Bring Me A Dream

"Your beloved is... different."

Death gives him as flat a stare an empty skull can manage which, not to anyone's surprise, is quite impressive and mildly terrifying to be subjected to. He thinks his unease isn't showing, but he's long since learned that no one can call bullshit on a poker face like a being without a face. It's a wonder that Harry even tries, really, but his stubbornness isn't a thing to thumb your nose at. Measuring up to Death, he can almost beat her patience through sheer will.

So it seems like a small eternity passes when Harry finally crumbles under the weight of her expectant gaze. He sighs. "Alright. I hated him."

She bares her teeth in a parody of a smile, being the soulless creature she is. "Really. How unexpected."

"You're doing this to spite me, aren't you?" Harry groans, collapsing (un)gracefully onto the ground. Beneath him, the imitation of grass shrivels into gray strands that disintegrates into dust. He absently reaches a hand to scoop the remains, letting the grains slide through his fingers, and smiles wistfully despite himself. "I already had one daughter go through the rebellious stage; I don't need you to remind me how traumatic that can be."

"Don't associate me with your brood," she retorts, shuddering as if the thought disturbs her personally. His expression does something odd in response - he isn't sure whether to be proud or offended, and it depends on the day, really - but that doesn't stop Death from continuing, "I deal with enough horrors. Your descendants cause even more trouble than you did in your youth, and they don't have a Dark Lord to worry about."

That drags a laugh from his throat. Proud, then! "It's a part of our Potter charm!"

"If that's what you want to call it," he's sure she would roll her eyes if she had any. As it is, Death ambles closer and primly seats herself next to him, widening the radius of decay and producing more gray powder. "Now, have you made a decision about Wade? "

Harry hums, closing his eyes. "I'll need more time to make an informed decision."

The air between them goes subzero.

He peeks at her, gauging her reaction.

"There's not many things I ask of you," Death says calmly, and her relaxed posture remains just as innocuous. He knows better than to accept that nonchalance at face value but oddly enough, it isn't a cover for seething rage, as he expects. No, it's something... melancholy.

Harry waits to see if there's anything else she wants to add, but she simply stares out into the distance. 'The distance' consists of what appears to be a small field now covered in frost, dotted with sad frozen trees and not much else, which gradually fades into a white abyss that stretches outward forever. This realm, their realm, usually takes such a form for Harry's benefit - even after all this time he still retains some human characteristics; one of those being that he finds eternal nothingness deeply unsettling on a primal level - if there isn't something there to distract his otherwise human mind, he'll likely go mad within the hour.

He exhales, ignoring the puff of white, and pulls out a square sheet of paper from the void.

"Would you like to see how your beloved fared against my test?"

Death takes it coolly, but her composure slips away as she opens it. "Oh, my sweet," she all but caresses the childish doodles, and it's all he can do to keep from laughing hysterically. For Merlin's sake, there were taco stains on it. "There isn't a thing in all of Creation that can compare to how your mind works."

Harry makes a face. "Well, you're not wrong."

She gives him a look from beneath her cowl, all shadows and desolation, and he wisely refrains from making any more comments that would result in a sudden job opening for one Master of Death. Carefully tucking the sheet into her cloak, where it may never again see the light of day, she muses, "So I assume he failed your asinine test."

"No."

He's surprised her, he knows, and his green eyes undoubtedly shine with triumph. It isn't everyday you pull one over on Death, after all, and the only other person to do so is one of his ancestors - speaking of which, he should really visit Ignotus again, perhaps compare victories -

"Master?"

The uncertainty and budding hope in her tone is something no one else is privy to - to anyone else, Death must always remain stoic and wise and untouchable. She usually is all of those things, and more (or less depending on your perspective), but the fact that a human is able to make her vulnerable enough to express such weaknesses to her master - well. Even though Death has eons of time and experience, she doesn't understand what it means to have parental instincts.

And he's foolish enough to have grown paternal at some point.

"I don't hate him," Harry sighs at length, giving her a fond smile. "I hate what he could potentially do to you."

"He couldn't do anything against me, even if he so desired," Death scoffs as she stares him down, no doubt trying to figure out his motives. She even tilts her head a little, as if a different angle would reveal some secret of his that she doesn't already know. If she finds anything, she keeps the discovery to herself, as Death is usually wont to do. "I believe I understand the sentiment, however."

"I certainly hope not," he jokes, raising his chin imperiously. "Don't think your master is growing soft, now."

"Of course," she says, the picture of a demure lady. You know, if ladies lacked skin and muscle and happened to collect souls. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

A roguish smile curls Harry's lips as he all but chirps, "Good! Then you'll also understand that I'll be conducting supervised visits, won't you?"

Death pauses. "Supervised visits?"

"Just because I don't hate him doesn't mean I trust him," Harry grumbles by way of response, leaning backwards to stare at the semblance of a sky. "I mean, aside from having atrocious eating habits, questionable morals and an even more questionable mental state, he doesn't seem like the type who'll settle down for a monogamous relationship. I need to know if he'll be as dedicated to you as you seem to be for him."

"What a strange little Master I have," Death sounds amused, like she's humoring him. She very well could be, for all he's concerned, but that doesn't bother him as much as it might have in the beginning. "Guarding my interests so fiercely. If only you were so motivated in your other duties."

"Anyway," Harry pointedly ignores the jab, feeling his magic beginning to stir in preparation for what he has in mind. "You'll need a makeover, if you're going to 'mingle with the commoners', so to speak. Try not to move, if you please."

The wind picks up between them as his magic flows, sparking, twisting from his fingertips to caress Death's still form and slowly encasing her in a bubble of softly shining gold - the area rapidly becomes so saturated with his magic that the air thins, so he stops breathing altogether to focus. His forehead crinkles in mild concentration as he works, carefully guiding his magic this way instead of that way, unaware that, to the outside observer, Harry very much resembles an ethereal figure worthy of such power and various appellations. With glowing green eyes eerily set in a face made of porcelain, he watches as the bubble occasionally sends out a blinding pulse in time with each change he makes, obeying his intentions.

Another small eternity passes in this fashion until the undulation of pulses start coming quicker and quicker, to the point where there's no gap between them, and Death is simply burning bright like a star gone supernova -

With an ear-popping crack of a thousand lightning strikes, his magic coalesces to fit Death's new silhouette, pulsing once more before it fades into her newly minted skin. With her hood still casting her face in shadows, he can only see a pair of dark, onyx-like eyes peering at him. The rest of her is suitably woman-shaped, if her curving hour-glass figure and the swell of her modest breasts is anything to go by. He's relatively sure she could pass for a female human.

Harry smiles in satisfaction, conjuring a full-length mirror and excitedly gesturing towards it. "Tell me what you think! And take down that cowl, let's have a proper look at you."

She wordlessly reaches out and two bone-white arms emerge, revealing a strange pattern of whirling, black rune-like designs that travels from her shoulders, down her thin arms, past her delicate wrists, and tapering off the back of her hands. It earns a raised, befuddled brow from Harry but he easily dismisses it as residual marks from his magic; if anything, they could pass it off as a tattoo. Shrugging away the feeling that something is off, he waits with baited breath as her elegant fingers grasp the edge of her hood, smoothly pushing it back and letting it fall to rest lightly on her shoulders.

He stares.

He notices two things.

The second thing he notices is how silky and stark white her hair is, tumbling down in loose curls that stop at her mid-back. It really is quite a lovely mane, for all that it's bleached of color, and it somehow seems more manageable than his own crow's nest of stubborn cowlicks.

The first thing he notices, however, is how the tattoo-like designs on her shoulders most definitely continues upward - all the way up to her face, where it boldly outlines her features into the unmistakable shape of a skull. The whole area around both her eyes is completely inked black in an imitation of empty sockets, trimming with half-circles and dots that is remarkably feminine; at the end of her rounded nose, her nostrils are darkened to depict an equally empty nasal cavity; her lips have a black horizontal line between them, with vertical slashes that must represent teeth, stretching out toward both her cheekbones before thinning out into whirling designs and more decorative dots. Honestly, it's reminiscent of a Dia de los Muertos makeup.

Though it may lend her a rather macabre look, Harry finds it strangely beautiful. And fitting, to say the least.

He waits patiently as Death reviews her reflection in silence, almost clinically cataloging the changes. Her attention, ultimately, is drawn to her face - she turns her head both ways to get a better look at the unintentional marks permanently etched onto her skin. She even lifts a hand to trace some of the lines, something like wonder sparking in her dark eyes as she finishes her perusal, and her lips twitch upward to form her first, true smile.

It's somewhat jarring to actually see emotion from her, rather than guessing, but Harry takes it all in stride. He joins her with his own quiet grin. "Well?"

Death turns to face him fully, her smile widening to bare her teeth in a manner that would be inappropriate to anyone else, but comes as familiar to him.

"It's perfect."