My Cat, Death.
In hindsight, Harry wasn’t sure why he thought having tea with Death would be a good idea.
Perhaps it was because he hadn’t had tea with anyone in this universe yet, and Death, in all his cat-like glory, was always good company. Well, “good company” was a stretch. Death was moody, overly dramatic, and prone to passive-aggressive silences. But at least he didn’t ask too many questions.
Harry sat at his desk, pouring a steaming cup of tea for the figure lounging on the windowsill. Death was sprawled out in his feline form—a sleek, black creature with fur so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. His tail flicked lazily, and his glowing, golden eyes watched Harry with the kind of disdain only a cat could muster.
“You know,” Harry began, leaning back in his chair, “you could at least *pretend* to appreciate the effort I put into this.”
Death yawned, revealing a set of unnervingly sharp teeth. “It’s not my fault your tea tastes like existential dread,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Honestly, Harry, you’ve had eons to perfect this, and yet here we are. Again.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, forgive me, *Your Gloominess.* Next time, I’ll brew it with the tears of the damned, just for you.”
“That would be a marked improvement,” Death replied, delicately licking his paw.
Harry sighed, sipping his tea as he watched Death groom himself on the windowsill. “You’re the one who wanted tea in the first place,” he muttered.
“I didn’t want tea,” Death corrected, his voice dripping with superiority. “I wanted chaos. You promised chaos. This…” He gestured vaguely at the tea set with a flick of his tail. “…is not chaos. This is you trying to play human again. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m literally a professor at Hogwarts,” Harry shot back. “Pretending to be human is kind of the whole point.”
Death gave him a long, unimpressed look. “You’re terrible at it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft clinking of Harry’s teaspoon against his cup. Finally, Harry broke the silence. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here, or are you just here to insult my tea?”
Death stretched, his claws glinting in the firelight. “Both. But mostly the second one.”
“Brilliant,” Harry muttered.
Death hopped down from the windowsill and padded across the room, his movements as graceful as they were unnerving. He leapt onto Harry’s desk and sat directly on the parchment Harry had been working on.
“You know,” Death said, tilting his head, “for someone who’s technically my Master, you’re awfully boring these days.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry replied dryly, trying to nudge the cat off his paperwork. Death refused to budge.
“Whatever happened to the Harry who used to leap into battle without a second thought?” Death continued, ignoring Harry’s attempts to move him. “The Harry who defied the laws of magic, cheated destiny, and made everyone—including me—look like a fool?”
“That Harry grew up,” Harry said, finally giving up and leaning back in his chair. “And he’s *tired.*”
Death snorted—a sound that should not have been possible for a cat. “You’re immortal, Harry. You don’t get to be tired.”
“Tell that to my *soul,*” Harry replied.
Death rolled his eyes—or at least, Harry thought he did. It was hard to tell with cats. “You’re impossible,” he said, his tail flicking in annoyance.
“And yet, here you are,” Harry pointed out.
The two lapsed into silence again, though this time it was a companionable one. Death eventually curled up on Harry’s desk, his purring a low, steady rumble that filled the room.
“You know,” Harry said after a while, “for a cosmic entity, you’re really not all that intimidating.”
Death opened one eye, fixing Harry with a baleful stare. “Careful, Potter,” he said. “I can still smite you.”
Harry smirked. “Yeah, but you won’t.”
Death huffed, closing his eye again. “Don’t test me.”
Harry chuckled, taking another sip of his tea. For all his bluster, Death was more bark than bite these days. Or, more accurately, more hiss than claw.
As the fire crackled in the hearth and the shadows danced on the walls, Harry found himself—just for a moment—at peace. Sure, the universe was a mess, Grindelwald was poking around, and Tom Riddle was far too clever for his own good. But for now, he had tea, he had Death, and he had a fleeting moment of quiet.
And really, that was more than enough.