May 2, 1998
Panting. Heaving heavy breaths, was the first conscious thought Harry had as Riddle’s body hit the ground.
Then stunned silence, it was a silence so loud it filled the great hall, until it was shattered with the sound of shouting, a noise that made Harry flinch but straighten his back before realizing it was rejoicing. It was the sound of celebration, of relief, joy and grief, overlaid with sorrow at the friends and family that wouldn’t rise again.
Remus, Tonks, Fred, Collin, Lavander, even Snape, all victims of Riddle’s quest for power, even Sirius was a victim in that even if it had been two years prior.
It somehow felt wrong to be celebrating in the heaviness that sat on his shoulders, but he didn’t begrudge those who approached, first Ron, then Hermione, he saw Luna and Neville, and even Draco and his parents, and it was those three that brought to home how much everyone had lost.
It wasn’t a matter of who was right or wrong, it was in the understanding that it was the winners who wrote history. The Malfoy’s would be condemned either way, even if they’d had no choice in the matter. Riddle didn’t suffer fools, and ensured obedience through compulsion and fear.
Harry stood there watching for a beat, and then shifted moving towards the small family, and stopped in front of Draco who stood eyeing him warily, exhaustion etched clearly on his face, and in the trembling of his hands.
Holding out his hand, Harry held his gaze, and offered a small smile when Draco shook it, relief filling his face, even if he didn’t relax.
Then in a move that shocked the three of them, and earned startled expressions from everyone watching, Harry presented Draco with his wand, “thank you, without your assistance and help none of this would have been possible.”
Draco was to well breed to gape at Harry but it was clear in the way his fingers tightened around the handle of the wand, and his nervous habit of licking his lips, that he hadn’t been expecting a thanks, nevermind an acknowledgment of what he’d done.
In the end Draco didn’t say anything, those his eyes turned pleading with a silent request for understanding as he dipped his head, and then sat back down waiting for whatever judgement and punishment would befall his family.
Unable to leave it alone, Harry cleared his throat and offered another smile, “it might not be much, but I’ll do what I can for you, we’re a family of sorts through the Black family line.”
Narcissa’s eyes widened and filled with tears, “of course, my lord. Thank-you.”
The “my lord” rang through Harry’s head, but he was to exhausted to analyze it, knowing he should search out Ron and Hermione to offer them explanations and apologies, he knew it had been a wretched horrible thing, sneaking out to face his death on his own without saying good-bye, but it had been necessary.
It still made him angry, that his life had come to this, self sacrifice at the age of eighteen, all in the name of a self fulfilling prophecy and an egotistical belief in their own superiority. Harry just wasn’t sure if he was thinking of Riddle or Dumbledore, his anger towards the former headmaster, a seething mass of unresolved or thought of complication. He’d just been too busy to think of all the ways Dumbledore head lead and then ultimately betrayed him. People revered him now, but no matter what anyone believed Harry wouldn’t let that stand, Dumbledore would not go down in history as the greatest of them all. The thing he had done in the name of the greater good, couldn’t balance the scales in the evil he had committed to accomplish that.
Sighing Harry blinked, when a warm hand enveloped his and he glanced to the side to see Ginny standing their a worried frown creasing her brow, and she dipped her head towards the doors of the great hall.
Suddenly desperate to escape the hundreds of eyes, Harry allowed her to lead him out, and he was silent as she led him through the castle, leading him to a wing of the castle he didn’t recognize. “Where are we going?”
Ginny offered him a sad smile, “the headmistress gave us private rooms at least for the night.”
Stopping in the middle of the hall, Harry turned to look at her, “Ginny…”
She gave him a bittersweet smile, “I know, please don’t say it, at least not today.”
Hesitating Harry sighed and nodded, “as long as you know, I think I’m going to head to the Gryffindor tower, I need familiarity, alright?”
Tears shone in her eyes, shoulders slumping in disappointment, “Will you think about it?”
Harry shook his head, unwilling to give false hope.
A single tear slid down Ginny’s cheek, and before it would have filled him with guilt for making her cry, but now it only made him tired. It was alright and fine for them to think their lives could carry on now that the threat was gone, but Harry didn’t have the luxury.
She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a vial, “it’s dreamless sleep, Madame Pomphrey gave it to me, and told me to give it to you. You deserve a dreamless night, I imagine.”
“Thanks Ginny.” He accepted it with a small nod, “I appreciate it.”
Ginny stretched up on her toes and brushed a kiss over his cheek and walked away, leaving him standing in the hall, too exhausted to cry.
Turning left at the next fork, Harry made his way through the castle, and to his old bed in the tower, stripping as he entered the room. He half debated for a second to grab a shower, before giving that thought up and glancing at his bedside table and the bottles sitting on the top.
It seemed like a lot as he added the dreamless sleep to the collection, before changing his mind and then mindlessly knocked each on back, not questioning what they were.
It was a relief to collapse against the pillows, and a joy for the world to fade to black…. His last conscious thought was it was easy as falling asleep.
***
The crashing of waves woke him, and he jerked upright, staring around in confusion for even without his glasses he saw nothing but fog. The heaviness to the air, weighing down on him, and making it hard to breathe.
There was a foreboding sensation building in is stomach, as his magic reacted to the evil permanenting the air, and oozed up from the ground below his feet,
Turning in a circle he glanced down and swore, his nakedness a clue he wasn’t in his world anymore, he just wasn’t sure if it meant he was dead. Again.
It seemed a little anticlimactic to die after it was all said and done, or the voice in his head finished sarcastically, “a to neat pact to ensure Dumbledore’s legacy.”
He hated the thought, not wanting to think of who was responsible but it wouldn’t leave, like a tooth that ached, or a bone healed incorrectly.
Turning in a circle again, clothing appeared at his feet and he leaned down, snatching them up, struggling into them as his eyes darted around, smoothing the fabric automatically.
The rich velvet texture highlighted the course roughness of his palms, but he was thankful at least in his ‘deadness,’ he was clean, though he had the brief thought it would have been nice to shower before dying.
The steady sound of booted feet overrode the waves but echoed around making it impossible to determine the direction, resulting in him turning around once again freezing as a slim figure parted the mist, and meet his gaze, a frown of annoyance on his brow that grew into a scowl as they folded their arms, and spoke, voice stiff and formal. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
Harry stared in shock, eyes skimming the person greedily, and felt his heart breaking and mending all at once. “Regulas?”
A flicker of something crossed the man’s face, and Harry swallowed the grief that threatened to overwhelm him, “no, sorry you’re not him.”
“No I’m not, but I thought it the most comfortable for our meeting.” Not-Regulus said, compassion in his tone, that didn’t feel right being there.
“I never got to meet him,” Harry admitted, and gave a little shrug averting his gaze when tears stung his eyes, “though it’s better then coming face to face with Sirius or my parents again.”
Another flicker crossed not-Regulus’s face, his shoulders slumping, “you didn’t see your parents, child.”
Unable to process the first part of the sentence, Harry focused on the single word at the end of the sentence head snapping to his, “I’m not a child.”
Not-Regulus shrugged, “in human years maybe not, but to me…” he sighed, “Hadrian, it’s not meant as an insult.”
Dejected, Harry dropped his gaze, scuffing the ground with his toe, and swallowed, “how’d I die?”
“An overdose and adverse reaction to the potions you took,” the entity Harry knew to be death responded sorrowfully, “I haven’t confirmed but I don’t think it was actually intentional, or at least no one took into consideration the real fact you died, meaning the potions that had been in your system were expelled or neutralized and your immune system attempted to stop them.”
“And failed.” Harry replied miserably, “who left them?”
Death lifted an eyebrow, “does it matter? Would confirmation make it better or worse?”
Harry’s lips thinned at the questions and shrugged waving a hand to banish the mist, stomaching dropping to the souls of his bare feet instinctively recognizing the cliff on which he stood. “Why here?”
A sarcastic smile crossed death’s face, “I didn’t pick the place, Hadrian, but I gather you associate it with death, just as you do the face I chose.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue and closed it, bowing his head and nodded, “it started here, and with him, my kind of Uncle.”
“Not kind of uncle, he was your uncle and he’s infinitely proud of what you accomplished.” Death replied mildly, “Sirius blood adopted you and made you his heir five days after you were born, his grandfather Artecus Black lead the ritual.”
Swallowing, Harry brushed a tear from his cheek, and thought of Hogwarts, the area rippling around them until they stood on the stone steps of the castle. “I knew Sirius left me everything, the bonding of Kretcher proved that, but I didn’t know he adopted me.” He risked a glance at his uncle’s face. “Do you know why he didn’t tell me?”
“Fear mostly, he wasn’t sure what was a real memory or something manifested because he was tortured in prison.” Death replied, and glanced around, “Hogwarts? Why here?”
“It’s the only place-“ another tear tricked down his cheek, “it’s my home, the only place I’ve known.”
“Not the Burrow?”
Frowning at his companion Harry walked up the steps, taking in the undamaged structure, “how long have I been potioned without my knowledge?”
“Since you stepped foot onto the grounds, but don’t feel to betrayed, that can be spread around to everyone you know, cooked into the food as it was.” Came the flippant response, Death poking his head into the great hall bare of tables or decorations.
“The Weasley’s continued after Dumbledore died?” Harry asked already knowing the answer.
“They did the same to hermione too.” Death admitted, “it might please you to know Ron got in a lot of trouble running out when he did, his mother was enraged, thinking that he fucked everything up in his jealously.” A grim expression filled his face, the emotion unreadable as he admitted, “I’m not sure if Molly was more upset that he didn’t trust her abilities or his actions threatened everything.”
Harry sighed and left the doorway, and moved to sit on a step leading upstairs, “was he ever my friend?”
“As a small kid, he might have been, but he grew up on the same stories his sister did, you were never just another kid to either, you were the boy who lived.”
It was a depressing answer, but not a surprising one, yet it made Harry rub furiously at his face, scrubbing and hoping to suppress the tears, “did he manufacture the confrontation on the train with Draco?”
Death hummed sitting beside him, “I’m not sure to be honest, it’s entirely possible of course, but I think that was a genuine reaction though admittedly it was a foregone conclusion with the Weasley’s status as blood-traitors.”
Harry frown and cut death a look, “I thought that was just-“ he frowned and waved a hand, “elitism or Draco’s rich pureblood mania coming through.”
“Oh no, it’s a very real status, Garth Junior was executed for treason in 1929.” Not regulus’s tapped his chin, then waved a hand dismissively, “there where more penalties of course, it cost them the lordship they had, and all the monies from the estate, as it was seized by the crown in compensation.”
Wide-eyed Harry could only stare, “they were nobility?”
“Aye, I think in part of why they or Ron tried so hard to keep you as his best-friend, boy who lived and Heir to three ancient titles, what could go wrong?”
“What?” Harry asked dumbly, blinking in shock, “I’m noble.”
Death made a strangled noise that sounded like frustration and he muttered under his breath, “I’m infinitely glad I kept that asshole in limbo, I knew his crimes were greater.”
“What?” Harry asked again, confusion making his head hurt.
“Oh, Dumbledore. I was to perturbed to judge when he entered my realm, I knew he had more crimes to aton for, but he’d gotten good at masking his plans, and my attention and focus the last few years was on you.” He shrugged and grinned a little, “my lady is somewhat put out with me, claims I’ve neglected my duties to the dead.”
Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten, but didn’t feel any better when he opened his eyes, and admitted, “I’m so confused.”
“I know. Dumbledore has a lot to answers for, but the short of it, Hadrian is you are the last scion of two ancient houses, Black and Potter, you can also claim the Peverall line because of your mastery over my Hallows.” He paused and licked his lips, “which also means you can acquire Slytherin’s too, as the family magic passed down to Cadmus’s wife, when the older brother died without issue. It passed down to your mother, and then to you.”
Shaking his head in denial, Harry whispered, “but Riddle was the Heir.”
Not-Regulus snorted and shook his head, “no, he wasn’t, surprisingly he’s not even in the Blood line of Salazar Slytherin, which is somewhat impressive considering how loop large that family is.”
Startled Harry jerked his head up, “what?”
“The history you were told of Tom Riddle JR, was a complete and utter fabrication to hide the true identity of his father, though even if he was the product of two purebloods he would still have been considered ‘sordida sanguine‘ (dirty blood).” Death responded airily, his nose twitching when his sighed, “he never knew of course, just another secret Dumbledore kept hidden.”
Frowning Harry stared at the floor, thinking furiously, lifting his head to ask, “dirty blood?”
“In this case, filthy, he was a bastard as neither parents were married. It limited him in the areas he could touch, meaning even if he had known he couldn’t claim his father’s magical house.” Death responded with another carelessly shrug, “I might have pitied him if he hadn’t done so much evil to his soul. It wasn’t just a subversion of me, it was disgraceful to the gift our lady of magic bestowed.”
“my mother was a muggleborn.” Harry said softly, earning a confused look from death.
“So?”
“My bestfriend, Hermione is a muggleborn.” Harry continued eyebrow furrowed, watching the small smirk tug at deaths lips as he nodded.
“Slytherin wasn’t a blood purist.” It wasn’t a question and death grinned suddenly.
“No, he wasn’t, he was sordida sanguine as well, but for his faithful service and as a gift to his parents he was granted the right to built his own family magics.” Death replied, stretching his legs in front of him and leaning against the step behind him, completely relaxed, “what are you thinking in your beautiful brain, Hadrian?”
“How did Riddle resurrect himself?” Harry asked slowly, titling his head.
Death opened his mouth, frowned and then closed it, before glaring at the ceiling. “That is a very good question, Hadrian, and sadly, one I can’t answer apparently.”
“Why not?” Harry demanded, “you’re Death, right?”
“I’m not omnipotent though, even some things are hidden from me, and fate always has last say. they have determined you are not to know, or at least not from me, if you can discover it another way that is up to your own determination.” Not-Regulus replied dryly, and nudged him, “as for how you became Heir, Opal’s oldest son’s line fell into squibs within four generations, they married first into the Warren line, then the Evans. There were 11 generations of male first born children born to the Evans line and your mother was the twelfth.”
“But she was female?” Harry asked, or stated not sure he understood.
“True, but she was also the first magical in that line, twelve as you know is a powerful number.” Death explained gently, and then smiled, “meaning you were the thirteenth.”
Staring at death, Harry felt his heart start to race, and he drew in a panicked breath, “but what-what about Aunt Petunia, she was older, shouldn’t it have gone to her?”
A dark glower crossed Death’s face, and he muttered under his breath, the language unrecognizable. “I assume from that sentence you don’t know much about your mother’s family, right?”
Shaking his head, Harry felt tears sting his eyes even before death continued, “your grandparents names where William and Elizabeth Evans, they were an older couple who married young and tried for years to have children. It wasn’t until Elizabeth was in her mid-forties that they gave up and applied to adopt a child, your Aunt Petunia, seven years later your mother was conceived to the shock of everyone.”
A harsh bitter laugh escaped Harry, something he fought to keep inside, even as changed it dissolved into tears. All those years under “blood-wards”, only to find out she wasn’t even related, broke though the haze of rage he’d neglected in regards to Dumbledore and he raised a tear streaked face, “can I have a go at torturing his soul?”
A bark of surprise laughter erupted out of death and he shook his head fondly, “no child, that’s not your duty.” He titled his head in consideration, “though I can give you the chance at revenge….”
Harry looked up as Not-Regulus trailed off, eyes widening in instant comprehension, “you mean to let me go back?”
Death winced and shrugged, “yes and no. You are the personification and the right hand of me on Earth, you answer to one being, Hadrian and that is our lady. We work in defence of her, and the gift she has granted mortals, a gift that many take advantage of, believing it their due. It’s time to change that perception, but it is going to be the work of years, and hopefully by the time you have children old enough for Hogwarts, they’ll live in a different world then the one that currently exists.”
“Personification?” Harry asked mouth dry, then shook his head and forced himself to swallow, “did Dumbledore for know?”
Death shook his head, “he knew your father’s fore bearers was Ignotus Peverall, the owner of our cloak, but never realized the connection with Cadmus which was much stronger. In your father’s line, he decedents from the youngest son and then youngest daughter, but did he know who you’d be? No, he feared it, which is why he actively tried to make it die with him, but what he never understood or accepted is they are her gift to us, granted to mortals to learn and grow.”
“So they’re sentient?” Harry asked in confusion.
“Eh… that’s-“ Not-Regulus frowned, “the stone could never become sentient, the very nature of it would disallow that, but it has learnt both ends of the spectrum, compassion and obsession. The wand is yours, and will always come to you when it’s time. It would even work in your defence even if it was held by someone else, its loyalty is bond to you forever having been reunited with the others. As for the cloak, I could easily see it become sentient, especially if it went back with you as it is, the wild magic you possess would jumpstart that process if that is something you think would be beneficial…”
Shrugging harry dismissed the conversation brow furrowing, “if Riddle was a bastard who was his father?”
Tilting his head, as if listening to something other, death shook his head. “The best I can offer is the man he believed to be his father is of a squib line of his true father.” Not-Regulus grimaced, but shifted and the rose to his feet. “Let’s walk.”
Snorting Harry rose gracefully, “to where?”
“Show me the chamber.”
Harry tenses but turned on his heel and climbed the stairs, missing the little smirk death throw at his back, mind racing. “You said you could send me back?”
“I have permission to, yes.” Desth agreed dryly, “my brother Khronos is groaning and complaining but has agreed with the request.”