A Not so Quiet Tea.
The kettle whistled, and Harry smiled to himself, feeling unusually cheerful for someone who was technically supposed to be the manufastetion of Rebirth and whatnot. He had brewed a fresh pot of tea, and the aroma of herbs and warmth filled the small room as he set the cups on the table. It was nice, calm. Peaceful. A far cry from the usual chaos of his existence.
Across from him, Death sat, looking as usual: sleek, black fur, piercing orange eyes, and a posture that screamed "I am here to observe, not participate." The cat didn’t even seem interested in the tea at first. But Harry knew it would come around.
“Tea time, Death,” Harry said, slightly grinning as he set down the cup in front of the dark feline. “I promise, no creepy curses today.”
Death gave him a flat look. If a cat could raise an eyebrow, it probably would’ve done so. Harry just knew that look meant, You're an idiot, but fine, I’ll humor you.
“You’re not even going to pretend you’re interested?” Harry pressed, reaching for his own cup. "I even made it with care. No instant tea bags like some... people I know."
Death blinked. Once. Twice.
Then, with a dramatic sigh that sounded almost too human, it delicately licked its paw—because of course, it would. As if it could care less about tea.
“Oh, I see,” Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got that ‘I’m so over everything’ vibe going. I get it, trust me. I’m the same way after an entire existence of being an entity and all.”
Death didn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. It took a sip from its cup, flicking its tail in what could only be described as… annoyance?
“So, what do you do for fun, then?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. “Like, do you play chess? Watch Netflix? Or, you know, ruin people’s days in an oddly passive-aggressive way?”
Death gave him another look. If cats could roll their eyes, this one would’ve done so so hard the whole universe might’ve felt it.
“Did you not listen?” Death replied, its voice as dry as the desert. “I am the end of all things. Not some casual socialite.”
“Fair point. Okay, okay,” Harry said, sipping his tea, feeling a little mischievous. “But can you at least answer this one? What’s your favorite kind of tea?”
For the first time in a long while, Harry could have sworn he saw Death hesitate—if only for a fraction of a second.
“Herbal,” Death muttered, almost sheepishly, as though it had just revealed the greatest secret of the universe.
“Herbal!” Harry laughed, almost spilling his own tea. “That’s so—” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait, are you just messing with me? Because now I’m thinking you like chamomile or something ridiculously soft and calming.”
Death’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, it took another sip, and Harry leaned back, grinning.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Harry said, setting his cup down with a mock serious look. “Chamomile is totally the drink of someone who’s, like, super chill about everything.”
“Now, can we stop talking about tea and return to the matter at hand?” Death asked, clearly tired of this conversation. “You have the audacity to invite me to tea, and yet all you do is mock me.”
“I’m not mocking,” Harry said, looking completely innocent. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone like you—so old and powerful—could enjoy something so... ordinary.”
Death glared at him. Harry could feel the weight of that stare as if the cat was trying to literally eviscerate him.
“Fine, fine,” Harry chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll stop with the tea jokes. We can get back to the seriously important business of... you, me, and the inevitable rebirth of all things.”
Death let out an exasperated sigh, but Harry could tell that beneath the cool exterior, there was at least a sliver of amusement. Even Death couldn’t resist a bit of lightheartedness.
“Well, since you’ve practically made me drink a whole pot of herbal tea, I think it’s only fair you let me finish my cup in peace,” Harry said, grinning wide. “And then we can talk about the cycle or whatever.”
Death simply stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Please,” it finally said, voice flat. “Just drink your tea.”
Harry did just that, still smiling to himself.