Meeting with "DEATH" PART 2 - Truth about hallows

Harry left the castle early the next morning. Despite sequestering himself in Gryffindor tower, the voices that whispered continued to plague him, and though they never rose above a muted mutter, they were there and impossible to tune out.

So he sought quiet in Grimmauld Place. It had been a pleasant surprise to find that the place had made it through the war entirely unscathed; the last time he had been to the townhome bequeathed to him by his godfather, Yaxley had hitched a ride and broken through the wards. He, Ron, and Hermione had only stuck around long enough to release Hermione from the man's grip before apparating away, leaving the man to wander and plunder the house to his heart's content. And yet not a thing had been touched, everything from the nasty looking portraits to the severed house elf heads were as they should be. It was as if Yaxley had never entered Grimmauld Place. And, according to Kreacher, that was nearly the case.

The Death Eater hadn't even managed to make it past the front hall before Harry's somewhat mad, but incredibly effective house elf used his elven magic to transport him halfway across the country. With no address and no immediately recognizable landmarks, he had not been able to find his way back.

Kreacher smiled wide and jubilant when Hary thanked him for protecting their home; the good mood granting him Riddle's locket had put him in had obviously yet to wear off, a good thing for Harry as, in the coming weeks, the elf would be his only steady source of company.

Hermione had wanted to stick around, keep an eye on her boys for a while longer, but her parents' memories needed to be restored and the fragile state the unconsented use of mind magic had put their relationship in needed to be rectified. Ron, in the meanwhile, had returned to the Burrow to spend time with his family as they worked through their loss and prepared to put Fred to rest.

It was lonely without their constant presence, especially after having spent so much time on the run, living in such close proximity to each other, but they all needed a bit of time away from each other, time to find themselves after having played such an active part in a war so early in life.

And if Harry's idea of 'finding himself' mostly consisted of wandering Grimmauld Place's halls (very cautiously) picking through the strange, and oftentimes dark, artifacts that had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge from a few years ago, no one was there to judge him. He'd stumbled on some fascinating finds in the time; a fully intact thestral skeleton tucked within a closet in one of the many studies, an opal wrist cuff that, according to Kreacher, held the souls of some of the Black family's worst enemies in each of the jewels studding the band, and even a complete copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts. Never having had the chance to look through Hermione's stolen copy, Harry curiously thumbed through the tome and found spells and rituals on exactly what the book boasted. There was the one they had stolen the first copy for, the creation of Horcruxes, then others on raising Inferi, even a way to commune with the dead. It was an interesting, if not morbid read, but soon set aside for something a bit shinier and for several days, he didn't think once about it. His attention and interest were occupied by other relics that lay about the house. But then those who'd survived Voldemort's reign began laying those who hadn't to rest.There were many funerals to be had, some of those who had passed Harry wasn't familiar with, but most he was. First Remus and Tonks and her father, Ted, then Colin, then Lavender, before finally Fred.

And Harry attended none.

He had wanted to, so badly it ached, but he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Conquered, his presence would only draw the press and create spectacles of what should be private, peaceful affairs. So he hunkered down in the main parlor of Grimmauld Place and honored those who had passed with a sixty year old bottle of firewhiskey.

It was strong, perhaps too strong for someone whose drink of choice was the mostly non-alcoholic butterbeer. After only a single glass, he wasn't entirely drunk, but he was certainly lacking his usual coordination and his judgment was without a doubt terribly impaired. It was on the latter side effect, that he blamed his decision to summon his fallen friends.

Their memory had been nagging him all night, Fred's especially as he had been buried only a few hours before. Harry's slightly inebriated mind wanted to ensure that they truly were at rest, that, even though they were no longer with those they loved, they were still somewhere good, somewhere they could be happy. Figuring out how to go about summoning the deceased was entirely too easy, Harry had literally stumbled upon the answer only a few days prior in a certain notoriously dark text.

The ritual to commune with the dead was fairly simple, all things considered, it required only four ingredients: asphodel, henbane, a branch from an ash tree, and, as most rituals did, blood from the caster to tie the whole thing together. Harry was to entwine the flowers around the branch into a wreath of sorts before burning it over a consecrated fire. While the wreath burned, he was to allow four drops of his blood to fall into the fire as he spoke the incantation to summon his dead.

Asphodel and henbane were found with no trouble in the Black's potion cupboard and Kreacher was more than willing to pop out and grab him a branch of ash despite the late hour. The consecrated fire was his biggest hurdle as he had very little clue what such a fire was or even how to go about consecrating one, so he cast the blue bell fire Hermione had once been so fond of and hoped for the best.

The wreath caught alight the moment it touched the blaze, and Harry immediately began reciting the incantation, not once stumbling over the Latin words. As it was drawing to a close, he quickly cut his hand on a kitchen knife Kreacher had so helpfully provided and allowed his blood to mingle with the ashes of the wreath. All the while he kept the names and faces of those he wished to summon at the forefront of his mind and drew upon every ounce of his desire to see them, to speak with them one last time. The fire seemed to glow brighter for a moment, blinding Harry with its brilliance, before dying down just as quickly and, suddenly, he was no longer alone.

It wasn't Remus, it wasn't Tonks, Fred, or even his parents; across the table from him, dressed in an impeccable black suit, stood an incredibly imposing man. He was strikingly handsome in an unconventional way, his face was all sharp planes and angles, his lips a thin, stern line, and his nose straight and severe, with cheekbones so sharp Harry imagined he could cut himself on them. Dark hair was neatly combed back and fell just to the nape of his neck, contrasting sharply with his deathly pale skin, but matching perfectly with the twin pools of fathomless black locked on Harry's still form.

A slow, predatory smile spread across the man's face. "So you're the bacterium that united my Heart and dares call himself my master. I must say, I'm rather unimpressed."

Harry took a step back, fingers clutched tightly around the handle of his wand. This man radiated power and timelessness and death, and yet Harry didn't feel threatened in his presence, he didn't feel as if he were in danger because he knew without speaking, without any sort of introductions who this stranger was. He had summoned Death.

Such a realization should have him quaking in fear, but he was calm, cool, if not a bit indignant about the entity's condescension. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "Well, that makes two of us then. One would think a powerful being such as yourself would be better at keeping a hold of his toys, and yet here I am picking up after you."

"So you did. You are the first to conquer my possessions and yet you've done nothing with them, you waste their potential." Death seemed genuinely irritated by this. "You could bring this world to its knees with the power you possess but you cling to the pathetic magics taught to you by mortals. Why use sticks and flowers to commune with those who have passed when all you need do is call and they will come crawling?"Harry felt himself bristling in the face of the man's harsh words. "I'd have loved to save myself the trouble of using sticks and flowers to call upon the dead, but unfortunately your Hallows seem to have run off again. They have a terrible habit of not staying put, don't they?" And, holy shit, he should not be mouthing off to fucking Death lest he wish to be reduced to a pile of ash, but the guy was a prick.

"You fool, they've not run off. Once united, my Heart had no more need of their physical binds, they are within you now, part of your core being." Harry flinched when Death poked a long finger into the center of his chest. "You can call upon their power whenever you wish, or you would if you weren't ignoring this gift in a fit of cowardice typical of those of your species."

Harry felt his face twisting into a snarl. "It isn't cowardice. I'm not ignoring them because I'm afraid, I'm ignoring them because I don't want the bloody things. I've had enough death in my life, thanks. So if you're so unhappy with the way I've been using your Hallows, feel free to take them back, but make sure to keep a better hold on them this time around, yeah?"

Rather than being angered by Harry's show of anger, Death seemed the slightest bit amused, though he still didn't completely let go off his aggrieved attitude. "If only it were so easy," he lamented. "My Heart has accepted you as their master, they will not be so easily removed."

"But they can be removed?" Harry urged. "How?"

"You must die. Only when your soul has been reaped will the Hallows be returned to my possession."

Well that was just great. "Do you intend to reap my soul then? Or were the tales true and I'm immune to that sort of unpleasantness?"

Death looked down upon Harry, clearly unamused. "Your questions are as obnoxious as they are stupid."

"You are incredibly unpleasant," Harry observed. "Especially to someone who is supposed to be your master."

Death's next scoff was far less amused than his first. "You are no more my master than I am yours."

"I'm not?" Harry's brows drew down in confusion. "But the stories said…"

"I presume you are referring to the tales written by that fool of a Bard."

Harry nodded. "Beedle the Bard's Tale of the Three Brothers, yes."

"There was only a basis of truth to that story. Uniting my Heart does not make you my master."

"So when you gave the Peverells your Hallows-"

Death hissed in irritation. "I did not give them to anyone. They were stolen."

Harry tried his best to hide his disbelief, but he was fairly sure he wasn't at all successful. "Someone stole the Hallows? From you?"

His only response was a venomous glare.

"All right, I get it, we all make mistakes. How did they go about doing that, though? More importantly, why did hey think it would be a good idea? And what even are the Hallows if not three gifts?"

At last, Death seemed pleased by something Harry had asked. "This universe is far more vast than you could ever fathom. There are entire galaxies and star systems your kind have yet to discover, thriving with life, teeming with culture and progression lightyears ahead of the rudimentary practices humankind has managed to scrape together. Referring to you as a bacterium is a kindness as, in the grand scheme of things, you couldn't even be compared to a quark.

"There are thousands of worlds and races yet to be discovered. And in the middle of it all, at the very center of this madness was the Heart."

"The Heart?" Harry repeated blankly.

"The Heart of the Universe was power in its purest form, created eons ago to act as a neutral force in the universe, a balance between the forces of good and evil. When it was discovered by the Celestial Order, they attempted to use it to create some form of order in the universe, but all they succeeded in was placing the full power of the Heart into the hands of the mad titan, Thanos. With the full power of the Heart at his disposal, Thanos wreaked havoc across the universe, destroying entire galaxies indiscriminately. It was only when the universe had been reduced to a barren wasteland did he truly realize the gravity of his actions, so he used the Heart's power once more to revert everything to how it had once been. Once the universe had been restored he relinquished his power and led everyone to believe that he destroyed the Heart."

"But let me guess," Harry said dryly, "he didn't actually destroy it."

"Not in its entirety. He preserved just a piece, barely a sliver of its power, and gifted it to me."

"You? Why you?"

Death barked a twisted sort of laugh. "Because he believed himself to be in love with me, or a version of me that is. And, as all gentlemen do when courting a pretty lady, he presented me with a gift, a token of his affection."

"Only most gentlemen present aforementioned pretty ladies with flowers and jewelry, not masses of energy that have the power to wipe out the universe."

"I'm a creature of expensive tastes," Death shrugged. "I imbued the Heart with my power and intended to use it to build my empire. However, not long after, the remnants of the Heart was stolen from me by one I trusted and used to wage a war against me."

"Who would try to wage a war against Death?" Harry asked incredulously.

The ancient being arched a well-manicured brow. "You would be surprised. However, the story is far too long and far too bloody to waste my time explaining to you at the moment."Harry rolled his eyes. "All right then. But considering the fact you're standing before me, I'm going to assume you won."

"Your assumptions would be correct," Death nodded. "That sliver of the Heart was truly a force to be reckoned with, however it is a force of balance and so could not be wielded to its true potential by just anyone. To wield such a weapon, one must have some form of balance within themselves. That is why my opponent ultimately failed, but not before he broke the sliver into three pieces and entrusted them to three powerful Necromancers. They paid for his mistakes with their lives, but by then what remained of the Heart had been lost."

"Until now," Harry said dully.

"Exactly. You managed to not only reunite all three pieces of the Heart, but to conquer them in one of the only ways possible."

"And how is that?"

"By conquering Death. You looked me in the face and accepted your fate. When realizing that death is a force far beyond your reckoning, that it could not be stopped, only delayed, and even then not for long, you found the balance that fuels the power of the Heart, for there is nothing more impartial, more neutral, than Death."

"So what does that mean for me exactly?"

Death's lip curled in disgust. "You have become my equal in nearly every sense of the word."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "I've become Death?"

"You are able to do what I do, see what I see, but you are not me. You are, for lack of a better term, my protégé, you possess most, if not all, of the capabilities of Death. However, there will never be a time when you take up my place as Death as I am a cosmic entity, I cannot die. As long as there is life in this universe, I will exist."

"What does it mean for me then?" Harry asked. "Am I immortal? Can I die?"

"No man, beast, or any other such creature can kill you, only I reserve that honor, and it may not be permanent even then."

"How will we know?"

"You could relinquish your soul to me so I may attempt to harvest the Heart from whatever remains. There is no guarantee it will work and it will be incredibly excruciating for you, but it is a risk I am willing to take."

Harry's stomach tightened at the thought. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass, there's bound to be a better solution. But in the meantime, could you tell me about these…capabilities I've been bequeathed with."

Death arched an eyebrow questioningly. "What have you experienced thus far?"

"Voices, mostly, constantly whispering to me. I've seen friends who have passed on and once I saw a…a vision of something, I'm not entirely sure what it was."

"The most basic of our abilities," Death snorted. "If you are overwhelmed by something as simple as a shade you will be driven mad before you have manifested the full might of your abilities."

Harry flushed in indignation. "I just need to know how to control them. They came upon me with no warning, there was no explanation as to what they were, of course I was overwhelmed. But if you teach me how to control them it won't happen when I begin to manifest any other abilities."

"I have neither the time nor the inclination to waste on such trivial matters."

"Do you really want to spend potentially all of eternity with a being driven mad by the power of this Heart?"

"Who says I will be spending any of eternity with you?"

"We're bound to have to spend some time together," Harry reasoned. "Me being your protégé and all."

"You are …irritating."

"And unimpressive and less than a bacterium, yes, yes, we've been over this already," Harry waved a dismissive hand. "That doesn't, however, mean I'm wrong."

For the briefest of seconds a look that could have passed as amused flitted across Death's face before it was, once again, purged of all emotion. "Do not expect me to teach you anything more than is strictly necessary for your continued mental health. I have far better things to do be doing with my time."

"Duly noted."

"The friends you saw and the voices you hear are nothing more than the shades of souls who have yet to move on. They were attracted by the power of the Heart."

"Shades. Like ghosts?"

"To a certain extent. After a life is lost the souls of those who have passed on are given a choice by my reapers, they can either move on to the next life or they can remain as ghosts. However some souls rebel and refuse to choose either, they remain stuck between worlds, unable to contact those still alive but unable to move on. After several decades, they are forcefully crossed over to the afterlife, but some are known to affect the mortal plane before they do, appearing as unidentified lights, ghostly faces, and such. They are the cause behind many paranormal occurrences in the mundane world."

"So all of the voices I heard were the souls of those who had died in the battle?"

"That is more than likely."

"How do I tell the difference between a ghost and a shade?"

"Ghosts are described as pearly white translucent beings who have a tendency to float instead of walking. Shades look exactly as they did before their deaths, they walk not float, and are neither pearly nor translucent, though they are washed out version of themselves, less bright and colorful, less alive."

So Fred hadn't been a ghost and Harry hadn't killed his soul, he'd only forcefully crossed him, which, while not ideal, was undoubtedly better than the alternative. "You said that I can also summon the dead, anyone I wanted, anytime I wanted, is that it? Is that the scope of my power? Or do I have more to look forward to."

"More." Death's face stretched into a grin that left Harry feeling the slightest bit wary. "Much more. But it will not be immediate, your body needs to change and grow in order to withstand what you will be capable of. I imagine it will be quite painful."

"And when I'm done growing?" Harry pressed. "How will I control them? Can I count on you to help me?"

"Certainly not," Death scoffed. "The key to controlling your abilities is simple."

Harry arched a brow, waiting impatiently.

"Clear your mind."

Harry gaped when the ancient being disappeared just as silently as he had appeared.

"Fucking bastard."