(Don't Fear) the Reaper
Saturday, 12 September 1998
After a morning of dueling under the watchful eye of the founders, Susan, Luna, Neville, and Harry were dismissed to go about their days.
“What are you lot doing today?” Susan asked as they put the training room back to rights.
“I have some homework to get done,” Luna answered, “but I’ll probably go down to visit Hagrid and see if he’d like any help with the thestral or unicorn herds.”
“Sounds like a good day, Luna,” Neville said with a smile, “I’m not sure what I’m doing yet … Haz?”
“Ah,” Harry started, “I’ve got a bit of a mission today.”
“What’s the mission?” Susan asked.
“Lord Peverell stuff,” Harry answered.
“Ah,” Susan said, nodding, “good luck with that. We’ll be around when you get back. Will you be at the party tonight?”
“Planning on it,” Harry said, “I’ll send a Patronus if my plans change, though.”
“Sounds good, Haz,” Neville responded, patting Harry on the back.
“I need to talk to Ron soon,” Harry said, shifting the conversation, “Hermione’s birthday is in a week, and we need to plan a party. I have her gift already and I’m sure he does too, but I don’t know the last time she had an actual birthday party. It was always just us and sometimes Fred, George, and Ginny.”
“We’ll get something good planned,” Susan promised.
“Should we do it in the 8th Year Tower or find somewhere else?” Luna asked.
“Where else could we do it?” Susan wondered.
“I’d say the Room of Requirement” Neville said, “though Draco, Greg, Ron, Hermione, and Harry seem pretty convinced it’s out of order … has anyone actually checked?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry hedged, “though I think it’s less a question of if it’s still on fire and more a question of if any of us could go inside without losing our collective shit.”
“What happened in there?” Susan asked.
“Story for another time.” Harry answered, his tone brokering no argument.
Susan just nodded and sent Harry a look that showed she was sorry for asking.
“S’alright, Sus,” Harry said, his smile edging on grimace, he then looked at his watch and swore lightly, “I’ve got to shower and get ready. I’m sure I’ll see you all tonight and, if I don’t, make sure to have tons of fun.”
He then dashed out of the room, calling a quick goodbye over his shoulder.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Susan asked.
“Nothing fun.” Neville responded.
“Do you know?”
“Not exactly, but he was having trouble sleeping last night and didn’t want to talk about why which is never a great sign. I also saw about a dozen freshly made candles on his kitchen table next to a cauldron of something that looked like ink, but my gut tells me was something more.”
“Ink for blood runes probably,” Luna said.
Neville and Susan looked up at Luna in shock, both probably wondering what Dark Arts their friend had gotten himself involved in.
“It’s not dark,” Luna said, reading their minds, “his blood flows with Death’s blessing, both on him personally and on his ancestors through the Peverell line. Because of that blessing, Harry’s blood is an incredibly powerful conduit for necromantic rituals. What color were the candles, Neville?”
Neville thought back for a moment before answering, “mostly white but there were three black ones.”
“Ah,” Luna said, nodding slightly, “he’s likely learning the ritual to send spirits to rest, did you say there were 12 white candles?”
“I think so.”
“That number symbolizes balance,” Luna explained, “it can also indicate divine order. The three black candles would then be anchors for Harry. Three is a magically powerful number and they’re likely black because they were made with blood. They’d serve to anchor Harry to this plane while he works to communicate with another.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Neville said, “I wonder where he’s going.”
“Nowhere fun.” Luna answered with a knowing look.
* * *
Up in his quarters, Harry had taken a quick shower and was now trying to get dressed. He was running into an issue, though, because he wasn’t exactly sure what one was supposed to wear while banishing trapped spirits from this plane and laying your recently discovered father to rest.
“Wear what you’re comfortable in,” Death advised, shimmering into visibility next to Harry’s bed.
“That’s not helpful.”
“Well, then, dress like me and grab your scythe and we can scare the shit out of a few people on our way out.”
“That is an awful idea.”
“It could be fun,” Death said with a shrug.
“It could also be traumatizing.”
“Fine, we won’t traumatize children. Still, just dress like me, that makes it easier for you.”
“Alright,” Harry said with a sigh.
Under his menacing black cloak, Death tended to dress like any average person. He usually wore well-tailored black or dark grey slacks with a crisp white button down or, now that it was starting to get colder as autumn fell on the Scottish Highlands, a jumper.
With that in mind, Harry grabbed his favorite pair of black trousers. They fit him well, the fabric was softer than he thought possible for dress clothes, and they weren’t so stiff he couldn’t move. He then grabbed a soft cotton undershirt and a thin, emerald green jumper. Once he was dressed, he looked up at Death to get his approval.
“Perfect,” Death said with a nod, “though you may also want to grab a cloak, I’m guessing it’ll be rather cold in the cave.”
“Good idea,” Harry said before turning back to his wardrobe to select a cloak. He ended up grabbing one he’d found in Sirius’ closet at Potter Manor. It was black and made of thick, soft wool, it had a hood lined with even softer fleece. The cloak fell to Harry’s mid-thigh and gathered at the chest with a simple gold clasp. Harry’s favorite part, though, was the crests of the Potter and Black families embroidered in fine golden thread over the right breast.
“Ready.” Harry said with a decisive nod.
The benefit of being a deity and something akin to a demi-god who had access to the school’s wards was that the duo didn’t have to walk all the way down to the gate to apparate out. They simply went into the kitchen, gathered their supplies in a bag Death had produced from nowhere and given to Harry with the direction of always keeping it stocked for rituals, then nodded at each other before Harry turned on his heel and Death simply disappeared.
The other benefit of their power was that they appeared right on the island in the center of the lake and didn’t have to take the stupid little boat across the water.
“Are you ready, Hadrian?” Death asked once they’d both arrived.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Alright, then let’s begin. Talk me through what you’re doing. It’ll help you learn, and it’ll give me a chance to correct you if you err.”
Harry nodded his agreement and then began setting up the ritual.
Like Neville had thought, the cauldron of ink wasn’t merely ink. It was a balanced mixture of Harry’s blood, salt water, and ink that had been consecrated by Death.
Harry used the mixture to paint a runic configuration at the very center of the island. He first painted down a shape that looked like the Star of David, two equilateral triangles overlapping each other.
In the north point, he painted Algiz (ᛉ) to symbolize life, in the south point was Yr (ᛦ), the inverse of Algiz, symbolizing death. In the northwest point he drew Sowilo (𐌔) representing light and in the southeast point was Thurisaz (ᚦ) representing darkness. In the southwest point was Mannaz (ᛗ) which represented man and manifestation, this rune was balanced by Eiwaz (ᛇ), which represents death and magic, in the northeast point.
At the center of the configuration, Harry painted a strong protective bind rune that calls on the protection of one’s ancestors, the rune was a combination of Algiz (ᛉ) and Othala (ᛟ).
Harry then began to place the candles. The twelve white candles were placed in a circle around the outside of the runes while the three black candles were placed in an equilateral triangle around the central bindrune.
When Death confirmed that the set up was correct, Harry stepped into the middle of the circle and called upon his power.
After a moment, Harry opened his eyes. The normally bright, Slytherin green eyes were now glowing the same color as the killing curse.
Harry then took a steadying breath. On his exhale, the 15 candles that surrounded him lit up.
After another breath and a nod from Death, Harry began to speak, his voice dropping low, his words rolling with power.
“Ille de caelis, hic terrenus, ille angelorum, ille martyrum, ille confessorum, qui potest dare vitam post mortem, et requiem post laborem. Ab omni infernalium spirituum tyrannide, a laqueis, mendaciis, et furialibus suis nos virtute tua nos liberare rogamus. Praecipimus tibi, spiritus, abi et procul hinc vola. R. De animabus factis ad imaginem suam et sanguine domini sui redemptis.
“Sicut deficit fumus, deficiant; sicut fluit cera a facie ignis, sic pereant peccatores a facie Mortis”.
The moment he finished speaking, a wind rose up from nowhere and extinguished the flames. A moment later, Harry was hit by the power of hundreds of souls being released from their trap. He almost buckled under their weight. He straightened his shoulders and held his head high, waiting for the moment to pass. What felt like hours later, but was truly just a couple of minutes, the wind died down and Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees at the center of the circle.
As he’d spoken the words of the ritual, he’d felt his power draining. But now, he felt more powerful than he ever had. Death had explained that Harry’s power would be renewed by the release of the souls, but this felt like something more.
He looked up at Death in question and the deity looked just as confused as he felt. That’s not a great sign, Harry thought to himself, confusing immortal gods isn’t something I thought one could do.
“Did you feel that power rush, Hadrian?” Death asked, sounding slightly off balance.
“I did,” Harry confirmed, “do you know what that was?”
“I can only guess.”
“Well,” Harry said, trying his best not to either sound annoyed at Death’s lack of an answer or start laughing at the look of utter befuddlement on the man’s face, “what’s your best guess.”
“It almost felt like they gifted you their power as they passed on. I had assumed that Tom used muggles for this particular venture into depravity, but, if I had to guess, several of those souls were wixen. When they passed on, instead of you just being renewed by your connection to me and my realm, those magical souls thanked you by giving you their power.”
“I feel like an overcharged battery.”
“It should fade, as far as I can tell, your magical core didn’t grow, you’re simply surrounded by more ambient power. It’s like the feeling in the room after a couple dozen students have been casting spells for an entire class period. You can draw on it to renew yourself, like you could draw on the magic found in a place like the Forbidden Forest or somewhere like Stonehenge, but the power won’t stay with you.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Harry said, feeling comforted that this staticky feeling would eventually fade, “will it help with what I have to do next?”
“I honestly think you should expend that excess power by banishing the bodies of those souls you just released so that you’re back at your baseline when you do the ritual for your father. I don’t want to mess around with that particular ritual by you not having a handle on your power. It could cause the ritual to fail or you could get hurt.”
“Alright,” Harry said, nodding. He understood that reasoning and was thankful he had Death at his side. It was odd and someone outside the Peverell line would likely be thrown off by having Death himself standing over their shoulder, but Harry just felt comforted. Death was a great teacher and was truly a friend. He did his best to explain everything in detail and keep Harry out of danger.
Harry stood back up at the center of the circle and directed the ambient power toward the candles. They lit up once more and Harry spoke the simple incantation to send these bodies to rest, “de pulvere astrorum structa sunt corpora tua, et ad pulverem stellarum revertentur.”
As he finished speaking, the flames grew higher around him for a moment before the cave went dark. A slight breeze rippled through and then the light from the lantern Death held returned.
When Harry glanced into the water in front of him, it was empty. The souls of the inferi had been laid to rest and their bodies had been sent on. The ambient power that had been surrounding Harry dissipated.
“Are you ready for your final task, Hadrian?” Death asked quietly.
Harry simply nodded before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the runic circle. This ritual didn’t rely on runes or candles, it relied simply on blood and magic.
He opened the bag and withdrew the ritual knife Death had collected from the Peverell artifact vault, apparently the Goblins recognized the deity as a part of the family, that was something Harry was going to have to think about later. For now, he had to lay his father to rest.
Harry approached the edge of the water and drew the knife across his left palm. He then squeezed his hand into a fist and held it above the water before closing his eyes and speaking the ritual;
“Per sanguinem meum, per animam meam, per spiritum meum. pono animam patris mei. Pater meus per sanguinem, pater meus per spiritum, pater per animam. Eum novae vitae trado. Per virtutem mihi divinissima Morte collata, mitto Patrem meum ad requiem sempiternam. Corpus eius in terra maiorum ex parte dilecti requiescit. Per sanguinem meum, per animam meam, per spiritum meum.”
It was quiet for a full minute after he finished speaking. Just as he was about to ask Death if he’d failed, he felt a hand ghost across his cheek and heard an unfamiliar voice whisper “oh, my sweet boy.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Harry slowly opened his eyes.
Standing in front of him was the spirit of Regulus Black.
“Papa?” Harry whispered.
“Yes, my son,” Regulus said, his eyes scanning over Harry’s face, drinking in the sight of him, it was quiet for another minute while the two men, nearly the same age, stared at each other.
After a moment, Regulus asked, “how are you here? How is this happening? How old are you?”
Harry couldn’t quite stop the laugh that bubbled out of him at Regulus’ rambling questions. It was so like Hermione it comforted something in Harry’s soul.
Harry looked back at his father with a smile on his face before gesturing to the deity behind him and answering, “I’m the Master of Death, Dad will be able to explain more when you get where you’re going. It’s a secret tied to Peverell blood. I’m 18. I turned 18 on July 31. It’s currently 1998. I’m in my last year at Hogwarts, what should’ve been my 7th year got a bit messed up by Voldemort. Mum, Dad, Sirius, and Remus will be able to catch you up.”
“Time has been passing in a very strange way,” Regulus said instead of responding to anything Harry had explained, seemingly content with the fact that Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus would elaborate, “I know I saw glimpses of you. I remember when you were born, I remember the attack that killed James and Lily, then it was like the next minute you’d arrived at Hogwarts. Then a minute later I could feel you nearby and then you were gone and the next minute you were back and now I’m here.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Harry said, “I’ve been here before. I was here with Dumbledore to get the Horcrux. I had no clue who you were at that point. It’s a long story but Mum and Dad can explain, and I still have this,” Harry said holding up his hand and showing Regulus this Peverell ring, “so I can call on your spirits sometime and we can all talk. I don’t want to do it often, it doesn’t feel right pulling you out of your rest, but I’ll do it at least once.”
Regulus nodded and spent another minute just looking at Harry. Eventually, he looked down at Harry’s hands and saw James ring. Smiling, he looked back up at Harry and said, “hold out your hand.”
Not seeing any reason not to obey, Harry held out his right hand. Regulus closed his eyes, and Harry felt an oddly familiar burst of power. A weight settled in Harry’s hand, and he knew what it was before he even looked down.
Sitting in Harry’s open palm was a gold wedding band, inlaid with rectangular-shaped emeralds. Somehow, despite sitting at the bottom of a lake for nearly 20 years, the ring was perfectly clean. The polished gold and deep green gems glistened in the lamplight.
Harry quietly slipped it on his right ring finger next to James’.
“Your mum’s should be wherever you found your Dad’s, they should be together.”
Harry nodded and wiped the tear that had fallen off his cheek, “thank you, Papa.”
“Of course, my son,” Regulus said with a smile, “thank you for allowing me to rest. Where did you send my body?”
“To Potter Manor, next to Mum and Dad, is that alright?”
“That’s perfect, love” Regulus said, still smiling, “will you be alright if I leave now.”
Harry nodded, smiling back at his father, “I’ll be fine. I’ll go to Gringotts and look for Mum’s ring and then I’ll go to Grimmauld and see Andi and Cissa and Teddy.”
Regulus smiled for a second at the knowledge that his son was welcomed in his ancestral home and that his cousins had reconciled, he then looked confused for a moment before asking, “who’s Teddy? Do you mean Ted, Andromeda’s husband?”
“No,” Harry said, “Ted passed away. Teddy is Remus and Nymphadora’s son, they died at the end of the war but I was named Teddy’s godfather, so I adopted him. He’s with Andromeda and Narcissa right now.”
“Wow,” Regulus said, sounding slightly shocked, “I have a lot to catch up on.”
Laughing, Harry responded, “you sure do, but yes, I’ll be alright. Tell everyone hello for me and I’ll see you again sometime.”
“I will,” Regulus promised, “thank you again for this, I love you son.”
As Regulus’ spirit flickered out of existence, Harry whispered back, “I love you too.”
--
The Rune Circle:
