Conversations With Death
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Thus ends the tale. I hope you enjoyed it.
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Harry had a dream that night, and it was with Death. He was sitting in a chair, and across from him was Death. It was a plush chair that was gold and silver. The deity was sitting there, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. His legs were crossed, his hands were steepled, and if he had eyes, it would look as if he were staring straight at him. His cloak was long and black, and his long skeletal fingers were poking out of that cloak. His face was boney, and his eye sockets were full of light. They flickered like dim candles.
“At least you've stopped running for me,” Death said. His voice gravelly, like it didn’t get used much, which it probably didn’t.
“I've gathered all your Hallows, so I figured it was time we started to talk,” said Harry, trying to be nonchalant. He was scared to death, pun intended. Even in trying times, one must find humor. He was wearing his nightclothes and had his feet firmly on the ground. He wanted to be able to run if he needed to. Not that he thought he could run from Death, but he was in fight or flight mode. If this being made a move, he was gone.
“We could have talked a long time ago if you hadn't run from me,” said Death, looking like he was lifting a nonexistent eyebrow. It was just a feeling that exuded from him. Like he was mocking him.
“What do you want now that I've gathered all of your tools?” the preteen asked, truly wanting to know.
“I want you to use them,” was the shocking answer.
“For what?” Harry asked with a furrowed brow. He could think of thousands of things to use them for, but what did Death want him to do with them? Did he want him to catch people with them? If so, what kind of people?
“For right now, just use them to become one of the greatest spies you could be,” the entity stated, straightening his robes. He tilted his head as if to say, ‘Isn’t that obvious?’. “You have great potential, Harry Potter. I, for one, would like to see you use it,” he said, folding his hands over his knee in a very relaxed manner.
“And then?” the boy asked, thinking there had to be a catch. That can’t be all the being wanted from him. There had to be more.
“After you've lived your long life, you will become one of my Grim Reapers,” was the answer.
“So, you're not going to turn me into one of your tools? You know, make me go after the bad guys, become one of the unsung heroes of the world,” Harry asked, having thought of all that. Really having feared all of that. It had kept him up at night. It was bad enough being the boy hero of the magical world he didn’t want to be Death’s avatar.
“I might ask you to do a favor for me every now and then, but no, you're not going to become one of the ‘unsung heroes of the world’. Besides, are you not already one of those being the Boy-Who-Lived?” Death asked, a chuckle in his voice.
“True,” said Harry, relief in his tone. He let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped. He hadn’t known he was so tense. “Can I ask you a question?” he inquired, suddenly getting an idea. He might as well pump the being for information while he was here.
“You just did. Though, you may ask another,” the entity said flippantly, waving his hand in a careless manner.
“Is Tom Riddle dead?” Harry asked, sitting up straight and looking Death in the eye. This way they would have their answer once and for all. If Death said he was dead, then the man was dead.
“Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle is dead,” the entity stated, laughing a bit, like it had all been a great movie to watch for him. “Tell your godfather that I am thankful that he is dead. I owe him a special favor for gathering up all the Horcruxes.” He continued laughing and it was quite a grating sound.
“I'm not sure he's going to be happy that you owe him a favor,” Harry said, hoping his Uncle Pads never called in that favor.
“Nevertheless, let him know,” Death stated, sobering up as if he hadn’t just laughed himself silly.
“Alrighty then,” the boy said, getting scared again.
“Live long and well, Harry Potter,” Death said, waving his hands and fading away, waking Harry in the process.
With that, Harry woke up and decided to go to let his Uncle Pads know what happened in the dream. It was morning, so he went downstairs and joined the family for breakfast. Marcus, John and Vic were there. They were serving up a full English that morning and he started serving himself some fried mushrooms and let them know about the dream.
“Fuck,” said John, pushing his plate away and grabbing his coffee cup. He hated this, he couldn’t shoot Death. He felt a bit helpless at the moment.
“Well, I'll be buggered,” said Marcus, still in awe that a deity would visit Harry. He was unsure of what to make of it.
“At least you know what's going on,” said Vic with a sigh. He was just glad that Death wasn’t going to make Harry into his plaything. That had been his nightmare. It had kept him from sleeping most nights. He wasn’t sure what to do about this being owed a favor by Death thing, but he wasn’t going to call it in. That would be nothing but trouble.
“I'll have to learn how to use them,” said Harry with a grin. He was looking forward to it. “At least now I know I can take them to spy school. They’ll get a kick out of them,” he added. He could just picture the looks on his teachers’ faces. They’d have coronaries.
“No!” Vic and John said, nixing that thought again.
“Bugger,” the preteen stated, but conceding without a fight. It was a pipedream anyway. He knew there were consequences over that, and rumors could get out that he had them and then there’d be fights over them for the rest of his life. He didn’t need that headache. It was bad enough that he was still the boy hero.
“We'll need to let Uncle Arcturus know what's going on,” said Vic, looking towards the study. His grandfather would love to know what was going on. That man spent more time brewing over this than they did, since he didn’t sleep. Vic didn’t know how the old man was going to react. Hopefully, this will calm him down.
“Yeah,” said Harry as he ate his breakfast. “But this is going to make me a great spy. I can just picture it now, using the Resurrection Ring to question victims, the Invisibility Cloak to go anywhere I want to, and the Elder Wand… I mean, imagine what I can do with that?” He was getting really excited over the possibilities. He might not be able to take them to class, but he will use them in his studies. Not to mention when he really got on the job.
“That wand has got a bloody history a mile long. And I do mean bloody in the true sense of the word. I wouldn't trust it to get me anywhere,” warned John, picking up his fork and restarting his breakfast. He took a bite and grimaced over his warm eggs. He waved his wand and reheated his plate. He looked at Marcus and arched an eyebrow. The squib nodded and he did his too.
“If I were you, I'd lock it up in my vault and not let anybody know I had it,” said Marcus, forking up some of his reheated potatoes and eating them. He was more than happy to live in a house with wizards. He hated cold meals.
“I don't know, Dumbledore had it for a time and nobody even knew about it,” Vic pointed out. He had seen that man with that wand forever and never cottoned on that it was the Elder Wand. He wondered how the man had gotten away with that for so long. Heck, everyone knew Grindelwald held the wand, they should have known the Dumbledore’s was it.
“I'd lock it up at least until Dumbledore was dead,” said John, pointing his fork at Harry. “He's going to take one look at it and know you took it from him.” He didn’t think it was a good idea for the boy to flaunt it.
“There is that,” said Vic, nodding in agreement. He didn’t want Harry to fight Dumbledore. The headmaster would be butthurt over the loss of his wand.
“What is he going to do? Take it back?” asked Harry. “I'm already the Master of Death. I don’t think anything can change that,” he added a bit smugly.
“He could probably try. You're only 11 years old,” said Marcus, finishing off his meal. He pushed his plate to the center of the table and picked up his tea.
“Fine, I'll keep it in my room in my secret hiding place,” Harry groused as he too completed his breakfast and picked up his overly sweet coffee. He had started using less milk, but he still put way too much sugar in there.
“Harry, a blind monkey can find your ‘secret hiding place’,” said John with a chuckle. He had found that hidey hole in seconds of being in his room. It was too common of a place.
“Fine, I'll keep it in my vault,” the preteen said, slumping in his chair. They didn’t get into stashes in spy class until next year. He was quite put out about that.
The four of them went about eating the rest of their breakfast and talking about inane things. And then Harry, John and Vic went to talk to Arcturus while Marcus went about his business in the muggle world.
Arcturus was excited that it was all over and that Harry wasn’t going to be a slave to Death. Well, as excited as a well-educated painting can be.
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Years passed, and Harry went on to become one of the most renowned spies in the world, both muggle and magical. Not that anybody knew he was a spy, but he was well known socially and politically. He was known as a suave playboy, philanthropist, and an all-around great guy. He also went around fighting Dark Lords, not that many popped up with Vic being the Minister of Magic.
He did use the Deathly Hallows to his great advantage and did a few favors for Death. Like take out a few people who had decided to use Horcruxes, or other means of immortality. All in all, he lived a good life.
Hermione and Neville stayed with Harry during their entire school career. They both went into college and studied their individual fields. Hermione went into criminology of all things, while Neville went into herbology and horticulture. He studied the ways of plants and potions and helped get his parents to the point where they were coherent enough to recognize him, but they were never functional enough to maintain their own household. He married a girl he met in college and had three children. He lived a happy life.
Hermione's criminology career went off to such a great start that she went on to study to the point where she revamped the entire DLME in the magical world. They learned a lot under her tutelage.
In the end Harry and Hermione decided that they worked out well together and got married. She discovered sometime in their fifth year that he was spying. She was just a smart girl like that. Neville never did. She didn't go into his spying classes, but that is what turned her onto criminology. They got married upon graduation, had four children, seven grandchildren, and eighteen great-grandchildren. She did not, however, discover that he was the Master of Death.
Vic maintained being Minister of Magic for a great many years. He was such a good one that nobody wanted to take his place. He saw a few Dark Lords pop up in his time, but he was so good at his job that they didn't last for very long. That and he had Harry’s help. He made sure to keep the DMLE in such good standing that they did not falter when a Dark Lord popped into the scenes. He married Amelia Bones, who thought he was a good enough catch, and they adopted two children and had a few grandchildren.
He had a portrait painted to keep his grandfather company. He made sure to tell his wife, on his death bed, who he really was. He apologized for not telling her sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to compromise her job. She forgave him, and said she already knew. She never told another living soul.
Vic Potter died with his secret intact. Lucius Malfoy never got to expose him, nor did Draco get the Black title, that fell to Harry.
John and Marcus maintained their place in the household for quite some time. John's job was secure as long as Vic was Minister of Magic. He worked until he took a spell in the knee, which was ironic because that's how he lost his last job. That was only two years before Vic retired, but he was still a welcome member of the household because he had been there so long. He went on to find another bodyguard for Vic through his mass quantity of networking in the muggle world. His replacements name was Phillip, and he trained him well. He never told him Vic’s secret, but that was okay, the man didn’t need to know.
Marcus maintained his connections in the muggle underground for a very long time. But he went on to open a pawn shop. He went legit. He did this in consideration for Vic's connection with the Prime Minister. He became a snitch for Harry during his time as a spy. Not that anybody knew that. He was that good.
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“Well, Harry Potter, it's been a long time,” said Death one night a very long time later. Harry had just been hit with a Killing Curse from a person who wanted to kill the Boy-Who-Lived. That name never died, and there was always someone who wanted to do him in. Harry had been coming home from the theater with his wife. They had gotten him in the back. The cowards.
“Yeah, it's been over 165 years,” said Harry, looking around the empty space they were in. He knew the day would come, but he hated that it came this way. “Thank you for leaving me alone that entire time. Well, but for the three times you asked for those favors,” he added, chuckling a bit. He looked down at himself and saw that he was a middle-aged man of about forty-five. Not a bad age to be when welcoming Death.
“I told you I would,” said the entity, gesturing for him to follow and started walking down a path that only he could see.
“Your tools are a wonderful thing. What are you going to do with them now?” Harry asked, falling in step with the powerful being.
“Scatter them about the world and wait for the next sap to find them,” was the answer, complete with a laugh.
“That's a cruel thing to do. I mean, are you going to make up another story and am I going to be a part of it?” Harry said, incredulously. He could see it now, right up there with the hundreds of the other books that were written about him. Half were true, the rest were bunk.
“Now there's a marvelous idea,” said Death as if he hadn’t already thought of that. He was already going over the ideas in his head on how to make the Boy-Who-Lived part of the equation.
“Great. It's bad enough that I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, not to mention all the other wonderful names they call me, thanks to all the Dark Lords that I've vanquished, now I've got to be part of a children's story that has to do with Death,” grumbled Harry, looking for a stone to kick. But they were in an empty space and there was nothing there, so he just kicked the air.
“Oh, don't be such a baby. Your name will live on forever,” Death chastised, wagging a finger at him. “Most people would kill for that,” he offered.
“It’s going to do that anyway. Why can't you just take these tools with you?” the dead man asked, a bit of hope in his tone.
“Because I get bored and watching you humans run around trying to pick up tools so they could be the ‘Master of Death’ makes me have something to do in these trying times of eternal damnation,” the eternal being said, like he was having fun.
“I guess,” Harry said, trying to imagine what it would be like to be Death. He didn’t think he would like it. He was sure it was quite a lonely existence.
“Well, come along, Harry Potter, it's time for you to go,” Death said, gesturing towards a door that appeared out of nowhere. It was a large door that was made of white wood and surrounded by pearl inlay.
“Do you know when Hermione will be joining me?” Harry asked, hesitating before going to the door.
“In about a year or two,” the eternal being hedged.
“You can't tell me exactly when?” Harry said, irritation in his voice.
“Of course I can. I'm Death, but I'm not going to,” Death said, chuckling.
“I see,” said Harry, pouting for all he was worth. He looked like a two-year-old in an old man’s body.
“Fine, she'll be joining you in one year, three months, five days, 36 minutes and 48 seconds,” the being stated, looking at a watch that wasn’t there.
“Thank you.”
“Humans.”
“It'll be good to see Uncle Arcturus and Uncle Pads again,” Harry said, looking at the door again.
“They've been waiting for you,” Death said with a kind voice.
“Hey, wait a minute. I thought I was going to be one of your Grim Reapers,” Harry said, remembering that. Not that he wanted to, and now that he thought about it, he should have kept his mouth shut.
“You will be; in about a hundred years. I will let you spend some time with your family,” the entity stated, waving to the door.
“Will I be able to visit them after I become your Reaper?” he asked, cocking his head. He wasn’t sure if it was cruel or not to have this time with them to have it yanked away later.
“Yes, but only brief periods, ten years at a time,” Death stated, tapping his foot. He wanted Harry to go and start his time with his family, so he could come and start his time as his Reaper. He was quite lonely.
“What happened to Ignotus Peverell? How come he isn’t here with you?” Harry asked, knowing that was the last guy to greet Death, according to the story.
“He didn’t collect the Hallows,” Death said, shaking his head. “He only had the Cloak,” he reminded him.
“Oh, right,” Harry said, nodding his head in remembrance. “Alright, I’ll go. See you in a hundred years,” he said, going to the doors. He wondered what his job description would be when he got back, then realized it probably didn’t matter. He’d be a ghost of Death, and he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything except collect what was already dead.
“Until then, Harry Potter,” Death stated, watching him go. After the man went into the door and vanished, he noticed he was not alone. “What do you want Eris?” he asked the minor goddess of chaos.
“I just wanted to see how my fiddling played out,” she said, glancing at the door. “That wish was such a sweet one, and it held such potential. You know Dumbledore never did find out what happened to his wand,” she said, laughing softly.
“What do I care about that old man,” Death stated, turning and walking away.
“He looked for ages,” she continued, following after him just to annoy him. “He thought he dropped it somewhere,” she giggled, holding her middle.
“Leave me alone, Eris,” Death said in irritation. He might not like being alone, but he didn’t like gods of chaos either.
“You know, he never stopped looking for Tom either,” she said, tilting her head and tapping her chin. That was some lovely chaos. That man looked for the rest of his life for a man that was long dead.
“Of course, I know that,” Death said, getting more and more annoyed. “It was the first thing he asked me about when I collected his soul,” he said, chuckling at the memory, forgetting his anger for a moment. It was a good memory.
“You know, I granted that wish because of you, don’t you?” she stated, looking at his skeletal face.
“Why?” he asked, stopping to look at her.
“Because you made a similar wish when you created the Hallows,” Eris stated, waving her hands in the air in a ‘didn’t you know’ manner.
“I did not,” the indignant deity stated, drawing himself up to his fullest height.
“You did,” she said, staring him square in the face. “Just by making them, you did.”
“Blast you, Eris,” Death said, deflating some. She was correct by making the Hallows he was declaring that he was lonely.
“You’re welcome,” she said and faded away.
Death smirked. It was okay, he got what he wanted in the end.