Bring Me A Dream

Harry eyes the door to Wade's bedroom warily. He knows the Muffliato is in full effect, if his buzzing ears are any indication, but he still hesitates before knocking three times. He waits with baited breath for a response, desperately hoping Death isn't in a teasing mood to send him something indecent, but, thankfully, only the image of Death with her eyes closed emerges.

Taking that as a sign to continue, Harry enters slowly.

He's still paranoid that he'll find the lovesick pair in a compromising situation - he wouldn't put it past them - but he finds something arguably worse.

Lying on a ratty mattress with her back leaning against the wall, Death is holding her sleeping beloved in an embrace so tender Harry nearly walks right back out the way he came. He might have done too, if she hadn't opened her eyes and smiled at him with a look so peaceful and happy it roots him in place. Death looks so damn pleased where she is, one ivory-tattooed hand cradling Wilson's head just below her chin while the other traces lazy patterns against whatever costume-clad limb she can reach. It's almost ridiculous how natural they look together, how the mercenary curls around Death, how the sunset shining through the window casts a glow about them that seems too idyllic and so disgustingly romantic. Ugh.

"Is my master jealous?" Death says wryly, amused.

It takes physical effort to not roll his eyes. "I see your sense of humor is growing."

"One of the many delights of living."

"... Right," Harry fiddles with his hands nervously. Now or never. Dear Merlin, he isn't looking forward to this. "About that."

The amusement disappears.

"Er, I think I've found a way to help with, well with this," Harry hurries to explain, gesturing to the tattooed runes. "Just hear me out."

He explains how the runes are beyond his abilities to understand or mess about with, and that he'd need outside assistance to gain some much-needed clarity on just what he'd done. That assistance, of course, could only be found in the underworld. From his daughter.

She raises a brow. "You would go to such lengths?"

Harry thinks about the joyful halo surrounding Death and her beloved, about the way they seem to unconsciously gravitate toward each other (even now, Wilson's minuscule shifts in movement are responses to her), and it warms the part of him that is largely human. He's no stranger to love, or how wonderful it is to be loved, and he won't deprive her of that.

He also thinks about what happened earlier, when he was dejectedly studying runes while Death mercilessly sent him images of - yeah, no. No thank you. He's glad to bring them together and leave them be and not have to see any of it. Chaperone my ass, Potter, what were you thinking? "Of course, anything for you two... delightful lovebirds."

Death smiles knowingly.

It's an unsettling thing that should make his skin crawl, but Harry's long since grown used to the sight. Honestly, he kind of misses her skeletal form - that was much more effective and intimidating.

"Well, thought I'd let you know," Harry rocks back on his heels, slowly moving backwards. "Time runs differently in the underworld and I'm not sure how long it'll take for me to gather the information I need. I'll be back as soon as I do."

"Thank you, Master," Death says the words quietly. She meets his gaze. "Truly."

Harry blinks at the genuine gratitude he sees. Then his lips pull up into a fond smile because, really, Death isn't that different from any other human looking for happiness. It might have happened in the unconventional form of a mentally unstable mercenary (one of these days Harry would like to sit them down and ask them when love came into it), but it happened. And now here they are.

"Of course," Harry says again, nodding.

He gets one last look at the couple - it says something about him that he now views them as a singular unit - and he feels little more than fond exasperation. He knows Wilson will infuriate him just by his own nature and Death will only indulge him, but so long as he makes Death happy...

Well, he thinks he can endure it. If not, there's never a shortage of wormholes.

All it takes is for Harry to turn on his heel and he's stepping through the fabric of the universe. The journey happens in the blink of an eye and, when he comes out the other side in a clearing surrounded by heavily-wooded landscape, he finds himself in full regalia.

Harry closes his eyes with a sigh, bowing his head as the cloak settles over him like an old friend and he doesn't have to look to know that it shimmers with an unearthly sheen that any mortal would recoil from, an instinctive reaction to run from unseen danger. The ring fits perfectly on his third finger, long since replacing his wedding ring, warming his skin in gentle pulses and urging him to admire the obsidian-dark stone set in the center. Finally the wand appears in his hand eagerly, feeling more like an extension of his arm, and his magic rejoices at having all the missing pieces of his power together again.

It feels like coming home.

Harry allows himself to bask in the sensation a moment longer, letting the wave of it wash over him without taking him down the rabbit hole. He knows full well how dangerous it would be to accept it, to let that all-encompassing feeling of comfort and home and unyielding power consume him. He never does, not once in all his years, no matter how sweetly the Hallows call to him.

With a heaviness he knows doesn't belong to him, but feels all the same, Harry dismisses the Hallows. They reluctantly fade into whatever void they retreat to whenever he rejects them and he doesn't care enough to find out where that might be (if he does, they might entice him to follow).

He ignores the emptiness they leave behind, familiar enough with the loss to focus on what he came here to do.

Right. Runes expert. Lily.

Harry opens his eyes. He's not at all surprised to see the half-living, half-dead gatekeeper standing before him and studying him dispassionately, which never fails to impress upon him her impartial nature. Named 'Hel' after the same dimension she's tasked with guarding, Hel is as stoic and detached as could be.

Lovely company to chat with.

"My lord," she greets him blandly.

"Just Harry is fine, thanks," he sighs in resignation.

"Of course, my lord."

It's the same exchange they share every time he comes here and it's more a habit than anything to try and convince Hel to call him by his name. Nothing will work, as far as he can tell, but Gryffindors do tend to be a stubborn bunch.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I need to see someone."

"Another ancestor?"

Harry thinks he might've seen her lip twitch. Or it could be his mind playing tricks on him; the underworld does weird things to his mental state (one of the many reasons he tries not to linger here). "Not this time. I'm... here to see my daughter, actually."

Hel nods regally. "Very well."

To his right, trees wither and disperse into dust in a clear path. He starts walking toward it without another word, knowing Hel wouldn't respond to his thanks or anything else he can think to say. If he tries, she'd just stare at him with her unnerving milky gaze until he gives up.

Harry isn't in the mood to deal with that today. He's too anxious. He hasn't been to visit his daughter, or any of his children really, in ages. Partially because the last time he'd been here, he'd gotten into a row with his wife before storming off. He doesn't even remember what they'd been on about, just that they'd had some sort of disagreement.

Lily had always been more sensitive to that kind of thing, given her cheerful disposition. She nearly always took his side, which drove Ginny up walls, but last time... last time she'd sided with her mother.

He wonders if she's still upset with him.

Harry tries not to think about it too much as he walks down the ashy path. He doesn't know how long he walks - the landscape barely changes around him, no indicators there - but, before he knows it, he ends up coming upon another clearing. His breath catches when he sees her.

He knows that Lily had lived well into her hundreds, a great-grandmother with plenty of family to comfort her in her final moments but, to Harry, she looks like the mischievous seven-year old he thinks of her as. She's sitting in the middle of the empty field, staring up at the grey cloudless sky, and doesn't even spare him a glance when he finally makes his cautious approach.

"Mum's not happy with you," she tells him when he sits next to her.

Harry wants to hug her. He crosses his arms, grimacing. "I was hoping she wouldn't be. And you? Are you not happy with me?"

Lily shrugs, her lips forming a childish pout.

Ah. It'll be one of those talks, then.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Harry apologizes quietly.

Lily glances down at the ground, hair falling to curtain around her face. He tries looking for any sign that she might've accepted his apology, but his daughter only plays around with strands of grass. Breathing evenly through his nose, Harry tries to keep his worry at bay. What could have been so horrible that he wouldn't be forgiven? What did he do?

"I know... know I'm doing something wrong," Harry begins slowly, trying to work through it. Lily pauses. "I know you and your mother are upset with me. With something I've done or am doing. I don't mean to make you unhappy, sweetheart, really. I'm trying my best, but I... I don't know how to fix this."

The words linger in the air.

"Do you remember?" She asks him suddenly, high-pitched voice cutting and sharp, and glances up at him. He almost doesn't recognize her. Lily's beautiful blue eyes tear into his heart and there's an urgency to them he doesn't understand.

Harry frowns, unease creeping along his senses. He feels like he's on the verge of something, like he's standing on the edge of a cliff he can't see. He can't pinpoint it. "No, I - sorry love, I think it's been longer for me than it's been for you - it's been too long."

Lily visibly deflates, but she smiles at him. It a sorrowful thing and she looks on the verge of tears, so he can't help but gather her up in his arms. She lets him hold her, even wraps her arms around him, and Harry feels like he can breathe again. There's still a sense that something's amiss, that he's missing something important, but the worry slips from his mind when Lily speaks, soothing him. "It's okay Daddy. I forgive you. Mum forgives you too."

He feels the relief like a weight being lifted.

They stay in that embrace for a while, simply taking comfort in each other, and the time ticks away. He knows he should probably get a move on and do what he came here to do, but... but he hasn't seen his daughter in so long. He just wants this moment to last a little bit longer.

"You came here for something, didn't you?"

Harry curses, forgetting how perceptive his daughter could be. Her tutor was Hermione, for Merlin's sake. Really, he should've known he couldn't hide anything from her for long.

"No," he tries anyway.

"C'mon dad," Lily pulls away from him, a giggle escaping her. The sadness lingers on the corners of her lips, but it's quickly fading. "You're not that good at lying, you know."

"Well, it's not good to be good at lying."

"Still trying to lecture me," she rolls her eyes.

"You're still my daughter, aren't you?" Harry swipes at the tip of her nose with his finger. He watches as her nose scrunches up adorably. He sighs wistfully, wishing he could keep the pretense longer. But... he sighs heavily. "You are right, though. I need your help with something. Runes."

Lily brightens up at the notion of helping. "Really? What are they for?"

"That's what I need your help with, love. I'm not sure what the runes mean or what their purpose is, but I need to find out so I can fix an error," here Harry pauses, before conjuring a sheet of paper with a copy of the tattoo design. He hands it over to his daughter. "These are the runes. I'd cast a spell and these appeared as a result."

She studies the design with a keen eye, making a humming noise now and then as her eyes skim from one rune to another. He lets her inspect it as much as she needs to, answering any question she thinks to ask him, and generally tries not to disturb her as she works.

It's a small eternity before something happens.

"I don't understand." Lily says.

Harry meets her troubled gaze with his own. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it doesn't make sense," she groans, frustrated and glaring at the sheet of paper. "These runes and their placement are conflicting with each other. They shouldn't work together. Life and death aren't things that you can slap together into one thing," Lily stops abruptly, giving him an appraising look. "Well. Not usually."

"Right," Harry agrees, chuckling. "So what are these runes telling you then? Don't worry if it doesn't make sense."

"I think you should worry," his daughter retorts solemnly. "Because if this is what I think it is, then it's a very big problem."

"Why?"

"The way these runes are arranged... it seems like you're trying to make life where there shouldn't be and take death out of where it should be," at his flat stare, Lily's chubby face pinches into a scowl. "It's too convoluted to try a direct translation but, basically, these runes either say something like from death a rebirth or new life births death. In the context of their arrangement, it implies you're transforming death into something else, something living. You'd be taking death and reversing it, really."

Harry stares at Lily. Lily stares right back at him.

Reversing... Death?

"I've never lived before today."

Harry feels light-headed with the implications. What... he only meant to give Death a body, a vessel, to travel to the mortal plane, not... not bring her to life! Death is a primordial force of nature! Harry doesn't, can't, have the power to give her life, right? That, that would be...

"One of the many delights of living."

Catastrophic. Without Death in the universe, the repercussions would be too great to fathom.

Fuck.

"Dad, you didn't make Inferi with runes, did you?"

Lily stares up at him with renewed worry.

Harry tries to muster up a smile. "No, sweetheart."

No, he thinks. I might've done something worse.