safe bet that it would, Harry thought. This was good news for their plans. "Speaking of your Magic," Harry began tentatively, "if someone has come in contact with your magic, with soul magic, can I call on it? Can I bring it forth and use it to get rid of, say, glamor charms concealing it?"
The shadows pulsed around him, coalescing and dissolving in a steady rhythm. "As my Child, you can call on anything regarding my magic. My magic supersedes all other magic just by its very nature. Death is the most foundational aspect of life and magic. Nothing can combat it."
Harry mulled that over in his mind for a moment and appreciated that Death gave him the opportunity to do so. By the sounds of it, the plans he and Marvolo had in place should work. The visit to Hogwarts was coming soon, and they had multiple plans in place to make the most of it, and one of them hinged on this answer.
"Thank you, Master." Harry dipped his head as low as he could manage in a sitting position, the most deference he'd ever given Death.
Death was silent for almost a full minute, and Harry stared at the candle before him, focused on it instead of the surrounding darkness. He took slow, steady breaths. "Do not fear me, Child." Harry glared at the darkness before catching himself and refocusing on the candlelight; his lips pressed tight together. "You angered me, disobeyed me, perhaps I reacted harshly, but I must impress on you that you are my Child. You are not my Master."
Harry looked down at the red lines his nails had carved into his skin not even ten minutes ago. "I will not forget, Master," he replied.
"Do not think ill of me," Death said softly, the shadows resembling dark velvet now, soothing against his skin, caressing the wetness still frozen to his cheeks and lashes, engulfing him in the mimicry of a hug. "It is not that I did not wish to reach out to my creations, that I did not desire to soothe their worries. I am not an uncaring Master. But I am not omnipotent, despite my inevitability. I am limited by the constraints of my being, my nature, as all are. I am reliant on my Children. This is why the balance has become so turbulent in the centuries since my last Child lived. There was none to work on my behalf."
Harry nodded. "I understand," he said quietly. Part of him did, he supposed. Death could only do so much to convey emotions and intentions. It didn't mean Harry had to like it, though.
"You will do great things, Child. You will do great things in my name and your own. But you must remember all you represent; do not get swayed by trivial pursuits and forsake your duties."
"Yes, Master."
The darkness pulsed a few more times before Death said, "Go, my Child, achieve your tasks, fulfill our purpose. Go with my blessing."
Despite himself, Harry felt warm at Death's parting words. Felt proud that Death still trusted him. The darkness dissipated, and Harry pushed himself to his feet and fell immediately, his legs trembling and weak. Groaning, he pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet again. Stumbling, he moved out of the room and down the hall but fell again when he reached the staircase.
Panting, he leaned against the stairs. He was so tired. Drained and fatigued, his body was still too cold. It had never been this bad before. A conversation with Death had never lasted this long before; he must have been in that room for an hour or more. Of course, he'd never been punished by Death before, either.
Harry tried to stand, tried to muster up enough energy to at least crawl up the stairs and to his room. But he couldn't. "Tobi," Harry called out hoarsely.
"Master Death Master, is you being okay?" Tobi asked fretfully, his big eyes peering down at him from where he stood on the stairs.
Harry shook his head weakly. "Need help getting to bed," he said quietly, his eyes growing heavy.
"Tobi will be helping," Tobi said before disappearing. Harry blinked in confusion at the spot where the elf had stood. Where had he gone?
New footsteps sounded near his head only moments later. Harry didn't bother opening his eyes because he could feel the Dark Magic curling around him, and he sighed in relief at the comfort it brought.
"Harry –" His name was choked out before he felt hands on his body, so cold and frigid it was reminiscent of Death's anger. He whimpered at the touch, remembering the ice that gripped him only a few minutes earlier. "Harry," the voice breathed next to his ear.
Harry could feel his body growing limp, could feel the tension seeping from his bones as arms wrapped around him. "Death was angry," he whispered before completely succumbing to his own exhaustion.
Despite his Warming Charms and layered clothing, the chill still had shivers gripping him as he walked through the Forbidden Forest. It had taken him three days to leave the warmth of his bed and blankets, and even now, five days after talking to Death, the cold refused to relinquish its grip fully. The only good thing that came out of Harry's confinement to his room was that Marvolo had joined him in his room for every meal and hadn't complained about doing their plotting and scheming in Harry's room instead of the library or Marvolo's office. Marvolo had even done some of his work in Harry's room, occupying the rarely used desk to keep Harry company while he healed from the severe drain he'd suffered.
The normal foreboding, eerie atmosphere was still present, and Harry could feel the various creatures of the Forest watching him, but none approached. He let his magic flow freely, which might have been why they let him be. He stopped when he reached a clearing in the forest and decided to let the thestrals come to him. He could sense them in the forest and knew they were traveling towards him.
It had taken a lot of convincing for Marvolo not to come with him, but Harry stood firm, just as he had with the Dementors. He had to visit his subjects on his own. Marvolo had raged, and Harry felt guilty because he knew some of the Death Eaters were suffering because of their argument.
Against his will, Harry turned to face where he knew the castle sat. He couldn't see it because of all the trees, but he knew it was there. He could feel it. Harry knew he'd always be able to feel Hogwarts, no matter how long he stayed away. The yearning to walk to the forest's edge and see the castle again was strong… almost too strong. But Harry resisted. He couldn't be sure where Dumbledore laid the detection ward and didn't want to alert the man too soon; he couldn't tip his hand just yet.
So he would resist the pull of the school, but it wouldn't be forever. He'd be visiting soon. He'd get to gaze upon his first home again. The plans were falling into place. But first, he needed to talk to the thestrals. Beneath his cloak and trousers, he could feel the scars on his thighs, the ones he'd made himself while talking to Death. They didn't hurt anymore, but they didn't fade, and Harry knew they never would.
Standing in the clearing, he glanced up at the sky, which he could barely see through the foliage. It was early evening, so the sky was more pale than properly dark, but Harry still decided to light a few floating Lumoses to brighten the clearing just a bit. Because of the thickness of the tree canopy, the ground wasn't coated with feets of snow, more of a dusting instead, and Harry was grateful for that at least.
It didn't take long before the herd entered the clearing. Harry stayed silent as he watched the thestrals approach him. He wasn't as worried about this meeting since he knew they hadn't forsaken their oaths sworn to Death, and he'd had good previous experiences with them, unlike with the Dementors, but he was anxious to make a good impression.
"Afternoon," he greeted pleasantly, his breath a visible mist hanging in the air. "I'm glad you were able to meet with me. I apologize for not meeting with you sooner."
"It is fine, Master's Colt," a feminine voice echoed in his head. A thestral, not the largest but definitely the oldest based on the gray patches in the hide and the numerous old, white scars decorating her flanks, walked forward. "We are honored to be greeted by you."
"It is my honor, truly. And I intend to visit more frequently in the future. May I ask your name, or what I can call you?"
"I am Neta, as named by your siblings."
His rudimentary lessons in Hindi translated Neta to 'leader' in his mind. Harry smiled. So perhaps his Peverell ancestors were more entwined with India than just the marriage to the Potters. Something to research later, maybe…or perhaps it was all a pretty coincidence, and he was allowing his language studies to infiltrate the other aspects of his life. "Hello, Neta. You say my siblings named you, does that mean you were alive back when they walked this land?"
Neta tossed her head in what seemed like agreement. "Yes, Master's Colt. I was the last born before your siblings joined Master. I only lived a moon cycle at the same time as the last."
Fascinating, Harry thought privately. He hadn't realized a thestral lifespan stretched centuries. "I'm glad to have a connection to my siblings through you. Perhaps another day you could tell me your stories of them." Neta stamped her hooves and flicked her ears. Harry took that as a 'yes'. "Now, while I am here, is there anything you wish me to look into or fix?"
Neta tossed her head and glanced back at the rest of the herd that had fanned out to fill in the clearing, leaving Harry in the lone untouched space, her wings flapping in agitation. "Did we do something to offend, Master's Colt? Was it not your intention to bring us with you?"
Harry swallowed. His mind dissolved into white noise for a few moments. "No, not at all, you haven't offended me. It's true; it wasn't my intention to bring you away, but if that is your desire, I will not deny you." The thestrals didn't seem calmed by his words. Their ears swiveled, and a few pawed at the snow-powdered ground; the ones on the outer edges flapped their wings. "Is there a reason you wish to leave? Are you mistreated in the forest? Are you in danger?"
Neta stared at him, her skeletal frame barely visible in the fading light. She twisted her head as if to keep him in her sights but couldn't decide how to look at him. Her wings stretched out, demonstrating an impressive wingspan before enfolding them to her body once again. "No, we are in no danger, Master's Colt. You speak the truth? We do not offend?"
"No! Not at all, I am most pleased," Harry said as sincerely as he could despite how awkward he felt.
"You are still a foal, with no sire or dam to explain," Neta said with a small whiny before walking forward and bumping her nose against his shoulder and Harry got the impression it was supposed to be a maternal gesture of some sort. "Your siblings hosted the primary herd on their pasture. They desired to keep Masters' Guides close at hand."
"Oh." Harry supposed that made sense. "But I've been to Peverell Manor, and there weren't any thestr–I mean, Guides there. What happened to them?"
"Our numbers have dwindled due to the lack of Master's Colts to sustain us. We are currently the only herd left. Those not with us are lone stallions who struggle alone but find enough Dark Magic to sustain them on their travels."
A cold lump settled in Harry's stomach as he looked at the herd. There had to be about thirty thestrals in total. These were all that were left? What would have happened if Harry hadn't come along? Would they have died out completely? How many rogue thestrals were there? He doubted there were many…. Should he call them back to him? How did he even do that? He really wished Death had prepared him more.
"So you want to come back with me, to be sustained?"
Another thestral walked forward, not in line with Neta but out of the crowd. "This forest provides adequate substitute sustainment," the thestral said, the voice filling Harry's mind with a calm gentleness, but Harry couldn't tell if it was a male or female. The thestral stretched its wings and dipped its head as if in a bow. "If Master's Colt permits, some would like to remain. But many would prefer staying with you."
"Of course," Harry said immediately. He'd hardly deny them but didn't look forward to explaining to Marvolo why his grounds would now be housing a bunch of thestrals. Actually, he probably wouldn't mind; he'd probably say it added to the aesthetic of being a Dark Lord. "You should know I don't reside at Peverell Manor." Neta and the other thestral tilted their heads in obvious confusion. "Um…the house…er…pasture of my siblings."
Neta and the other thestral looked at each other before Neta tossed her head and turned to face the rest of the herd. What commenced was an obvious conversation that Harry was not privy to. All he could hear were whickers, neighs, and snorts from the thestrals. It was interesting to know that they could communicate with each other without him at all. They either had their own language or a way to block him from the mental link they'd been using thus far.
"Would Master's Colt permit a herd at his sibling's pasture and his own pasture?" Neta asked, turning back to face Harry.
Harry nodded immediately. "Of course. Are you okay with splitting the herd into three groups?"
"It will be three new herds," Neta clarified, prancing a bit in place. "We cannot grow without space." Harry didn't fully understand that, but now wasn't the time to question thestrals' breeding habits.
"Right…but of those who remain here, do you want to still work with the school?"
Another thestral came forward. "It is acceptable." This time, the voice sounded male in his head, hoarse and deep. "We enjoy the interaction with the teaching foals, though if we continue, there are conditions we wish for you to negotiate for us, Master's Colt."
"What conditions?"
"We wish for payment. This is something done among wixen, yes?" the male thestral asked, pawing at the ground, his wings fluttering briefly.
"Yes, payment would make sense," Harry said slowly, and he felt a bit embarrassed that he'd never actually thought about the thestrals pulling the carriages, hadn't thought about the employment of them. Hermione would be livid when he told her. It would be the House Elf crusade all over again. "You're doing a service. Have you not been getting anything for helping the school?"
"The stallion called Hagrid is very kind to us," Neta said, and this was followed by many neighs and stamping of hooves in what Harry could only take as agreement. Harry chuckled at the eager response, even as his heart tugged at the mention of Hagrid.
"The dragon meat he brings is our favorite," the second thestral said, sounding eager.
"Especially the Welsh ones," the male thestral said, prancing in place.
"I'll let him know," Harry said, grinning. "So is that how you'd like to be paid? With dragon meat?" It would make sense, he supposed. It's not like thestrals would need galleons. Where would they spend it?
"No," the male thestral conceded, sounding resigned. His head was low to the ground, his wings drooping.
"Only for special occasions," the second thestral added with a head toss, hooves stamping the ground.
"We do not need shelter or food; we can hunt for ourselves. We want recognition," Neta said.
Harry blinked in surprise. Recognition? That wasn't what he expected. "How…how do you want recognition?" He wondered if the thestrals were similarly affected by human interaction as the dementors were. Just instead of happiness, they craved recognition. Were all Death's creatures doomed to mimic the desires of humans?
"Most of the young foals at the great stable do not know of us," Neta said in his head, maternal and soothing. "It is preferred that they do not see us. We do not wish to burden them, but they should know of us. They should know who guides them to the great stable and back. They should know that we are Master's Guides."
Harry nodded. "I will tell the Headmaster. If nothing changes by the end of the term, I will formally terminate your employment with the school. I will not tolerate you being dismissed and disrespected. If they want your help, they will treat you properly."
"Thank you, Master's Colt." The voice of all three thestrals echoed in his head. Harry just nodded, rocking back on his heels to keep the blood flowing in his toes. Warming charms really only did so much when you stood unmoving in the snow, even if it was only a few inches. He pulled at the fur-lined, dragon hide gloves he wore, a gift from Christmastime that was coming in handy today.
"Is there anything else you want to address now, with all of you here before you separate?"
"We are content," Neta said, the voice in his head radiating with tranquility, proving her words.
"If you're certain. Then how will you divide up? And do you need my direction on where to go?"
"Myself, the youngest foals, and those who are ill will reside with you, Master's Colt," Neta said. "Knight will remain with the herd here, and Pheonix with the ones at your sibling's pasture." The two thestrals dipped their heads in acknowledgment of their names.
"Some of you are ill? Do you need medicine?"
"They need your magic, Master's Colt," Neta said gently, her wings stretching and folding a few times, her ears flicking, her head brushing against his arm as if stroking him consolingly. "It is the only thing that truly sustains us. The ones who remain here are the strongest of our herd and will only need minimal sustenance."
Harry immediately felt guilty. He could have helped the thestrals much earlier if he had just met with them months ago. Why had he avoided this task?
"We do not need much. But the Forest can only provide so much," the male thestral, Knight, said, his voice soft in Harry's head—so soft that it made Harry's heart hurt. It was only further proof that he'd let his subjects down, that he'd failed as their Lord and as Death's Child. The phantom pain of the scars on his thighs burned.
"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't visit earlier. How frequently will you need me?"
"Only a few times a year."
"Done." It would hardly be a hardship to visit a few times a year and let his magic run wild. Though he'd need to add that to his calendar. He really needed that assistant to keep track of it all. "Now, Phoenix, do you need directions to…my siblings' pasture?"
"We know the way; we just need your permission."
"You have it. All of you do. Whenever you need to, you have permission to visit my current pasture and my sibling's pasture."
"Thank you, Master's Colt," Phoenix said, dipping its head and spreading its wings—a gesture mimicked by the entire herd. Phoenix then turned to face the herd, stamping its hoof and snorting multiple times in quick succession. Harry watched the thestrals separate themselves, ten of them peeling from the group, and after another bow towards him, they spread their wings and flew off.
Harry watched the new herd until they disappeared into the night sky before turning to face the remaining group. "Now you said that those who are coming to my pasture, some of them are ill, can they make the trip?"
Neta hesitated before bobbing her head. "Yes, they can make it, Master's Colt."
Harry paused, debating if he should press the matter. Would he offend them if he did? In the end, he decided it didn't matter. "Who will struggle with the trip, Neta?"
"Our youngest foal," she admitted, her voice whispering in his head. "She has taken ill. We feared it was a sign for all our future foals. Most born after the last of Master's Colts are weaker but survived. But we do not believe she will live past the year."
Harry walked closer to Neta and asked quietly, "What can I do?"
Knight shook his head. "Do not think of it, Master's Colt. She is too weak and too ill. Master comes for us all, some sooner than others."
"So you're just giving up on her?" Harry asked, horrified.
"She will not make the journey to your pasture," Knight said, his voice upset but firm.
Neta pawed the ground, and her ears twitched before she bobbled her head. When she spoke next, her voice was quiet in his head. "She would need more exposure to your magic, Master's Colt, and your blood to fully heal and grow. We cannot request it from you. You are our Master's Colt and have many important things to do. She will enjoy her remaining time here in the forest. She enjoys watching the teaching foals at the great stable."
"My blood?" Harry asked, his voice croaking as he tightly wrapped his arms around his chest.
"Nothing is stronger than freely given blood, and blood from your veins, soaked in Master's Darkness…" Knight trailed off, and Harry sighed in understanding.
"Where is she?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse. Trepidation and guilt were a solid weight on his chest, but knowing that he could keep this foal close and it would help her solidified his decision. He didn't even need to consider it. Neta huffed out a breath and pawed the ground a few times before bobbing her head. The herd parted at her nod, and Harry walked forward towards the tiny thestral standing on thin, shaky legs, so small she barely reached his knees. Harry fell to his knees before the small foal, the snow soaking through his cloak, the scars on his thighs stinging from the movement. Her wings looked too feeble to even properly open, the edges tattered instead of solid and streamlined like the others, and he was surprised that her trembling legs could hold her up. "Hello, little one," he said softly.
"Master's Colt?" the tiny, frail voice asked in his head. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.
"Hi, I heard you weren't feeling well," Harry said, his voice as soft and gentle as he could manage. He wanted to reach out and cradle the small thestral to his chest but wasn't sure if it would be allowed.
The young thestral gave a small neigh that sounded more like a whimper. "I'm fine, Master's Colt. I'll grow strong."
"I know you will," Harry agreed, unable to stop his shaky smile. "What's your name?"
"Luna, Master's Colt."
"Luna, eh? You know, one of my good friends is named Luna, and she is one of the strongest women I know."
Luna's tail wagged, ear pricked straight. "Really?"
"Really," Harry agreed. "And the best way to get big and strong is for you to come with me to my pasture. Do you want to come?"
"Yes, yes," Luna said, her excited and eager shouts echoing in his head. She pranced a few times before stumbling and falling to the ground. Harry reached out to catch her before he could stop himself. Luna curled into his arms, nuzzling her small head into the crook of his elbow.
"I'm glad you're excited, but do you know something that would really help me?" he asked. Luna looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with eagerness. He tried to ignore how his fingers brushed against her ribs; all the thestrals were skeletal, he told himself. "I'm going to need someone to stick by my side. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, yes," Luna's excited voice faded in his head, and he watched as the young thestral collapsed completely in his arms, knocked out, the excitement too strong for her strained health. Standing with the small thestral in his arms, Harry turned to face the rest of the herd.
"Is there anything else that we need to discuss?"
"No, Master's Colt," Neta said, her voice sounding warm and sad simultaneously.
"Great, can I Apparate with Luna without harming her?"
"Yes, Master's Colt," Neta said with a nod of her head.
"Do you know how to get to the Dark Lord's house….um… my current pasture?"
"If you have allowed your magic to permeate the pasture, we will be able to find it."
Harry nodded. He'd let his magic loose so often that he could only assume he'd permeated the grounds enough for the thestrals to track. "I'll meet you there and help you get situated."
Neta nodded and the entire herd spread their wings and dipped their heads in a bow. "Thank you, Master's Colt."
Harry nodded and watched Neta and half the herd take to the sky. He waited again until they were gone from his sight before turning to face Knight and the remaining herd. Luna remained curled up in his arms. "I promise I'll speak with the Headmaster about getting you and the herd recognition for your efforts in helping the school, and I'll visit again soon."
Knight and the remaining herd dipped their heads, wings spread. "Thank you, Master's Colt. Please take care of Luna."
"Who are her parents?"
"Thestrals are born and raised by the herd."
Harry sighed and nodded. "I will do my best to bring her to full health," Harry promised. "Can you still contact Neta despite the distance and being in separate herds now?" Knight nodded. "Great. If you ever need help or assistance or anything, contact Neta, and she'll get me. I'll be here as soon as I can." Knight nodded again.
Harry was about to leave before pausing and turning back. "Last year, some of you flew my friends and me to the Ministry. Did you know who I was then? Is that why you helped us?"
Knight tossed his head, ears flicking, and pawed the ground. "We did not know. We sensed the familiarity of your scent. But Master had not Sired you yet. We helped because the young filly, Luna, asked it."
"Thank you. I'll be sure to pass your praise of her along." Harry looked at the thestral in his arms. She was even more skeletal than the others, her chest rising weakly and her wings looking tattered. His grip tightened, and he apparated away.
"Harry…do you have something you wish to inform me of?" Marvolo asked, standing in front of Harry in the lobby of his house. Harry looked down at Luna in his arms.
"Yeah…so some thestrals are en route here to reside on your lands. I'm sorry, but I didn't have a chance to ask you first. They thought that since I was meeting with them, it meant I wanted to take them with me. It's not all of them, just a third, really. The other third is going to Peverell Manor and the rest are staying in the Forbidden Forest. But they need access to my magic to remain healthy and grow and –"
"I do not care about hosting a herd of thestrals," Marvolo interrupted. "I am inquiring about the thestral currently in your arms."
Harry looked down at Luna, still passed out and looking adorable, in his opinion. In the light of the manor, he could see her details better. Could see her skeletal frame covered by soft, leathery skin, more dark brown than pure black, that looked more supple than worn and stretched like Neta's. "This is Luna." Marvolo stared at him, arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Harry swallowed and tightened his grip on the thestral. "She's sick. Being away from a Master's Colt…um…a Necromancer for so long and unable to feed off Death's Magic, the thestrals have been weakening. The ones coming to live here are the youngest and sickest, so they can be nearest my magic. She's the youngest one. She's taking it the hardest. They don't think she'll survive the year. They were starting to think they'd become extinct."
"That does not explain why you are currently holding the thestral," Marvolo said through gritted teeth.
Harry tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Like I said, she's the sickest. She needs to be closest to my magic."
Marvolo looked at the thestral in his arms, but Harry couldn't say what the Dark Lord was thinking. His red eyes were dull when he finally looked up from the thestral. "So you are to play nursemaid?"
"Not so extreme," Harry said. "But yes, she needs to be near me for some time to heal properly and grow strong. It won't be forever. Then she can go back with the others." Harry didn't feel the need to tell Marvolo that he'd be feeding Luna his blood, too; it probably wouldn't help convince him to let her stay.
"But she'd survive just by living on the grounds, yes?"
"Well…I guess technically, yeah, but she wouldn't properly heal." Harry looked up at Marvolo, trying to convey his need and desperation to right this wrong. A wrong that he'd helped perpetuate by ignoring his duties for so long through his eyes alone. "Please? You'll hardly even notice her. I mean, you don't mind Hedwig, and you got me Raaja."
Marvolo looked away before heaving a great, put-on sigh, and Harry was grinning before Marvolo even spoke. "Very well. The thestral can stay indoors."