Mockingbird

Harry Potter wasn't sure how to feel. He had killed Voldemort, but he felt hollow, like he was missing half of himself. Harry supposed that was the differentiation between before and after. Before he had the Horcrux, now Harry's soul had a gaping hole in it. He supposed he would get used to it, he had to. The world expected things from him, Harry knew that well. The Weasleys expected him to get back together with Ginny, get married, settle down, and start a family. While Harry wasn't opposed to having a family, he didn't want one so young.

He wanted to be older, have more experience to pass on, and the added fact that Harry wasn't sure he wanted a relationship anymore. Harry didn't feel a strong attachment to Ginny, and upon examination, he felt like their relationship had been forced. It also didn't help that he also realized that he felt more brotherly affection towards her then anything a very close examination of his feelings.

Harry felt exhausted, he had so many emotions conflicting within him, and he was being bombarded with letters from the fans he had all across England. He had Kreacher shut down the floo in Grimaud Place. Harry didn’t want any visitors be it Hermione, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, the Minister of Magic, or the bloody Queen of England herself. Kreacher was more than happy to do so, as he hadn’t really liked Hermione or Ron when they had stayed here, and happily shut down floo access to everyone except Harry or Andromeda and Teddy.

Though, Harry mused to himself, Kreacher had given Harry a rather stern lecture on missing diner, and if he wasn’t coming back soon, to inform Kreacher. Harry had even managed to work out an agreement with the portrait of Walburga, and now she was happily occupying the sitting room Harry often visited, and no longer screeched about Mudbloods and filthy blood-traitors.

Harry wasn’t sure what he was going to do next, be there for his godson, he supposed. Help run the Wizarding world, try not to die, and maybe, just maybe, be a teacher.

In the darkness of his bedroom, Harry was bereft of having simple dreams. Instead he dreamt of a tall figure draped in a cloak of black who wrapped him in a cloak of darkness, offering the peace, solitude, and safety Harry remembered from his cupboard. He also dreamt of woman who was adorned in a kaleidoscope dress who hugged him and whispered sweet nothings into his ear in languages he both did and didn’t understand.

When he woke, he didn’t notice the black runes that had inked themselves into his skin, runic chains littered all over his body. He didn’t notice the way magic started coming easier to him, the way wandless magic seemed to only require a thought or wish. He did notice, however, when months after the dreams had started, the Hallows that lay on his nightstand one morning.

In a moment of pure impulse, Harry held them. Then the Hallows seemed to melt into his hand, collaging into a black mark on his hand, the mark of the Deathly Hallows. Staring in shock at his hand, Harry began to panic. All together he began to notice the runes, the magic, and began to draw one startling conclusion.

He was the Master of Death.

Well, thought Harry, Maybe not Master, but something relating to Death. Only a fool could believe he could conquer and master Death.

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and he scrubbed his arm over them. Maybe his dreams had something to do with it, but who would Death be? The woman or the man? Or was Death both? Harry wished he could ask for the answers to the questions that were currently flying around his head. That was when he heard the thunderstorm voice echoing inside his room.

||Harry Potter, my chosen companion and the blessed Childe of Fate and Magic. Rise and hear what we have to say.||

*Oh my Chaos,* another voice said, both feminine and slightly masculine, *Death, have some tact and stop being dramatic.*

“Are you Death?” Harry said aloud to the empty room as he stood up and moved to the center of the room.

||I am Death, one voice said||, it’s thunderstorm tones quieting.

*And I’m Fate*, the other piped up in a cheery tone. *We are here to explain things to you, teach you, and offer you a choice, so ask away!* Death sighed, sounding exasperated, and cut off the other’s cheery speech.

||First Fate, we should manifest ourselves. And must you be so cheery? It gets old very fast, especially when you live as long as we do.|| Fate made a noise of agreement, and the two people from his dreams appeared. Fate’s kind smile rose to her lips as she stepped forward to embrace harry, her pale skin contrasting with his brown skin.

Fate rested her chin on his head and spoke in a tone that had Harry relaxing into her hold.

*Don’t worry, little one. The way ahead may be uncharted due to you choice on the decision we will give you, but know this. We will always be at your side, me and Death. You gathered his Hallows and had no wish to become the fabled ‘Master of Death’, and I chose you for who you are. You are so strong not to have broken already, and now you have somebody to lean on. Sleep, we will be here, then we will talk.*

And Harry slept.