Harry Potter was currently slouching in his chair, barely listening as Weyland talked. The man reminded him an awful lot of Dumbledore, with his sense of self-importance. Honestly, Harry had no idea why he was currently over 30 light years away from Earth, listening to the wealthiest megalomaniac in the Solar System talking. Oh, he knew the bastard wasn’t dead, since he most definitely wasn't on the other side of the veil.
Harry's life since 2005 had been very interesting, to say the very least. He had been part of the Auror corps, and on a mission when a stray curse had hit him, and sent him right back to the King's Cross Limbo. This time around, he was met by Death. And where did he even begin to explain the absolute clusterfuck of things that he learnt? He was the Master of Death, and as such was immortal. Ginevra was plotting to have him killed. Ron was his friend for fame and money (Hermione was his friend for better reasons though). But even that paled in comparison to the absolute mindfuck that the Potter ancestry was. Or should he rather say Peverell ancestry?
He was roused out of his musings by David, and smiled politely as he went through to the control room. He had chosen to settle for politeness, being unsure of how exactly to act around David. He didn't quite agree with Weyland's philosophies. Probably never would.
Am I cursed to be surrounded by idiots? I may have been a Gryffindor, but this is plain stupidity. He watched as Holloway sprang up in a very Gryffindorish fashion, pointing to the buildings in a neat line. I guess I am.
His opinion of Holloway only sank lower and lower the further the day wore on. From removing his helmet in an alien environment (which prompted an inner voice that sounded a lot like Snape to pipe up with an "It could be a pathogen we literally have NO CLUE about, you utter dunderhead"), to his incessant belittling of David (which actually made Death speak up with an incredibly sassy "You're just begging to be killed, Charlie Holloway.")... The man was an amalgamation of bad life decisions.
As Harry was laying in bed, listening to the sandstorm howling around the Prometheus, his mind slipped back to the conversation with Death that he'd had in King's Cross Limbo, nearly 90 years ago.
"What do you mean, we were created by celestial beings?" Harry wasn't believing a single word he heard, it was simply too outlandish for him to comprehend.
Death laughed. "Oh, they're favourites of mine. Incessantly experimenting. Humanity has to be one of my favourite things out of everything they've created, both magical and mundane."
"Then why do we know nothing about them?" Harry's brain still felt as if it was going to melt, but his curiosity was taking over.
"As they cut off contact, they faded into mythology and legends. The last magical family to truly have contact with them was the Peverells, back in the 5th century." Death shrugged.
"Peverell? As in my ancestors? Those Peverells?"
Death smiled at Harry's obvious confusion. "Yes." His smile turned wicked. "I have never seen creators and creations get along so well that interbreeding was the norm."
"Alright, that's far too much information." Harry covered his ears. He may have been 25 years old, but he was entitled to this bout of immaturity. His brain felt as if it was about to melt, after all.
The deity laughed, and it seemed to echo through the space around them. "My apologies."
Harry doubted Death's sincerity, but did not comment.
Holloway's death was tragic, if expected. But Shaw's condition was a massive worry for Harry. Death had told him about their other creations, and he had a fairly good idea of what that thing was. Eldritch monstrosity doesn't even begin to describe it.
However, no amount of talking with Death was enough to fully prepare Harry for the sight of what Shaw had so eloquently called the Engineers. Tall, strong, deadly, beautiful… were the top four words he could find to describe them.
When they spoke, any doubts Harry had had about them being magical were wiped out. He couldn't understand what was being said, but the way the words were spoken carried the unmistakable tone of a compulsion.
Harry used the fallout of Weyland's egocentric declaration to get Shaw and himself out of there. But their peace was short-lived, because first they had to run, and then they were caught up in a confrontation.
He put himself between Shaw and the clearly angry Engineer, wandlessly and wordlessly cast a translation spell on himself, and gathered whatever remained of his Gryffindor courage, before asking his question. "What do you want?"
"A proper explanation for why you're here." The deep voice sent a shiver through Harry that he did his best to ignore.
The explanation took a while, but by the end, Harry could only sense a faint irritation coming from the Engineer. The silence stretched out, causing Harry and Shaw to trade looks. When they finally spoke, Harry had to exercise all of his self-control to prevent himself from staring slack-jawed.
"I'll take you two with me. But your chances of going back are none."
"I don't think we have anything left to lose."