Chapter 2
Harriet spends days dwelling over the revelation. How is it possible that her entire identity, her entire life is a lie? She has always been Harri Potter. She doesn’t know how to be anyone else.
Based on the contents of the box she found in her godfather’s room, it seems that everything but the letter from her mother was accumulated after he escaped Azkaban. He spent his three years of semi-freedom stalking her biological father and she doesn’t know why. She wants to know why so bad that her insides itch. She especially wants to know why Sirius spent so much time gathering information on the man and then never breathing a word of it to her. It doesn’t make any sense.
By the time the first anniversary of the battle that ended it all rolls around, she has almost driven herself insane with the neverending questions. What aggravates her most is that there is only one person left alive that would be able to provide her with any answers and she has no idea how to go about asking the man. First, she would have to find a way to speak with Stark and then convince him of her supposed parentage. Second, she would only ever have half of the story no matter how many questions she asks. Her mother and Stark only spent a week together almost two decades ago, who knows what he will actually know or remember.
The second of May passes with little fanfare. For Harriet and her little family at least. She ignores the invitation to the Weasleys, not able to bring herself to face the family on the day that marks so many deaths, especially Fred’s. It’s as she’s going to bed for the night, having put Teddy down not long before, that she notices something different about her room. She scans the space three times before her gaze lands on the extra items on her neatly made bed. Harriet feels rooted to the spot.
On top of her navy duvet, lay her invisibility cloak (that she is almost certain should be hung in her wardrobe), a very familiar wand (one she vividly remembers returning to a grave), and a small stone (which should be lost to the foliage of a forest floor). A shiver races down her spine.
She finds herself moving toward the objects without a thought, not of her own volition. It’s as if she is watching from outside of her body as she wraps the cloak around her shoulders and picks up the stone and wand in either hand. Every hair on her body stands on end. The temperature in the room drops to freezing levels, until she’s able to see wisps of her breath in the air.
It hits her then, what other anniversary occurs today. The one death she never thought to consider. Her own.
“Mistress.”
Slowly, she turns toward the voice, one she would almost describe as a creaky hinge or a gust of wind. It is most definitely not Kreacher’s deep croak. Harriet finds a mass of cloaks(?) in the place of her house elf.
“Hello?” She says the greeting hesitantly, wondering if she should brandish the wand in her hand at the thing but not truly feeling a threat from a pile of holey black robes.
“Hello.” The cloaks creak back at her, nodding what assumes is its head. They stand in silence for several moments as Harriet attempts to find her bearings.
“Erm, who are you?” She finally manages to push the question out.
The entity tilts their head. She has the unnerving feeling that it’s looking through her and directly at her soul. Eventually, “I have many names.”
Harriet stares at them for a long moment before looking to the wand, stone, and invisibility cloak. Whatever it is, it’s able to see through her cloak of invisibility. It referred to her as ‘Mistress.’ She is currently holding all three Deathly Hallows. Her heart falls to her feet.
“You, you can’t take me. I can’t die yet. Not when it will leave Teddy alone.” Her voice wavers, tears pricking her eyes.
The head tilts the other way and the cloaks seem to release a sigh. It reminds her of dust settling. “I cannot take you until you wish to come with me, Mistress.”
The relief within her is so strong that it takes her several minutes to respond. “Then why are you here?”
“You have never called upon me, Mistress.”
Obviously. Why would she call upon Death?
“Right…”
“You have not carried my gifts.”
Gifts? She looks at the Hallows once more. “These?”
A slow nod is the response she receives.
“Well, I, uh, why would I?” The invisibility cloak is the only one of the three that truly belongs to her.
“You are my mistress.”
There’s that word again. “But I relinquished the wand and left the stone?”
Death hums, staring at her . Well, she assumes that they're staring at her, seeing as Death doesn’t really have a face.
“I don’t believe I understand.”
Death releases a put upon sigh and Harriet is sure that their expression would show exasperation if they had a face. “You wear and possess my cloak.”
Harriet nods hesitantly.
“You carried my stone.”
Another nod.
“You have the allegiance of my wand.”
Lead settles in her stomach.
“You have my gifts. You are my mistress.”
Harriet isn’t sure that she’s breathing. “But, I’m just Harri.”
“You are my mistress.”
Her chest feels awfully tight as she absorbs their words, trying to make sense of what she is being told. She can’t be the Mistress of Death!
“You have never called upon me.”
Her gaze snaps back to Death. They almost sound sad. Forlorn.
“I’m sorry. I would have if I had known I was supposed to.” Is she trying to comfort Death?
Death only hums in response, but their demeanor does seem to lighten.
“I have come to check on my mistress.”
“Oh! Oh, well, um, I’m fine. I guess.” What is she supposed to say to that? “Is there, erm, anything I can do for you?”
“No Mistress.”
Harriet bites her lip, trying to make sense of the situation. Death is in her bedroom. Death is referring to her as its mistress.
“Are you bound to me? Like a house elf? Is there a way I can free you?” That was apparently the absolute wrong thing to say. The room seems to darken at the question, the air around Death becoming almost suffocating.
“I am not to be freed.”
“Okay! Okay, not freeing you then.” She holds up her hands, trying to look as unthreatening as possible with a stone and wand dangling from her fingertips. “So, if you don’t want to be free. Then what am I meant to do?”
“You are to be my Mistress.”
For the love of Merlin, this conversation is going nowhere.
“And what does that entail?” Harriet tries her best to not let her frustration seep into her voice.
“You are my anchor to this realm, Mistress. You keep me from reigning death upon all mortals unless their time has come.”
“Well that’s real fucking ominous.” She just barely squeaks out the words, the air leaving her lungs as her mind races with the implications. “How the bloody hell am I meant to do that?”
“By being my mistress. You are my anchor.”
Harriet is beginning to feel as if she’s talking in circles. She sighs, stepping backwards until she hits the edge of her bed and plops upon it. Setting the wand and stone onto her night stand, she removes the invisibility cloak and drapes it over the foot of the bed. Finally, she steals herself and faces the entity (deity?) once more. “Okay. Let’s take this one problem at a time. First, can you please just call me Harri?”
Death ( Death!! ) seems to hesitate at her request, as if unsure of its validity. “If that is what you wish for me to do, Mistress.”
“Yes, it is. Please.” Harriet itches for something to occupy her hands so that she can think. Multitasking is what she needs. A wave of her hand has the muggle rubik's cube she found in Sirius’ room appear in her hand. She begins to fiddle with it as she thinks. “Now, what would you prefer to be called? You say that you have many names, but which name do you wish for me to use?”
Death seems to shuffle their feet. Or, they would if they have feet under the pile of cloaks. Honestly, Harriet is ready to offer some of her own clothing in replacement of whatever Death is wearing. “There are many names, Harri. You may call me whichever you wish.”
She frowns, hands never stopping from turning the panels on the cube in her grasp. “I would prefer it if you told me your name. I rather not continue calling you ‘Death’ in my head.”
The deity sighs. “Other names I have carried are Thanatos, Mortem, and Azrael.”
Harriet stares hard at the robes, debating over the given names. Which one fits a pile of ragged clothing? The answer should be none of them.
Finally, “I believe Azrael fits you best.” If those are to be the choices she is given.
Azrael straightens and Harriet thinks that he might actually be pleased. “Very well, Harri.”
“Perfect. Next, is this how you always appear? Or just how you prefer to appear?”
“I may change my appearance if that may be of comfort to you.” Before she is able to respond, the old cloaks shimmer around the edges until it’s as if a glamour is peeled away, leaving a young man with dark hair and light eyes. He looks rather similar to the pictures she has seen of her late godfather in his younger years, actually. As is he and Sirius could be brothers or cousins.
“You didn’t have to do that. I would rather you be comfortable for your sake, not mine.” She sets the rubik’s cube onto the bed beside her.
“You are my mistress. In return for you anchoring my being, I endeavor to make your mortal life the best it may be.”
She resists the urge to sigh again, continuing to examine Azrael’s new form instead. His dark hair is shorter than Sirius’ had been, but had similar waves. His eyes are different as well, an icy blue instead of the steely grey her godfather’s were. The robes he wears now are still black but much more neat and up to date than the previous.
“Back to being your ‘mistress.’” She stands, beginning to pace the floor in front of her new friend. “You say that I am an anchor, but mention no actual duties. I’m just not sure that I am understanding what this all is supposed to entail.”
“As long as you are my mistress, you anchor me. You keep others from abusing my abilities as Death. You keep life flowing to its designated end for all.”
“So, I’m a glorified babysitter?” It’s sounding as if there’s not much to this gig at all.
“You are my mistress.”
“Okay.” Harriet nods, chewing her lip. “But more of a supervisor than actually ordering you to do things, right?”
Azrael tilts his head to the side, seeming to be considering her words before nodding slowly. “I suppose that may be correct.”
“Great, great. That’s… doable, I suppose?” She pauses her pacing, tugging at her hair as she thinks. “So, you wanted me to call on you, though? To just chat?”
Azrael avoids her gaze, glancing at the floor. Harriet would almost think that he’s blushing, but there’s no way that Death is blushing over her question. “Checking in with my mistress allows me to ensure your wellbeing and that of your happiness in your mortal life.”
Harriet narrows her eyes. This is the second time the deity has mentioned her ‘mortal’ life and it’s beginning to make her skin crawl. She tries to push past it for the moment at least. “Well, you’re welcome to come by anytime. I should probably introduce you to Kreacher at some point and you can meet my son.”
His bashfulness morphs into confusion with her response. “You want others to know of me?”
“Not everyone can know that you’re Death, obviously. But me just introducing my friend, Azrael, will be fine.”
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?” Harriet raises a brow.
“If it is what you wish, Harri.”
Harriet just does resist the urge to sigh. “Great! So, why don’t you drop by for breakfast in the morning and we can get everyone introduced to one another?”
After a moment of hesitation, Death nods.
“Right-O. Well, It’s time for me to head off to bed, Azzy. I’ll have to be up early with Teddy.”
“Of course.” Azrael bows to her before disappearing without a sound.
Harriet collapses back onto her bed, huffing out a hysterical laugh. “I’m not even bloody surprised.”
Teddy’s shrieks of laughter wake her the next morning, propelling her from bed before either she or the sun has fully risen. Upon entering her son’s room, she finds him holding onto the railing of his crib as he bounces on the mattress. A few stuffed animals stand on the floor before him, dancing animatedly. Harriet takes a moment to marvel at her little wizard's accidental magic. If it is this strong now, how much control will he have over his abilities by the time he is of Hogwarts age?
“Mamamamama!” Teddy chants and raises his arms when he notices her standing in the doorway. His hair changes from sandy blond to black as he reaches for her, demanding attention.
“Good morning, Teddybear!” Harriet swoops over to him, lifting him above her head and flying him about the room for a moment. His giggles have a wide smile growing on her face. “How is Mumma’s best boy this morning? Did you sleep well my darling?”
The toddler babbles cheerfully at her as she sets him upon her hip. Turning to take her son downstairs, she finds a tall figure standing behind her. Her wand is in her hand and Teddy is clutched protectively to her chest before she can blink. Harriet just manages to move her wand slightly to the left so that the body binding jinx she casts doesn’t hit the man.
“Azrael!” She gasps the name, trying to calm her racing heart. She sends Death a glare. “You cannot sneak up on me like that.”
“Apologies.” The deity tilts his head to the side, staring at Teddy rather than her. “You were awake, so I assumed that it was time for breakfast.”
Harriet takes a breath, pushing down the aggravation she still feels at being caught off guard. “Yes, it is. Why don’t you follow Teds and I downstairs. I’m sure Kreacher is already up. He never sleeps past five, the mad elf.” She brushes past Azrael, adjusting her grip on Teddy and leading the way down the stairs. She doesn’t speak again until they reach the kitchen. Just as she had assumed, her house elf is already up, using magic to set the table as bacon fries in a pan on the stove. “Good morning, Kreacher.”
“Mistress Harriet is up early-” The elf cuts himself off as his gaze lands on their guest that is standing beside her. “An intruder in the House of Black?”
“A friend. Kreacher, meet Death. He’s going by Azrael at the moment.” Kreacher’s blue eyes almost bulge out of his head at her words. She hides a smirk as she turns to Azrael. “Azzy, this is Kreacher. You’ve already met Teddy.”
“Zee Zee!” Teddy reaches out toward their houseguest, shouting what Harriet is sure is a nickname that will stick. Death eyes the child warily, taking a slight step back.
“An honor to host Master Death in the House of Black.” Kreacher bows so low that the tips of his ear brush the floor. “Master Death is most welcome to anything that Kreacher may provide. Gracing us with his presence, Master Death has brought glory to House Black.”
“Er- I think that’s enough formalities, Kreach.” A glare that Harriet hasn’t seen since she offered to free the house elf is turned upon her. She has to resist the urge to back away. She defeated the Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake! She shouldn’t be scared of her own house elf!
“Master Death will sit at the head of the table and Kreacher will prepare a feast!” She doesn’t dare protest, nudging Azrael and shuffling them both to seats at the kitchen table.
“This is your family?” She looks up from where she is securing Teddy into his high chair, finding Death staring at her curiously from his seat.
“Yep.” Harriet nods, not meeting the deity’s eyes. She resolutely does not think of the father she has just discovered she has. “Just the three of us. And you now, too, I suppose.”
Azrael seems taken aback by her words, blinking in surprise. “Me?”
“Well, yeah. If we’re bound to each other, then that means you're bound to Teddy and Kreacher too. Family of four, now.”
Death doesn’t seem to know how to respond to her statement. Teddy saves them both from the silence that tries to descend between them. “Kreek!”
“Young Master Edward’s breakfast.” A small bowl of porridge is placed in front of the toddler, who immediately sinks both hands into the food. Platters begin to appear on the table before them. “Breakfast for Master Death and Mistress Harriet.”
“Thanks, Kreacher.” Harriet gives the elf a smile as he bows, not something he has done once in the last year of them living together. “Now, join us for breakfast. Just because Azrael is here, doesn’t mean that you have to be all prim and proper. Azzy is family now.”
Kreacher narrows his eyes. “ Master Death has graced us with his presence, Mistress .”
“ Azrael has joined our family, Kreach .”
The elf glares at her, ears twitching. Harriet struggles to hold back a laugh. “Kreacher will sit.” He grinds the words out, seeming almost pained as he takes the chair across from her and to the right of Azrael.
“Perfect! Let’s eat.” Harriet wastes no time in loading her plate with the different foods upon the table. She scowls at Kreacher when he snaps his fingers, causing all of the sausages to appear on Azrael’s empty plate just as she reaches for them. She snatches up a few pieces of bacon instead.
Teddy’s babbling fills the room as the witch, elf, and deity eat silently. Or, Harriet eats silently as Kreacher rotates from glowering at his plate to staring at Death with worship in his eyes. Azrael moves food around his plate with uncertainty.
“You do not live with the rest of your family?” The question startles her, causing a piece of toast to lodge itself in her throat. Harriet coughs, beating her chest a few times. She snatches the glass of water Kreacher floats over to her out of the air, swallowing it greedily.
“The Weasleys live at the Burrow.” She finally manages to push the words out.
“What of your father and sister?” Kreacher just manages to stop the glass from shattering on the floor, though looks between Azrael and Harriet suspiciously.
“How do you know about him?” Harriet just found out and everyone else who should have known is dead.
“You are my mistress.” The deity shrugs, taking a bite of a sausage with a curious expression.
“Mistress Harriet’s parents are dead?” Kreacher’s statement comes out more as a question, narrowing his eyes at her.
“About that…” Harriet focuses on wiping off Teddy’s face as she speaks, hesitant. “Apparently I’m not a Potter, by blood at least.”
“Harri’s father is Anthony Edward Stark. Born May 29, 1984.” Azrael informs the elf, taking another bite of sausage before continuing. “Anthony currently lives in New York with his wife, Virginia Potts-Stark, and their six year old daughter, Morgan Maria Stark.”
It feels as if she takes a physical blow to the chest with the new information. Not only does she apparently have a father who is alive, but she has a little sister. She’s a big sister. Teddy has grandparents. And an aunt. Harriet can’t help but look at her son, thinking of all the family he has lost in his short life.
“Mistress’ family is Master Edward and Kreacher.” The elf says the words vehemently, as if daring Death to argue against him. Azrael only hums, turning his attention back to his breakfast.
Quiet settles between the occupants of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, everyone returning to their plates, bar Teddy who is busy floating the cutlery. Harriet picks at her food, thoughts drifting. She supposes it might be time to confront the fact that she will have to do something with the information she has received sooner or later. She has a father and a sister. And a stepmother, maybe? There’s people out there in the world that are her family. Teddy’s family. They would only need to jump the pond to find themselves in America. With how famous her biological father is, it shouldn’t be hard to locate him. It’s just a matter if she’s willing to risk relatives that might turn out like the Dursleys.
Harriet glances at Teddy.
Maybe it’s time to look into international portkeys.