Chapter 15: Chapter 8

Summary:

weird dreams are made of this
who is Harry to disagree?

Notes:

is this a dream? a horcrux-removal-ritual hallucination? something else entirely?
up to you to decide!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Harry really couldn't remember a time he had slept as comfortably as he had in Healer Katara's infirmary.

Nor could he recall a stranger dream, for that matter.

At first, there was nothing. He couldn't even understand if time was passing or if he was just floating in space, somewhere and somehow, trapped in a timeless bubble. Sure, sometimes he felt a pinch or a sting, or he could tell his nose was itching, or there would be an odd feeling of warmth, but they never registered much. Nor did he truly have a body to feel them.

Then, everything became much clearer.

Gone was the confusion and the lack of a body and the timeless sensation. He was grounded, somewhere and somehow. Just not awake, that much he could tell. All around him, there was white: a white sofa, looking soft beyond imagination and as if it had been witness to many joys and sorrows; a white coffee table, with what seemed to be a white tea set on top; a white armchair, that emanated a feeling of power and age.

Harry, not really knowing what to do, decided to make his way towards the sofa, wanting to try for himself if it truly was as comfortable as he was thinking it to be. He was feeling bolder than he had ever felt, after all, so he didn't want to deny himself anything anymore.

And, indeed, the sofa was very soft. Almost too soft, if such a thing could be true.

"You are simply not used to comforts, Harry," a voice said, from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Harry turned around, glad to have his body back and to be able to clutch defensively to the cushions, using them as shields. In front of him was a stranger, even if there was an itching memory at the back of his head that told him he had met them already.

The Stranger did not look frightening, but Harry knew better than to lower his guard. They were tall and impeccably dressed in a black three-piece suit, fancier than anything inside of Uncle Vernon's wardrobe by a mile. Their hair was effortlessly tussled, in a way he had seen only in magazines' photos and he ended up envying all the time, conscious that his own hair would never be as tameable or cooperative. Their eyes were deep black pools, enticing and damning at the same time, and Harry could have sworn he would have gotten lost in them, if he stared for too long.

They did not look threatening, overall, but their aura was massive and all-encompassing and powerful.

Harry didn't want to be terrified, though, had basically sworn to himself he would never be afraid of people anymore the moment he left the General's office, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and eyed the Stranger wearily.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, keeping the cushion close to his body and looking around once more, failing to locate proper exits.

Wherever he was, he was trapped. But so must have been the Stranger.

Although, they had appeared out of nowhere, just as the room had, but Harry chose not to dwell on that thought.

"I know quite a bit about you, child," they replied easily, sitting down regally on the armchair and crossing their legs. They were radiating calmness and patience, but Harry wasn't as trusting as he had once been, despite what his stunts with the General and Healer Katara might have led him to believe.

They were Goblins, after all, and had shown him kindness since the moment they had first interacted, never once breaking his trust nor using him for their own ploys.

The Stranger was a man, or at the very least looked like one. And he knew better than to trust men.

"You know, I have been watching you for a while," they added, once they realised Harry wasn't about to comment or strike up a conversation.

"I don't believe that's a good thing."

The Stranger tilted their head to the side, in a way Harry himself had done more than once when he couldn't understand something, before he had learnt that acting confused was counterproductive: "Why?" they asked eventually, curiosity filling their word with colour. There was no malice in the way they were looking at Harry, but he didn't want to lower his guard just yet.

"Because you are a stranger," came the easy reply he had been conditioned to use whenever someone approached him.

"Stranger Danger" had been a popular saying during school, with the children being instructed to be wary of people they didn't know. And Uncle Vernon had drilled into him that he was not to disturb adults with his childish problems, claiming that everyone's lives would be better without his interruptions. And Aunt Petunia had always told him to hide from everyone when they were in public, to try not to avoid attention, claiming he could not "trust anyone, not in the way Dudley can. Bad people are always around to take unsuspecting children and you are the most unsuspecting of them all".

She had also once told him to run away if he ever saw someone with a tattoo of a snake on their left arm, but the Stranger's long sleeves kept the skin hidden, so Harry couldn't properly check.

Besides, he couldn't exactly run away now.

The Stranger didn't seem phased by his bluntness. In fact, they seemed almost pleased: "I suppose I am and you are quite right on calling me out for that," they said with a smile on their face, their perfect teeth slightly pointed and harmonious with the rest of them, "I applaud you for such caution. It is an important skill to have."

"Thank you, I guess."

"You are welcome, I guess," they joked, earning a little and slightly less wary than before laugh from Harry, before turning serious and uncrossing their legs, leaning with their elbows on them and levelling Harry with a piercing gaze, "But, despite me being unknown to you, you do not have to be mistrustful of me. I assure you, I have no ill intentions. Quite the opposite, in fact. I have known your ancestors well, worked with some of them closely. And I have known your parents. I believe we also have met, even if it was briefly. You could say that we are more acquainted with each other than most."

"I…" he tried to speak, but was stumped.

He had no real memory of the Stranger, yet, if he racked his brain, he could feel similar notes of their powers scattered around him. It was almost as if they had always been around him, somehow, in one way or another. The closer he could remember, though, was probably from the night he held one of the garden mice as she laid dying, after having been injured by one of Mrs Figg's weird cats. It was almost as if he had heard the Stranger's breath that night, close to him as the mouse slipped into slumber.

But that would have been a too complicated concept to share.

So, instead, he settled for a slightly embarrassed: "I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

The Stranger didn't seem phased once more. Harry thought that there might be nothing that would disrupt the calm expression on their face, given both their entrance and their attitude.

"It's alright, little one," they said, offering a placating smile, "You were much younger and more distracted."

"So, you knew my mum and dad?" Harry asked, not wanting to disrespect the Stranger, but desperately holding on to every mention of his parents. One day, he promised himself, he would know everything about them. Until then, though, he would have to pry gently.

"I do. They are wonderful people and are watching you as well. They are very proud of the person you have become and, one day, they will tell you themselves."

A sour feeling swallowed Harry whole, causing him to retract away from the Stranger and to eye them cautiously.

Obviously they were messing with him, playing his strings! What for, he didn't know. And part of him didn't even want to know, as disappointment filled him.

Maybe they were part of the Secret Services, he couldn't help but think, looking at them with distrustful eyes. Uncle Vernon had threatened him extensively, claiming that he'd be shipped away if he didn't behave, that men in black suits would show up and take him away if he didn't do what he was told. That they would experiment on him, to try and find out why he was such a freak of nature.

He supposed that running away to the bank and admitting to the way the Dursleys treated him could be considered "misbehaving". Therefore, it made a bit of sense, for him to be punished.

And there he was, believing he would be safe in the Wizarding World!

Shame on him for lowering his guard, then.

"They can't," he admitted with a sour taste in his mouth, hardening his expression as best as he could. He had never had problems with the fact that he was an orphan, it was just another one of the characteristics he had no control over. Maybe it was because he couldn't remember his parents in anything other than fleeting dreams, and even then, they were probably mostly made out of his imagination, or maybe it was because he had other and more pressing issues than his lack of parents, like surviving in a hostile environment, so he tried not to let that fact dictate his emotions. He didn't even know when they had died, after all, and it wasn't like he could mourn them all year round.

But he felt immensely sad then, sitting on a white sofa, admitting to the Stranger what he had always known to be true and had always wished he could change. "They're gone."

"They are, indeed," they said, voice full of sympathy and sorrow and sadness, immediately shifting Harry's attitude towards them with the admission. Maybe they were not bearing ill intentions towards him, after all, if they treated him with such kindness and understanding. Maybe not all was lost. "But that detail shouldn't stop you from interacting with them, not if you don't let it."

Harry looked up at them, puzzled by their sentence.

Perhaps his wildest dreams were not just wishful thinking?

"As General Longword Silverfang informed you, the art of the dead is not a scary big monster that hides inside the darkness. Necromancy does not stop at attempted resurrection and flight from Death, but encompasses all aspects of life and afterlife. It lays on accepting Death, instead. Some might say: "as an old friend." So, I think it's easy to say that, if you wish, you might find all the necessary tools to aid you in contacting your parents, although not in bringing them back, I'm afraid."

"Like with an Ouija board?" he couldn't refrain himself from asking, searching in his memory for anything that might help him talk to them once more.

He doubted the board that one of Dudley's friends had brought to school one day, causing the teacher to yell at them for an entire hour about how it was a demonic object that they shouldn't have interacted with, would do him any good, but he needed to start somewhere.

At the end of recess, when Harry had been beaten down by his classmates because it was, apparently, his fault the triangle hadn't moved, he had eyed the board with unease, not trusting it. Perhaps, in a world full of magic and enchantments, there must have been a safer way to call people who had gone, one that didn't reek of disappointment and fear.

The Stranger shook their head vehemently: "No, definitely not. Those things are not of my realm and I would appreciate it if you did not play with them. What is that muggle expression… oh, yes! They have "bad mojo." Or something like that. What I meant was that, with your abilities, you might find breaching the Veil far easier than others. Or, if my suspicions are correct, since the Goblins are indeed cleverer than the other races gave them credit for, you might find a family heirloom to aid you. You might have two out of three already, once the Goblins finish their job."

Despite having heard about families and familial magic for quite a while in the General's office, Harry still felt unease creep down his spine at the thought of having heirlooms and artefacts that were passed down from generations, all made to be in his possession. He would need some time to get used to the concept of family altogether, especially since he apparently had more relatives than he had hoped for.

So, instead of dwelling on that depressing thought, he changed the subject, emboldened by the somewhat cheerful attitude of the Stranger.

"Is this a dream?" he asked, his voice barely higher than a whisper. There was no way he was awake, of that he was certain, but his dreams had never been as real as what he was living. And, most of them, weren't half as nice.

"Not quite," the Stranger replied with ease, crossing their legs once more, "This is the space in-between."

The explanation made no sense whatsoever: "In-between what?"

They chuckled at Harry's impatience, taking their sweet time to answer. Finally, when Harry thought he would need to speak up once more, they opened their mouth: "Well, everything. Sleep and wake, dusk and dawn, Earth and Space. Life and Death, mostly."

A thought passed through his head, making his heart clench in pain and fear.

"Am I dead?"

He had just enjoyed freedom for the first time, he didn't want to die.

The Stranger was startled at the question and a laugh came out of them, a strangled sound of disbelief and sorrow that made Harry hope, just for a moment, that it was a dream after all. Or, if not a dream itself, at least something similar.

"No, child, you are not dead," they reassured him, sharing a private smile and putting him at ease once more. He didn't know why, but he felt comfortable around the Stranger, as if they were indeed an old family friend. Perhaps they were. "In fact, I believe you might just start living fully."

"Are you dead?" he asked, trying to understand how someone could have known his parents, yet wasn't able to encounter him outside of his mind.

Yet again, many people had known his parents and hadn't been able to meet him while he was at the Dursleys, so there must have been something keeping them all away.

Harry just hoped he wasn't a repellent of some sort.

"Not quite," came the reply, before the Stranger levelled another impressive gaze at Harry and made him reconsider everything he knew about the world: "I am Death, though. And I have waited to properly meet you for a long while."

Harry could not believe his ears.

It made no sense.

It was absurd!

Yet he had interacted with charmed papers that had fed on his blood, written with enchanted quills that jotted down his medical records, he had travelled all the way to London through a magical coin. He had spent the day around Goblins. He had discovered he had a Godfather, and cousins, and properties, and so much money he already felt a little faint just imagining it all. He had found magic.

Perhaps meeting Death wasn't as absurd a concept as he could have thought.

But some things did not add up, when he recalled the way Death was always depicted in books and paintings: "Shouldn't you wear a big robe and carry around a scythe?" he asked, eyeing their attire curiously.

They looked quite fancy in their suit, but was it appropriate?

The Stranger, Death, didn't seem phased by the question once more. If anything, they looked amused. "Robes are quite unflattering on the body, you'll see for yourself soon enough. I do not understand why wixen continue to use them, especially since they are highly impractical for everyday uses. Muggle suits are much more comfortable, I believe. And do not get me started on the quills! Traditionalism is one thing, being stubbornly in the past is another. But that's another issue, don't worry about it. And I've left my scythe in my office, I didn't think I would need it around you," they exclaimed excitedly, leaning forth and pouring tea into the cups. Then, they winked at Harry and took a teacup for themselves, returning to their previous position. "Just between us, it can all be quite intimidating."

"You have an office?"

He didn't know why that was the most pressing concept in his brain, but was too curious to ask proper questions.

"Unfortunately. One would think that being an Immortal Being would exempt you from paperwork, but it sadly doesn't."

Harry took his own cup and drank a bit, savouring the way the tea was warm and not too sweet: "Paperwork is like homework, isn't it?" he inquired, remembering how Uncle Vernon always boasted about his paperwork, claiming it to be perfect and a perfect source of pride.

"Indeed," Death nodded, sighing dramatically for good measure, "I believe it is quite like the schoolwork you have been assigned so far, unchallenging and bothersome."

"Oh, I'm sorry then," he said honestly, sharing their pain. If it truly was anything like the math questions he had to do each day before school, then it truly was the worst. How many times did a child need to do simple addition, after all! "That must be tough."

That seemed to amuse Death some more: "It is," they confirmed, nodding tiredly, before a spark appeared in his eyes once more, "Let's talk about something else, though."

"Are you sure I'm not dying?" he inquired again, needing the confirmation. On one hand, he would get to see his parents. On the other, he wanted to live properly, now that he could. And he believed that the General and Healer Katara would be upset if he didn't wake up.

Especially Healer Katara, considering that dying while under her care would be a bad thing.

Death nodded sagely and Harry left it to their authority to know whether or not he was alive: "A hundred per cent. Healer Blood-bender has healed all your ailments and injuries, and a team of cursebreakers removed the fu… nasty object from your scar. Which is, coincidentally, why I am finally able to reach you."

"So I'm definitely not dying and this is definitely not a hallucination."
Just once more, to be sure.

"Precisely."

"Alright," he claimed, taking another sip of his tea. Perhaps he was being too accepting, but it was his "not quite" dream, so he felt entitled to a little absurdity. If there was a white rabbit around, somewhere, he would have definitely felt inclined to follow him. "Say I believe you, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing, really," Death said, crossing their legs once more and languidly reclining on the armchair, before taking their own sip. And, judging by the colour inside the cup, Harry could have sworn they were not drinking the same tea: while his was slightly brown, deep in contrast with the all-encompassing white of the whole room, Death's cup was filled with a golden liquid, sparkling despite the lack of proper colour all around. "Just to have a nice chat and get to know you better, I suppose," they continued, pulling him out of his tea-induced musings.

"You said you've been watching me," he all but challenged, feeling emboldened by the easy way conversation seemed to flow between the two of them, "Shouldn't you know everything already?"

Death laughed at him and smirked proudly at his question. "I am not All-Knowing," they replied, winking for good measure, "Besides, mine were more "fleeting moments in which I witnessed you as I passed through your town" than a proper spying session. I would say, the night we were closer, was when your parents were murdered."

Harry almost dropped his cup at that.

He knew he had no parents, because they had died when he was a toddler. Kids at school had created their own made-up stories about him, but they were all wrong and he knew that. His relatives had always told him his parents were killed in a car crash, with his dad being drunk behind the wheel, which was why they rarely talked about them, but even that version was farfetched in his mind. The General had mentioned someone hurting them, and giving him his scar, but he hadn't dwelled much on that.

To find out they had been murdered was a shock.

"They were?" he asked, voice cracking over the three syllables.

Never before he had considered them being taken away from him in cold blood.

"Indeed, and I am certain you will know much more once you wake, though, and I do not wish to be the introduction you have of them," Death said, their expression comforting and stoic at the same time, before changing the topic: "You know, that night, I thought I would need to reap you as well. I remained close to you as Dumbledore placed his compulsions and blocks, afraid your tiny heart would give out from the amount of magic taken and pain you were inflicted, but you persevered. And you managed to overcome the Horcrux, relegating it to your scar. It was all quite impressive."

Harry took some time to understand all the words, ignoring the way his heart was still aching at the thought of his parents.

"Who did what? What now was where?" he shrieked, eyes widening as he tried to rake his brain about what a Dumb door was and what a "horror thing inside his scar" meant, yet coming up empty-handed. He had never heard of either, which consolidated in his mind that it wasn't a proper dream at all.

"Once again, you will have clearer answers once you wake," Death replied, a bit ruefully, sounding sorry about oversharing, as if they were not supposed to. "Healer Blood-bender and General Longsword Silverfang will be more than glad to explain."

"Okay," Harry said, not completely sure of anything anymore, but deciding to ignore the problems until he woke up. "So, all of that makes me interesting?"

"Goodness gracious, no!" Death all but yelled, causing Harry's eyes to widen in shock. He doubted the Being would have harmed him, especially since they had gone to great lengths to just talk with him, but one was never too careful, so he reclined a bit more on the sofa, keeping his hold on the cushion tight.

But Death simply smiled at him, immediately making him feel safe: "You, Harrison James Potter, have been interesting since the moment you were born, so full of raw talent and magic. Did you know that you performed your first bout of accidental magic when you were six months old? Your parents have been gushing about that ever since I encountered them."

"Really?"

"Really," they nodded emphatically, causing Harry to relax once more, "Apparently, you were with your Uncle Moony, who I have yet to meet, sort to say, and he had been distracted by your Uncle Padfoot, who I do not know yet either. You were so enraged by their attention not being on you, that you doused them both with water, out of nowhere. Your father was quite proud. Still is."

Harry couldn't stop the big smile from bubbling out of him and spreading on his face.

His father had been proud of him.

His father still was proud of him.

He could have cried, and easily would have, if Death hadn't interrupted the joy that took him, adding to his previous sentence: "Besides, you are the first in countless generations to bear my gift."

Perhaps the interruption was for the best, Harry thought. After all, that was an introduction and he wanted to make a good impression! Which would have definitely been hindered by a meltdown.

"You mean the Necromancy Affinity?" he tried to get confirmation, the General's words still ringing in his ears.

Death just nodded, weirdly sagely at that. Then, they added, as if in an afterthought: "And there is a tiny detail that will probably come into fruition in the future, according to Time, but I will not bother you with that. Just consider this a proper introduction."

"Should I say: "Nice to meet you"?"

"Well, you would be the first," Death exclaimed somewhat happily, winking at him for good measure. Despite the deep black pools, they were quite nice and, oddly enough, full of life, Harry thought. "You're truly fascinating. Even knowing I am Death, you are not scared of me."

"There are scarier things, I think," he stated in a whisper, trying not to think about why he hadn't been properly afraid of Death per se, "And you don't seem that bad."

"Thank you, I try not to be! But I suppose it comes with the job description, unfortunately," they said, sounding quite ecstatic at the thought of "not seeming that bad".

Perhaps they were used too much to being feared, Harry couldn't help but wonder. And he was too much used being afraid to link the emotion with them.

"But it's a good thing you think so, it will make our work together much more interesting," they added, looking very excited at the prospect and infecting Harry with their carefree attitude.

"Work together?"

Part of him didn't like the idea: from his knowledge, raising the dead was a terrible thing that had terrible outcomes. Dudley had forced him to watch a horror film during the last Halloween, choosing one with zombies, and Harry still couldn't look at graves the same way, whenever they passed by the cemetery.

But, part of him was excited at the idea of being able to talk with his parents once more.

It was easy to decide which side would be listened to, after all.

"Technically speaking, I am not able to interfere with mortal affairs," Death leaned in conspiratorially, as if they did not wish to be eavesdropped. Which was an insane concept, since they were in a doorless and windowless room inside Harry's own mind, but to each their own quirks. "Fate forbade me and I doubt they would appreciate me meddling in your life. But, if you would like, once you are older and more prepared, I could assist you in your ability. Teach you the Mastery, sort to say."

Somehow, they added a weird inflation of their voice at the word "Mastery". Now, Harry didn't believe it to be a fluke, but they simply kept on talking, making him forget about the curious tone.

"Besides, there will be a less drastic need for guidance in your future, many even fewer interactions between us, since the General has already aided you a great deal, effectively removing Dumbledore from the board. And Healer Blood-bender will make sure all pieces are collected, stopping the Abomination from returning. Goblins are marvellous, don't you forget it, Harry."

"I won't," he said honestly, feeling his body tense at the promise.

He would owe them his entire world, once he woke up, so he was sure he would never forget how marvellous they truly were.

"Good," Death nodded satisfied, standing up and brushing invisible crumbs off their suit, "Well, when and if you need me, you will need to learn how to summon me first. I do not come easily."

"With the books inside the Vaults?" he asked, trying to pry for details in a way that didn't seem obvious.

Usually, with teachers and adults, it worked, to some extent. With Death, not so much.

"That is your journey of discovery, I will not aid you in it!" they laughed, deciding to ruffle his hair for good measure once Harry stood up as well. They were really tall, he couldn't help but notice. "Just know that you will have a partner in crime, sort of, if you decide to branch into the magic of Death."

"Why are you willing to do that, though?" he asked a bit sheepishly, not managing to wrap his head around any possible reason and telling as much: "I'm nothing special, just an orphan with some magic and a big scar."

Death crunched down, eyeing him at his level to make Harry understand the meaning of their words: "On the contrary, you are much more than that. And, in time, you will learn that you are not just your scar. But let's not be hasty. I wanted to properly introduce myself and gauge for myself what might be in the future, with you as my chosen. I believe it will be interesting, if you manage it."

"Manage what?" he asked breathlessly, feeling himself grounded on a path he would have enjoyed taking.

"Your Mastery."

"You said you'd teach me that!"

Death laughed and stood up once more: "My mistake," they admitted, even if Harry could see through them and knew, instinctively, that there was much more to that topic that they were divulging. "You need it before we can work together. Sorry if I don't make much sense, but Fate would have my hide if I spoiled their secrets."

Before Harry could reply, the white of the room began to fade. He instinctively knew he was about to wake up, in the real world. He could feel his real body much more than before, with his back pressed against the mattress, but he wasn't ready to bid his farewells just yet.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, a bit desperately as Death looked at him with affection.

"Everyone sees me only once, Harry."

He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the words in disappointment.

But the Being hadn't yet finished his sentence: "You shall be the exception!"

With that, as Harry's face broke out in a blinding smile, darkness fully surrounded him.

And he finally opened his eyes.