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Entering the wizarding world at eleven, a lightning scar on his forehead and a wonder at the idea of magic had pushed Harry into the spotlight without so much as a by your leave. Even now, seven years later with a decent grasp of the expectations of fame and societal pressure, Harry was still taken aback by the new heights his fame reached after the Voldemort’s second fall.
After the battle of Hogwarts – after the death of Lord Voldemort – he couldn’t take a step in the wizarding world without at least two Daily Prophet reporters on his heels. Long gone were the days of the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One… now Harry was the Man-Who-Conquered, as if he needed any more monikers in his life. But it wouldn’t stop – a visit to George at the shop resulted in a swell of a crowd, hands to shake and murmured condolences and the flash of the cameras and the tightness of his chest when there was no Colin Creevey hollering to him from behind the lens.
It was unfair of him, he thought with a small trace of guilt, to hide away from everyone after it was all done and over. He’s promised McGonagall he’d meet with her for tea, but neither he nor the professor seemed to want to step foot into the Headmaster’s office, and dining out in public was beyond the question. He’d also promised the DMLE representative who had taken him aside after the service at Hogwarts that he’d be in touch, but he hadn’t quite yet mustered up the wherewithal to bring quill to paper. To Molly, he’d promised that he would pop round for dinner soon, but hesitated at the fireplace, floo powder clutched in hand.
He’d taken up residence at Grimmauld Place, number 12. He hadn’t known where else to go. Certainly not back to the Dursleys, and though he’d received an offer for a spare room from Ron’s family, he couldn’t bring himself to impose on them, not while they were still grieving the loss of their brother.
For two weeks he’d cleaned the townhouse – with the reluctant help of Kreacher – and the place was dusted down, the last few dark artefacts and relics disposed of, food bought for the cold box from the local corner shop and finally Harry felt like he could breathe again.
On the third day of his cleanout, he’d found a small trunk in one of the bedrooms, hidden under the bed and right against the back wall. He’d had some trouble opening it – alohomora proving useless. A thought that it was another cursed object was quickly dismissed – with the red and gold stripes running down the sides, it wasn’t exactly subtle about the design influence.
Sirius.
Harry had sighed, a small smile on his face before he solemnly swore that he was up to no good. The lock clicked open, but it didn’t contain Sirius’s old school robes or secret stash of Muggle magazines – instead, there were scraps of parchment covered in ink, and boxes of sweets and toys that sparked when moved and a small vial filled with a thick green sludge. The inscription, on the inside of the lid, ‘Property of Messrs Weasley & Weasley’.
Harry’s stomach dropped, and he froze in place as if petrified. The twins must have left this behind accidentally, in the summer before Harry’s fifth year – before they opened up the shop, before they fought at Hogwarts, before Fred –
Harry swallowed thickly, and carefully closed the lid. He’d hand it over to George later, he resolved, but not right now.
Another promise.
At last, with long two weeks of dust on his robes, painting walls - the muggle way, to the everlasting despair of Walburga’s portrait - and of nibbling on biscuits with Kreacher in the kitchen in a well-deserved tea break, the house was finally looking somewhat presentable. Harry posted his invites to Ron and Hermione to join him for lunch - again, the muggle way because Harry couldn’t even bear to think about using another owl.
Two days and one first class stamp later, Ron and Hermione showed up on his doorstep, a bottle of firewhisky in hand and were hugging Harry before he could even invite them inside.
‘Oh,’ Harry whispered, as Ron threw and arm round his shoulder and held him fiercely, and his chin came to rest on top of Hermione’s head as her curly hair rose up to tickle the edge of his mouth.
‘I was so worried about you, Harry,’ Hermione said into his chest, and Harry felt another wave of shame crash over him as he thought back to his continued silence over the past few weeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured back, and opened his mouth to explain himself but found himself hesitating.
‘It’s okay, mate, we understand,’ Ron said, and Harry noticed that his eyes were shining brightly, despite the bags around them from lack of sleep and the recent thinness to his face, ‘it’s been the same around the house too. Mum didn’t come out of her room for two days, before she realised that the gnomes had returned to the front garden and badgered Dad about sorting them out.’
Harry managed a weak smile, Ron chuckling lightly, ‘And Bill’s been staying with us at home – Fleur too, though she’s been checking with her family in France – he’s been needing to go to some appointments at St Mungo’s and he doesn’t say it, but it’s easier with company. And George, well…’ Ron trailed off.
‘George is dealing as well as can be expected,’ Hermione took over, stepping back from Harry, and using a tissue to wipe away at her eyes. Harry hadn’t noticed that she’d even started tearing up.
‘We’re all fine, Harry – well, maybe not fine but we’re coping. Day by day.’ Hermione paused, grabbing Harry’s arm and clutching it fiercely as if to make sure that he was real, that he wasn’t going to slip away, ‘And we don’t blame you for wanting to get away from it all for a while. But we’re very happy to hear from you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said again, and he truly was, ‘I.. I just needed some space for a bit,’ he thought back to the dark musty rooms, blinds pulled down, and no sound other than the creak of the wards as Harry slowly worked on them. It had been peaceful, the small tasks and chores slipped him back into the pre-Hogwarts mindset the Dursleys installed – work, don’t think, work.
He wasn’t sure Hermione or Ron would understand.
But now they were here, in the flesh, and Harry remembered what it was like to have human companionship – real people, in the flesh, with Hermione’s red eyes and Ron’s lopsided grin. Suddenly, it was a welcome relief from the strange company of the house-elf and the rueful dead that flooded his dreams in sleep.
‘Please come inside,’ he motioned towards the hallway, before calling out ‘Kreacher!’
The old elf popped to his side, ‘Yes, Master Regulus? What can Kreacher do for you?’
‘Just some tea for my friends, please, and maybe some biscuits from the cupboard? Thank you.’
The elf murmured his understanding before popping away, and Harry lead Ron and Hermione to the dining room, waving away their questioning looks.
‘His mind is a bit… addled these days,’ Harry said as way of explanation, ‘I’m not sure if it’s because of his age or because of his exposure to whatever has been accumulated in the house over the years… but it’s best not to correct him,’ Harry said with a wry smile, ‘we seem to get along better this way.’
‘Poor thing,’ Hermione muttered, ‘I wonder if there are any health services for house-elves, no – of course not.’
Ron exchanged an amused glance with Harry, and Harry, for all the better he’d felt for having some time to himself, was again hit with the realisation of how terribly he had missed his friends.
Kreacher came through with a tray of biscuits and teacups that wobbled precariously as he set it down on the table as Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats. ‘Thank you, Kreacher,’ Harry said absently as he helped himself to a cup of tea from the pot, before pouring some out for the others.
Hermione was looking around the room, noting the new paint on the cupboards and smiling approvingly, ‘I’m glad you’re setting in well, Harry, do you intend to live here permanently from now on?’
Harry frowned, ‘I guess so. I don’t really fancy the hassle of trying to find somewhere new to live, and Sirius passed this place on to me, so…’
‘It just seems a bit empty,’ Ron said in between biscuits, crumbs at the corner of his mouth, Hermione passing him napkin, ‘I mean... there’s a lot of space here, and I don’t want you to feel lonely is all.’
‘Well, Kreacher keeps me company, and I’ve been thinking about getting a pet – maybe a Crup, or a Kneazle this time? I’m going to set up a room for Teddy and Andromeda too, if they want to visit, it would be nice to see them.’ Harry said uncomfortably, because truth be told, he quite liked the house being empty. It would be different for Ron, coming from a large family, but Harry had felt as if he was on his own for a large majority of his life, and there was a horrible comfort in that.
‘That sounds nice to me,’ Hermione said, clearly relieved, and Harry smiled in response. He didn’t want his friends to worry about him, not when there was so much else going on.
‘So are you staying with the Weasleys right now, Hermione?’ Harry asked, shifting the focus away from him.
She nodded, ‘Yes, in Ron’s room – Molly’s not exactly happy about that,’ and Harry was startled to see that she giggled, ‘but it’ll only be for the summer, so there wasn’t much point in clearing out a room for me.’
Harry raised an eyebrow, and Ron explained with a shake of his head, ‘She’s going back to Hogwarts to finish seventh year. Can you believe that? She asked McGonagall’ – ‘Professor McGonagall, Ron,’ – ‘if she return to school for another year. She even asked if I could go back as well!’
‘You’re a Hogwarts drop-out, Ron!’
‘I refused, of course.’
‘I still don’t see why you’re so against this,’ Hermione said mulishly, ‘we didn’t get to finish our NEWTs, remember, so I’m not sure what you’re planning to do for a living without your qualifications - ’
‘ – I’m going to be an Auror, haven’t I mentioned this already?’ Ron interrupted, looking frustrated. It was clearly a point of tension for the couple, Harry noted, as Hermione’s chin jutted out and her back straightened, just as if they were back in Umbridge’s class and there was a point to be made.
‘But they’re not going to accept you without your NEWTs, Ron, you know this – ’
‘What bloody use are NEWT grades? I fought at Hogwarts, I destroyed a horcrux – ’
‘I know – I was there – but you need to meet the application requirements! A NEWT in Defence, Potions – ’
‘A horcrux, Hermione! The darkest object alive, the bloody soul of You-Know-Who! I should get an Outstanding just for that,’ Ron huffed, and looked towards Harry for help. Harry wasn’t quite sure if he should be agreeing or if he should point out that horcrux-slaying probably wouldn’t cover the requirements for Potions or the Transfiguration NEWT.
‘Err, for what it’s worth, I don’t plan on going back to Hogwarts either, Hermione,’ Harry admitted, and Hermione just seemed to deflate right in front of them.
‘I know, I just thought…’ She trailed off, and Harry glanced at Ron helplessly. ‘I suppose I just wanted all of us to complete our education together. I can’t imagine spending a year at Hogwarts without you both.’
Ron pinked, and Harry felt a small stirring at guilt at her words.
‘Well, I’m sure McGonagall would let us visit… I still owe her for tea, and you’ll have Ginny and Luna in your year as well.’
Hermione nodded, ‘I know. It’s just… it’s really over now, isn’t it? We have our own lives, the future seems so… blank. I’ve been so focused on the moment, and now – ’
‘We’re all a little lost,’ Harry smiled sadly, and it felt like a farewell. Hermione would be going back to Hogwarts without them, Ron would be applying to be an auror and Harry –
‘I received an offer from the DMLE, after the service at Hogwarts,’ he said suddenly, and Ron turned to look at him curiously, ‘about becoming an auror, going straight into training – I’m sure they’ll offer you the same, Ron, if I talk to them.’
‘Well, that’s brilliant Harry!’ Hermione exclaimed, and Ron beamed.
‘That’s great, we can go along to training together then! We could be partners, too, just like at Hogwarts - ’
‘What was I, your secretary?’ cut in Hermione, but she was laughing. Ron grinned unashamedly, slinging an arm around her shoulder.
‘And we’ll visit you Hermione, sneak in through Honeydukes if we’ll have to… if you make Head Girl then you get your own room, right?’
‘If I make Head Girl, Ron, if!’
‘Oh come on, of course you would – who else would they give it to?’
‘Maybe your sister? Aren’t you supposed to be cheering her on?’ Hermione retorted.
‘Well – I guess – but let’s be real here - ’
‘You’re the best witch of our age, Hermione,’ Harry broke in, sharing a smile with Ron as Hermione’s cheeks pinked, ‘McGonagall would be a fool to give it to anyone else.’
‘Oh – alright, stop it – both of you,’ Hermione protested, ‘I suppose it would be rather nice to be Head Girl, but we’ll just have to see what the Professor thinks is best.’
‘That’s the spirit, ‘Mione,’ Ron clapped her on the back, before reaching to pick up another custard crème, ‘You’ll get Head Girl, graduate Hogwarts with record breaking NEWTs and become the youngest Minister Britain has ever seen – ’
‘Ron!’
‘I’ll be an auror, famous for my good looks and legendary talent in the field – and you can absolutely show favouritism to me, ‘Mione, and make all the other aurors jealous – ’
‘ – as if, Ronald!’
‘And Harry,’ Ron turned to him, feigning seriousness, ‘you’ll have to resign yourself to being my trusty sidekick. I’m afraid there’s only enough room for one kickass auror on this team – but I’ll be sure to throw a couple of bones your way. I’m sure there’s a lot of firstie vandals writing rude words on the Hogwart’s express, you can have at them.’
Harry nodded solemnly, placing a hand on Ron’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for the offer mate, I seriously appreciate it.’
‘I’m sure there are no first years writing graffiti on the train,’ Hermione muttered.
‘Ah, you’d be surprised,’ Ron replied, a fond smile on his face, ‘I dunno what they wrote exactly, but the Howler I heard Mum send to the twins after she received a letter from a very pissed off Filch… the stuff of nightmares, I swear. I begged Mum not to send me to Hogwarts for about a week after hearing that.’
‘I would have loved to have seen the aftermath of that in the Great Hall,’ Harry remarked. Ron laughed.
‘I’ll bet! Didn’t stop Fred and George though, a few months later Mum received another letter about how they both needed a new set of robes, Mum nearly blew a gasket’ Ron shook his head, ‘kept trying to get into the Hufflepuff common room to the point where their robes stank of vinegar, the smell couldn’t even be magicked out. Reckon Mum was half tempted to just let them keep those robes for the rest of the year.’
Hermione smiled softly, leaning her head on Ron’s shoulder. Harry thought back to his own memories of Hogwarts with his friends – their adventures, the trouble they used to find, and he found himself speaking without even processing what he was saying.
‘I don’t think I want to be an auror.’
Hermione sat up, ‘Pardon?’
Ron stared bemused at Harry, ‘You don’t want to be an auror?’
Harry hesitated, before nodding shortly. ‘Yeah… I don’t think I want to. I mean, I’ve just realised… I don’t.’
He paused, the idea brought to the forefront of his mind now, unable to tuck it away longer.
‘I don’t think – I just don’t want to be catching dark wizards and doing raids and hunting dark artefacts for the rest of my life. I just don’t think I can do it, Ron, I’m sorry,’ he finished quietly, looking down into his tea. Only the tea leaves remained, clumped into a blob that vaguely resembled a beetle if he squinted.
‘What? Harry – what do you mean, you’ve always wanted to be an auror – ’
‘I know. But… I don’t feel the same, anymore. I just feel… tired.’
A beat.
‘Maybe I’ll think about doing it when I’m older, maybe I’ll change my mind – but not now, Ron, I really am sorry.’
‘No, mate… It’s OK, I understand. Well, I don’t actually, but… if it’s time you need then I’ll wait for you. I’ll get a head start on the training then, warm the broom up for you and all that.’
Harry chuckled, ‘Then you’ll be the one showing me the ropes then, teaching me how a proper auror does it…’
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, looking lighter but Harry could see that he was still disappointed.
‘Well… what will you do then, Harry? Are you going to get a job?’ Hermione asked, looking concerned.
‘I’m not sure. I’m quite happy just… doing what I’m doing now, to be honest.’
Hermione seemed troubled, a frown tugging on the edge of her mouth. ‘But you can’t do that forever.’
‘I know… I know.’
‘Harry. Promise me you won’t just keep yourself away in Grimmauld for the rest of your life?’
Harry smiled bitterly. ‘I won’t Hermione. Promise.’
Another promise.
Ron ran his hands through this hair. ‘This is too depressing – I’m sorry, Harry, but I thought this was a house-warming party - now I put the firewhisky somewhere, let’s say we have a toast and try to get properly drunk? Merlin knows we need it.’
Harry laughed at that, and Hermione bent down under the table, drawing the bottle up and set it on the table victoriously. ‘I think I can agree to that – do you have any glasses, Harry?’
Harry stood up, moving towards the cabinet, ‘We have some lovely ones left over from the Black family set – we had to throw a few out, you don’t want to know – ’
‘So let’s get this evening – evening? No, let’s get this afternoon started because I need to be drunk right now Harry, so please put a glass in my hand.’
***
Harry laughed, and happily obeyed.
Harry woke up to a hippogriff sitting on his head and a drum in his ear. He groaned, rolling to the side and grabbing a pillow to squash over his head.
*tap*
*tap*
*tap*
‘Shhh,’ Harry grumbled into his mattress, ‘go ‘way.’
*TAP TAP TAP*
Harry furiously sat up in bed, pillow falling to the floor, immediately regretting it as the room spun around him.
‘Merlin…’ he breathed, eyes scrunched shut and he rubbed his fingers into his temples. He was vaguely aware that the tapping stopped only to be replaced by strange squawking.
‘Go away… I’m sleeping,’ he told the sound off, half-heartedly, already falling back down into the warmth of the bed.
*SQUAWK*
‘Bloody hell,’ Harry grunted, finally opening his eyes and blinking blearily at his room, clothes and glasses strewn across the floor, a broom lying at the end of the bed when he swore it had been in the back of his wardrobe – and one big black fuzzy blob outside his window.
Harry flung his hand out for his glasses in a daze, fingers knocking into them on his night-stand before he slipped on the black circular frames.
The blob focused into a large black bird – a raven? – sitting on the sill outside his window, glaring at him with it’s little beady eyes.
‘What?’ Harry reluctantly slipped out of his bed, narrowly avoiding stepping on a sole exploding snap card that seemed to have abandoned the rest of its deck.
‘I thought we had postal wards…’ he muttered, utterly bemused, ‘Kreacher!’
*pop*
‘Yes, Master Reggy?’ the elf croaked.
Harry shielded his ears, cringing at the sudden noise. ‘Wait, shhh, bad idea, bad idea… umm, Kreacher, don’t we have wards for owls? That post-box we set up with the… the… post people?’
Kreacher squinted at him, and then at the raven outside. ‘Yes Master, do you want Kreacher to beat the birdie with a stick?’
‘What? No – no, just… why is it here?’
‘Kreacher has a very good stick, Master, and can send the birdie off, if Master would let him…’
‘No, Kreacher… leave it, it’ll be fine… really.’ Harry stated firmly, when he first arrived at Grimmaul he had been slightly alarmed by the elf, but by now he was fa too used to its eccentricities. ‘I can take care of it from here.’
Kreacher stared at the bird suspiciously. ‘If Master says so…’, he muttered, before popping away.
Harry sighed, before turning to look at the raven still staring at him from behind the window. ‘Well, I suppose I should let you in.’
He pulled the window open, and the raven hopped onto his bed, and Harry finally caught sight of a small scroll bound in black ribbon to one of the raven’s legs. Harry eyed the bird warily.
‘Now, you’re not going to peck at me if I take this off, alright?’ Harry asked the raven, moving his hand slowly towards it, ‘Because Merlin knows my head is killing me, and I won’t be responsible for my actions if you fancy a hand sandwich on the menu today.’
With unsteady hands – curse you, firewhisky – Harry managed to relieve the raven of its scroll without incident. With the parchment in hand, Harry could see that the ribbon was stamped in place by a seal of black wax, with the imprint of a very familiar triangle, circle, and line.
Harry stared at the parchment, trepidation crawling up his spine. ‘This isn’t funny,’ he whispered.
No one replied.
He carefully pulled at the ribbon, breaking the seal, placing the ribbon on the side. Harry slowly unfurled the parchment, half-scared that something was going to jump out at him. Hermione would probably be infuriated with him for not casting any diagnostic spells on the parchment, he absently noted.
The parchment was thick, high in quality, and about a foot in length once fully unravelled. Harry turned it around to the right way up, and recognised it immediately as some sort of certificate, not dissimilar from the Order of Merlin that had been foisted it on him by the new minister not some three weeks ago. In fact, it was rather like the certificates he had received in the September following his OWLs, when they received official documents for their individual subjects and grades.
However, the parchment read something quite different to the certificate declaring his ‘Poor’ in Divination.
The UNIVERSITY of HEL
can certify that
HARRY JAMES POTTER
was awarded the degree of MASTER OF DEATH
with merit
on the MAY 2nd, 1998
Signed,
Grithunt the Lesser
Was this some kind of joke?
Harry read it through again.
And again.
It still made no sense.
It wasn’t often these days that he was surprised by the workings of the wizarding world – long past were the days of being entranced by flying broomsticks and self-stirring tea-cups – but this was something entirely new and bizarre.
Master of Death… was this because of the hallows? The hallows were real, he knew – he had Ignotus’s invisibility cloak after all, and he personally had dealt with the other two, certain the resurrection stone was lost in the Forbidden Forest and the Elder wand safely buried with Dumbledore.
And he had, well, died and came back to life…
But he hadn’t really thought that the whole ‘Master of Death’ thing was an actual thing. It was just exaggerated story-telling, seeing as the whole debacle had come from an actual, fictitious children’s book. The Tales of Beedle the Bard…
So… no. This was just a joke, a prank – Ron, perhaps? George… ?
The raven cawed, hopping on its feet. Harry appraised it, it was on the larger side than most ravens he had seen, and its beak was slightly pointier than he would have liked, but nothing really set it apart from any of the other birds of its species. It didn’t exactly look like the sort of messenger that would announce to someone that they were a Master of Death.
‘Err, you can go now. Thanks.’
The bird didn’t seem to pay much attention to Harry, and just cawed once again. Harry winced, holding the side of his head.
‘A little quieter, please…’
Harry sat down with a huff back onto the bed, certificate still in hand. The letters were done in that fancy, swirled style and the ink was a deep rich black, like one of those high-quality inks that some of the pureblood students had used at Hogwarts.
It was well done, he supposed. He wasn’t exactly sure who this ‘Grithunt’ was meant to be – certainly not someone he knew, if anything the name sounded Goblin in nature. Funnily enough, he didn’t suppose that they were the pranking sort, if anything he was rather expecting any day now to receive an angry missive from them regarding his breaking-and-entering into the Lestrange vault, hidden horcrux be damned.
One thing was for certain – this sounded like a later afternoon job. A puzzle for those well-rested, with sobered minds and clean clothes, and not for wizards still half asleep with a blistering hangover.
So, the mysterious certificate was laid unceremoniously to the side of the bed, and Harry sank back down into his mattress, tugging the covers back over himself to stave off a slight chill from the open window.
Eyes closed, willing himself to fall back asleep and ignore the slight rustle of feathers and the dip of his bed as the bird hopped on.
Harry scrunched his eyes up tighter.
The bird hopped onto his leg.
Harry restrained the urge to kick it off the bed.
The bird pecked at his knees.
‘Ge’ off,’ Harry mumbled. The raven was now perched on one of his covered knees, and wasn’t moving despite Harry’s attempt to jolt it off.
‘Fine… make yourself at home, I’m going to sleep now…’
Harry had barely closed his eyes, slipping back into the comfort of sleep when there was another harsh tapping to rudely awaken him.
‘Oh for Merlin’s sake, is a bit of peace and quiet really so much to ask for?’
The raven cawed, apparently that was a yes. Harry reluctantly raised himself out of bed for the second time that morning and sternly looked at the bird, ‘You. You can leave now.’
The raven didn’t leave. Harry was starting to wonder if the bird was waiting for a return message, or was just after some food. He groaned. He really didn’t have the patience for this.
The tapping started up again – only it wasn’t tapping, it was a knocking sound coming from downstairs – his front door –
‘Coming!’ Harry yelled from the door, before quickly looking through his room for something decent to wear. His clothes from last night – no, they stank of firewhisky and… treacle tart? He’d ask his Ron and Hermione later –
Another knock – ‘Ah, to hell with it,’ Harry grumbled and snagged his jeans and cotton tee, his guest would just have to ignore the wrinkles and stains – before rushing down the stairs, something his headache did not appreciate.
‘Harry? What’s that?’ Ron’s head poked out from behind one of the doors, hair ruffled and eyes half closed.
‘Nothing – just someone at the door, you can go back to sleep.’
‘Oh. Thanks,’ Ron yawned, slipping back away and the door softly closing with a click behind him. Harry sighed, before going to meet whoever was rudely interrupting him. There better be a good reason for knocking on his door this early in the morning –
He opened the door and promptly slammed it shut, his heart waking up and pounding behind his chest bone. Frantically, he scrambled to find his wand – thankfully in his pocket – and gripped it tightly in his hand, pointed directly to the front door, gulping back a breath and squaring up his feet – sideways position, wand up, a spell on his tongue –
There was another knock on the door.
‘What – what,’ Harry stammered, he would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so shocked, ‘what do you want? Who are you?’
There was a creaking sound as it shifted, and then – in a low rasp –
‘Well met, Harbinger. I am Ethren the Young of the seventh order of Hel, would you open the door?’
Harry’s knuckles whitened around his wand. ‘I wasn’t expecting any guests, you know. Seems rather impolite of you to not call ahead. How did you get past the wards?’
‘The wards?’ The voice seemed amused, and there was a dry, breathy sound – as if it was laughing, ‘They don’t concern me.’
‘Well,’ Harry began, feeling a little braver, ‘it concerns me. Quite a bit, actually. I don’t want to be rude, but what is it that you want? I’m a little tired, see, and I’ve already done one evil-defeating feat for the month, so would you like to reschedule?’
‘I am not to be defeated, Harbinger. Would you open the door for me or should I just come in?’
Harry, remembering that he had magic, silently shot one of his strongest locking charms at the door – not that it should have mattered because of the wards, but he wasn’t taking chances.
‘I’d rather you didn’t come in at all, to be honest.’
The thing seemed to sigh from the other side, low and guttural. ‘Very well,’ it intoned, and then walked straight through the door.
Harry wasted no time.
‘Stupefy! Incarcerous!’
The red light splashed off it, and the ropes fell loosely to the floor. The being looked down to ropes, then to Harry, inpatient.
‘How… petty.’
Harry swallowed. Finally, he asked, ‘What are you?’
The being smirked, if it could be called that when Harry didn’t even think it had a mouth –
‘I am, as I stated earlier, Ethren the Young of the seven order of Hel. You would do well, young Harbinger, to not make me repeat myself once more.’
‘No,’ Harry retorted, ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who – or what – you are. I’d ask you to forgive my own rudeness, but frankly, it’s really quite impolite to come into someone’s home without asking. So I’d like some answers please, or I’ll call the aurors right now.’
The being twitched and straightened itself to a seemingly even greater height. In total, it seemed seven or eight feet tall, and it seemed straight out of a nightmare – long and thin limbs, withered straight down to the bone, with scaled blue and black skin that was boiled and torn at various places. The hands – hands? – were clawed, with three digits curled round like an eagle’s talon. The being’s head was long and narrow like a horse, with a broad black nose at the base and further up, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes with side-slanted pupils. There were no visible ears, but in place were two great black horns that curled in on themselves, but spiking outwards. Harry couldn’t see a mouth, but it may have been hidden by a scraggly and knotted beard that extended from chin to neck.
It only wore only a lose cloak, of stiff undyed thread, that hung limply off its tall frame, and a simple long black-beaded necklace around its neck.
It was definitely not on the guest list.
It levelled a glare at Harry – or at least Harry thought it was a glare –
‘Did you not receive your diploma?’
Harry grimaced, that low rumbling voice was not pleasant to the dull throb of his hangover.
Wait, diploma?
‘Umm…no?’
Why was he entertaining this thing? His friends were upstairs for goodness sake, he should call for back-up –
The being whistled – where was its mouth? – and there was a sudden crash upstairs before the raven was swooping down the stairs to them, landing on the being’s outstretched arm.
Harry blinked. ‘That’s your bird? You’re that Grithunt fellow?’
‘No,’ the being growled, ‘I am Ethren. The Younger.’
Harry nodded, ‘Right. Ethren. But you did send me that certificate, right? What was that about?’
The being remained silent, the raven shifted, adjusting its wings. Harry stared at the Eldritch horror in his hallway and wondered where things had all gone wrong. Why didn’t Neville Longbottom or Hermione Granger entertain unknown beings a 7am? Why did it always have to be him?
‘Come,’ The being – Ethren – finally intoned, turning to leave the house as quickly as he had arrived.
‘Come?’ Harry repeated dumbly. Did it seriously expect Harry to just waltz off with it, follow it down some dark alleyway where a horde of demons and gargoyles could put him in some winged van and speed off with him?
‘No thanks,’ he said to the would-be kidnapper.
The would-be kidnapper snarled. Harry decided that it was entirely possible that the would-be kidnapper could read his thoughts.
Harry strongly wished for it to bugger off.
Sadly, it didn’t.
Instead, the being raised one single, solitary leather claw and clasped it on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s hand shot up, wand pointed dead centre at the creature ‘Bombar – ’
The world twisted.
***
A supernova of colour rushed through Harry – blinding – leaving stars beneath his eyelids and making his eyes water with the burn of it.
He blinked.
Where…?
It was white – pure, perfect, unnatural white. A gentle fog at his feet, as if he was floating in clouds, but there was no crisp blue sky to cut through it – it was an unending, unyielding and unforgiving landscape devoid of colour.
Devoid of life, emotion, feeling –
The haze of the night before had vanished from his head, as if it had never happened in this strange place untouched by time and the whims of clocks.
Instead, it was as if the fog that had smothered him this morning was now curling below him, the foam of a lazy wave. He remained rooted to the spot, legs tense (did he even have legs?), afraid that a single step would send him crashing through the surface – breaking like ice, falling back down to earth.
Maybe seconds later, maybe minutes, he grew aware of a pressure at his shoulder – sharp and pointed –
‘Are you quite done?’ Ethren spoke, a rolling grumble of words.
And Harry knew, quite suddenly -
‘This is King’s Cross Station. Like it was – when I went to the forest –’
Harry stumbled over his words, Ethren silent, still gripping him in his clutches, taloned hand on his shoulder.
‘But – I’m not dead. I – I was with you, at Grimmauld, we – you – apparated us,’ Harry paused, eyes flashing about, finding nothing but the empty platform and high arching ceiling, ‘but Dumbledore isn’t here,’ he accused, ‘Where’s Dumbledore?’
Ethren remained wordless, and Harry was almost afraid that he wouldn’t explain, that he would just leave Harry here at the station and it would be almost as if the last few months had never happened – that Harry had always been at the station, trapped in limbo, and hallucinating the end of the war through shapes in the mist.
‘Come,’ the creature eventually intoned, the grip on Harry’s shoulder tightening – would he ever let go? – and Harry almost tripped over the feet as he was suddenly lurched forward, Ethren dragging him along as if he was some unruly toddler.
‘Come? Come where?’ Harry asked, bewildered. There was nothing here! Just an empty platform, no Dumbledore – and thankfully, Harry realised, no forgotten, butchered soul of Voldemort either.
Ethren, not breaking his stride, gave Harry a disparaging look as if the answer was glaringly obvious, and this wasn’t some ghostly unnatural station that may or may not be all in Harry’s head, if true to the last visit by any account.
But Ethren eventually seemed to take pity on him though, and spoke in a slow voice, as if to a dim-witted child –
‘We are at the station, Harbinger, perhaps we should board the train?’
Harry, who was now walking fast to keep up with Ethren’s long strides, once again looked around the station, bemused. ‘There aren’t any trains here, though.’
The being tilted his head towards a clock, hanging down from ceiling. It was grand and ornate, with fancy letterings and symbols running along the circumference in place of familiar numbers or roman numerals.
‘What do trains do, but travel? We wait for the train, Harbinger.’
At this, Harry wrenched his shoulder out of Ethren’s grip, sprawling to the side, ‘Umm, no. I’m not doing this – I’m not getting on some train to Merlin knows where, take me back to my house,’ Harry demanded, patience beginning to wear thin, ‘now.’
Ethren turned his stony gaze towards Harry, something akin to displeasure flashing across those strange eyes. ‘Do you think you have a choice in this matter, young one? You already made your decision, whether it was known to you or not.’
Harry stilled, ‘What… What are you talking about? This isn’t about last time I was here… with Voldemort and Dumbledore – ’
‘No,’ Ethren interrupted, ‘your name was down for this ticket long before that,’ the being reached deep into its pockets – it had pockets? – and drew out two tickets, for that was what they must be, and held one out to Harry, an invitation.
Warily, Harry’s eyes flickering between that arresting face and the ticket in its hand, he reached out and took it. His curiosity always did get the better of him, he thought wryly.
It was no usual ticket – no Hogwarts express, no platform and three quarters – instead there was just a single word in dark black ink.
Hel.
Just as there had been on that certificate from the raven this morning.
Harry scrunched his eyes, a hand running through his hair. ‘I – I can’t do this. Whatever this is. Please,’ he implored weakly at the being, ‘just take me back.’
Ethren stayed silent.
‘Yeah, figures,’ Harry remarked bitterly. He sighed. ‘So what now, then?’
‘We board the train,’ Ethren answered, and before Harry thought to ask – what train? – he saw a wisp of smoke over the being’s shoulder and he peered round – there, making its way down the track to the platform, was a train.
‘To Hel?’ He asked, instead.
Ethren nodded. ‘Yes. To Hel.’
The train pulled up by the platform. It had just two carriages – two metal carts with glaring dents and scratches, as if they’d been in a head-on collision with a wall. And lost.
‘Well, that doesn’t look safe,’ Harry pointed out.
Ethren sighed, ‘We’ve had budget cuts.’
‘Seriously?’ Harry laughed. ‘Great. This is just brilliant. I’m getting kidnapped by a monster with a budget. I was going to send you an invoice for the therapy I’m going to need after this, but now that just seems mean.’
Harry stumbled as Ethren gave him a push forwards, ‘The train,’ he reminded Harry. Harry nodded dubiously, but didn’t protest. Sure, let’s just get on the metal death-trap. It couldn’t be any worse than the carts they used at Gringotts, right?
As he reached the train doors, he hesitated. Was he really doing this? Another unhelpful push from Ethren, and he tripped into the carriage. Scowling back at Ethren, he almost missed as the ticket, once clutched in his hands, now evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a faint, shimmering dust behind.
Ethren wasted no time in boarding the train behind him. Harry scrambled to his feet, glaring at the being. ‘Was that really necessary?’
Whatever answer Ethren may have given was lost as Harry once again struggled to find his footing, the train suddenly lurching forward. By the time he regained his balance, he looked up only to find Ethren halfway down the carriage, sitting down into a fraying wicker chair. Glancing further down the carriage, Harry saw no obvious booths or seating, rather an array of chairs and benches that looked to all have come straight from the second-hand shop.
Not sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, Harry made his way over to Ethren, pulling one of the more sturdy looking stools to sit down by him.
‘What now, then?’
Ethren leaned back in his chair, regarding Harry. ‘Normally, Harbingers are more excited at being inducted into Hel.’ He shook his head. ‘They have always done their research. I rarely need to find myself explaining much.’
Harry said nothing.
Ethren sighed. ‘I suppose there are always exceptions.’ He waved one hand absently at the window. ‘What do you see?’
Harry reluctantly shifted to look out the window. At first, he could just see his reflection staring back at him. He stood up, shakily, as the train rumbled beneath him and he walked to the window. Now closer, he could see clearly - gone were the pristine white tiles of the station – now there was just darkness, nothing. An empty, black expanse with no discernible shapes.
‘Where…?’ He began, before stopping. He didn’t know if he wanted that question answered. Ethren answered him anyway.
‘It is the abyss. Unending, unrelenting, nothingness.’ The being frowned. ‘There’s no way of telling how long it will take us to pass it.’
‘We’ll pass it?’ Harry asked, entranced with view. It was strangely gripping – he didn’t want to look away.
‘Yes, perhaps. Or perhaps not. It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘If it lets us.’
Harry’s heart stuttered it his chest. ‘Oh.’
‘Quite,’ Ethren laughed humourlessly. ‘We’ve had no trouble yet. We’ll reach our destination in a minute – ten – an hour, a day, never. There’s no real way of knowing.’
‘I don’t suppose you could have told me that before shoving me on the train?’ Harry asked snidely.
‘Would it have made you come easier?’ Ethren quipped. Harry scowled, letting his focus shift to the reflection on window, eyeing the tall figure lounging on the chair behind him.
‘Still, you haven’t answered me yet. About where we’re going – yes, to Hel, I know – but why, what’s there for me?’
Ethren was quiet for a second. ‘An opportunity,’ he finally said.
‘What kind of opportunity?’ Harry pressed.
‘One for Harbingers such as yourself,’ Ethren continued, ‘To pursue your mastery in –’
‘What does that mean?’ Harry span round, ‘Harbinger. You keep saying it, calling me it – what is it?’
Ethren chuckled. ‘You really know nothing, don’t you?’
‘I’d know more if you answered my questions,’ Harry shot back hotly.
‘Very well – A Harbinger, a Harbinger of Death such as you are, is one who has an innate, intimate relationship with that force itself – one who has completed their mastery of Death and Knows it in all aspects.’ Ethren fixed his gaze deep on Harry, as if he wasn’t looking at Harry but something else beyond him, in him.
‘And that is what you are, is it not?’ Ethren questioned, ‘A Harbinger? Yes. You’re a Harbinger, Harry.’
‘The Hallows…’ Harry whispered.
‘Yes,’ the being confirmed. ‘And where else do those who Know Death such as yourself go, but to Hel?’
As Ethren spoke, the view from the windows flickered, and where there was blackness now there was light – sparks, and a tidal wave of colour passed over the train, passing strange patterns of light across the inside of their carriage. Harry’s breath was caught in his throat, his eyes flickering between the solemn frame of Ethren and the new world opening up before his eyes outside the train.
Years ago, as a scrawny eleven year old, he would have denied it. Even a year ago, with all that he’d seen from the graveyard, the ministry, the battle – he would have refused the knowledge. But now, standing at the window, a foreign landscape before him and a dark knowledge of what it was to die ingrained heavily in his bones, Harry, no matter how much he wished against it, could not refuse those words.
‘I’m a Harbinger.’
It felt like a confession.
‘Yes,’ Ethren agreed. ‘Finally.’
Harry ignored him. He mouthed the word again, trying it on his lips. Harbinger. It… fit. Better than Boy Who Lived or Man Who Conquered ever seemed to.
Unbidden, a memory of what Dumbledore had once said to him echoed in his head.
‘To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.’
Well, he didn’t know how well-organised his mind was, certainly not that orderly if his failed occlumency lessons with Snape had been anything to go by. But now, looking out at the strange figures and shapes on the horizon, the burnt orange sky and unearthly pressure in the air… maybe this was his next great adventure.
Well, he had promised Hermione he’d find something to do, hadn’t he?
Maybe he could keep to one of his promises after all.
‘So,’ he said, turning to Ethren who had been quietly studying him whilst he had been deep in thought, ‘What exactly does a Harbinger do?’
And now, with no doubt, he saw the being smile.
And Harry, despite himself, found himself smiling back.