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Chapter Text

I'm borrowing two characters from Good Omens. The story is set in the Harry Potter universe. I have taken liberties with heaven/hell/divinity mythologies as it suits me for this particular ficlet.

Inspired by BlueMaple's beautiful world-building in 'East of the Moon, West of the Sun'. This is a giftfic for ex-livreira, who's been amazingly helpful and wonderful all round.

.oOo.

Dad always said that Harry was an infinite soul having a human experience.

Well, Harry called him dad, but he wasn't like other people's dads. Most of the people Harry knew called him Death. Harry's snake said he wasn't the paternal type.

"What's for dinner, dad?"

Before he got his plate of stew, Harry'd always get questions to answer in turn. Today it was, "What is the nature of existence, young master?"

Harry thought about it for a while. "Suffering?" he guessed, fishing out the beans to eat first. Dad liked when he gave answers like that. Thinking sombre, Harry called it.

"That's depressing," Harry's snake said from where she was curled around his shoulders. She was always saying those kinds of things. "It's not right for a child to be in such macabre surroundings."

But Harry liked it here. He didn't know anything else. When his snake told him about grass and trees and sunshine, it sounded a bit intimidating. The trees down in hell were nice and skeletal, it made them easier to climb and easier to see through. The sky was always glowing red, so when Harry had to go to bed it was easy to sneak over to the window and read until his dad came and tucked him back in again.

"You must rest, little master," Death always said, covering Harry with a blanket that shimmered like water spun to thread. "When you grow up, you will conquer. How can you conquer the souls of the damned without enough rest, and without eating your vegetables?"

Harry didn't really like vegetables, but he knew what kind of answers his dad liked to hear. "I'll be a terrible conqueror. Promise."

Death's kiss to the lightning scar on his forehead was like plunging into a bucket of ice. Harry snuggled into his blanket and closed his eyes. He thought the scar made him special.

Next to him, Crowley curled up under the blankets, hissing all the while. 'It makes you look disfigured,' Harry knew she'd say, but Harry knew she wouldn't mean it.

Maybe it was a strange childhood, growing up in hell with Death for a father and a snake for a friend, but Harry didn't mind. When he read stories about boys climbing trees with leaves, and girls riding ponies, it didn't sound like that much fun anyway.

.oOo.

"I'm taking you to meet my friend," Crowley hissed.

"I thought I was your friend," Harry said. His snake sometimes turned human-shaped with yellow eyes, with long hair like Harry's.

Harry held onto her hand as they walked through the park, feeling a little bit scared.

"You're eight, Harry. It's about time you saw the real world, isn't it?"

The real world was cold. "I thought the trees were supposed to have leaves." Although, it wouldn't surprise him if his picture books had lied. They'd lied about the grass, too. The park just had dirt paths, grey concrete, and an iced-over pond.

"They'll come out in spring," Crowley said. "Terrible luck with the weather. I was hoping for snow." She took out a brown paper bag and handed it over.

Harry unwrapped the bread and started nibbling on it. It wasn't even stale yet. He didn't want Crowley to be sad, but he didn't want to eat it either.

"Here," Crowley said. "You're supposed to feed it to the ducks."

"Terrible luck with the weather," said a voice. Harry spun, brandishing the paper bag.

It was an angel. Golden hair and blue eyes and everything, just like Death had warned him about.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said. "You came."

"It's been a while, friend." The angel took some of Harry's bread to throw at the ducks. They seemed to like it soft, maybe because they had beaks instead of teeth.

"I'd been hoping for snow," Crowley said again. "This is Harry, by the way."

"How do you do," Harry mumbled, without looking up from the ice. Death had explained snow to him as being a bit like ash raining from the sky. When Harry had tried sticking out his tongue like the children in his books did, he'd decided that snow wasn't like ash at all. It had taken a day to wash the taste away.

Aziraphale and Crowley talked for a bit without making Harry talk back, which was nice. He watched the people in the real world and wondered where all the ponies were.

.oOo.

When they met Aziraphale the next time, it was spring. There were so many green things that it made Harry feel dizzy. The ducks were the same, Harry found them comforting.

After the adults finished talking, Aziraphale smiled and gave Harry a paper bag and a pat on the head. "Be a good lad," he said, and left.

Crowley took them back to the soft red glow of hell, so Harry tucked it away until their next excursion topside to feed to the ducks.

Crowley had said not to tell Death about their little field trips, but Harry wasn't worried. His dad only spoke about damned souls and metaphysical force fields. He wasn't the paternal type, he was the practical type. Dad had given Harry a ring to call him with if Harry got lost, and a blanket to keep him cool. One day, he'd promised, Harry would be getting a wand.

Death didn't think about things like birthdays or Yule. Where Harry spent his time talking to whom wouldn't interest him.

.oOo.

Harry had been expecting the bread to be nice and stale after a month. He got it out of his jacket pocket, excited to finally have something good to offer the ducks.

The thing he pulled out was a golden walnut with wings. Harry tested if it was real by biting it, like he'd seen Charon do with his coins.

Harry held it in his hand and examined it, deciding he'd ask Charon what it meant when the gold fluttered.

"Oh, you brought your snitch," Aziraphale said. Harry blinked up at him. The walnut tried to fly away, he caught it without looking.

"Your father asked me to bring it to you. Shall I pass along that you like it?" Aziraphale continued.

Harry looked back at the ball, the golden snitch. It was twitching in his hand. He couldn't imagine his dad giving him something so useless. "What does it do?" he asked.

"Well, in a Quidditch game, catching it ends the game," Aziraphale said.

"I've already told him about Quidditch," Crowley said. He threw a bit of bread so that it bonked one of the ducks on the head.

Harry giggled. He couldn't picture his dad flying on a broomstick.

"Anyway, your mother asked me to pass this along to you," Aziraphale said. "She wants you to know she loves you very much."

It was a real, live lily. Harry was scared to touch it, but he took it anyway. "I have a mum?"

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale. "Oh goodness."

.oOo.

"Dad," Harry said, sitting down at the dinner table like usual. "Is it true that I had a mum and a dad before you?"

"Where did you think babies came from?" Death asked, handing over a piece of stale bread and a bowl of hot stew. He didn't have a proper face, but he still managed to look puzzled.

"You said I was born from the abyss."

"Metaphorically." Death grinned. "Your birth parents died for you, but they asked me to bless you. There was a genetic precedence for my interference, so the neatest solution was to claim you as my master. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Master of Death."

Harry thought about it while he ate his vegetables. "I'm alive?" he asked. It seemed like a good idea to check. Most of the people he talked to were dead.

"Yes, and growing swiftly. I believe you'll be getting your letter any year now. I must have Crowley take you topside, the last owl we got had to die to deliver. It's all very vibrant and green, you mustn't let it intimidate you."

Harry didn't say Crowley had already been taking him to feed ducks. "Alright," he said. He thought about what the children in his books might say. "I'll miss you."

Death ruffled his hair. It felt like spiders scuttling across his head. "You grow big and strong, young master. The souls of the damned are waiting."

.oOo.

They moved into a house that had a bit of the roof missing. Harry loved the way it felt like home from the very first moment. Crowley spent most of his time as a human-shape now, and Aziraphale came over every day to teach Harry his lessons.

Writing with a quill was much harder than with a stylus in soft wax. It was messy and permanent, but Aziraphale told Harry that good essay-writing was the foundation of expression and rhetoric.

Crowley taught Harry how to do magic spells. He wasn't great at it, mostly because Crowley didn't get that his snake magic and Aziraphale's angel magic were different from Harry's death magic. Still, Harry held onto the willow wand that Crowley found in a kitchen drawer and practised wishing really hard for his feather to float.

His book showed a little picture of how he was supposed to wave his wand and say 'Wingardium Leviosa', but that seemed very silly compared to all the other magic Harry had seen.

Aziraphale helped Harry grow things in the garden. Together they planted beds of all sorts of different lilies. When the leaves on the trees started to turn blood red and fall off, Harry thought it might be the apocalypse, but Aziraphale said they'd come back in the spring.

"Topside, it's all about ebb and flow, give and take, life and death," Crowley said, helping Harry pick the prettiest flowers in the garden. The three of them walked hand in hand through their little village to the church graveyard, passing through the rows of tombstones until they stopped before a big bit of white marble with familiar names on it.

"Hi mum, hi dad," Harry said, setting down the wreath. "Aziraphale told me you're doing alright. Dad, I liked your story about the tree that tried to murder you, it reminded me of the oak I liked to climb back in hell."

Once Harry had finished catching his parents up on the week's events, Aziraphale went back to heaven and Crowley walked Harry back to the cottage on Coleford Road with the hole in the roof and the feeling of home.

Harry was only nine, but he knew he had to eat his vegetables and do well in his lessons. One day, he was going to make his Death-dad, his mum, and his other dad proud.

.oOo.

I'm currently working on the last three chapters of this fic and am updating it at a rate of a chapter a week, I think. My update schedule is on my discord server.

Remember to bookmark me, I'm posting 2100 words every day this December. Thank you for going on this journey with me, it's only day 4 and has already been such a delight. See you around.

Chapter Text

Thank you for so much support. Because you're all being so lovely, have another chapter ahead of schedule.

It took a very long time for Harry's letter to finally arrive. Harry worried sometimes that his owl might have gotten lost, but Crowley said it was normal to get his letter when he was ten or eleven.

Time was different in hell, Aziraphale explained. To Death, human years passed so fast that he couldn't tell the difference between Harry being eight or ten. This was all perfectly normal, and didn't Harry want to practise his lessons again?

Lessons weren't bad, but that didn't mean Harry wanted to spend all his time doing them. He curled up with a good book under the blanket his dad had given him and waited until he was old enough to go to Hogwarts.

.oOo.

They were eating breakfast when it came in through the mail slot. Harry almost didn't hear it over the sound of his teeth grinding down his bread.

Crowley slithered off, then came back with an envelope in her mouth.

Aziraphale would have called the colour Ivory or maybe Eggshell. The lettering was Emerald or Viridian. Harry tore open the white parchment with his address in green ink and read the words welcoming him to the magical world.

"It's your birth right," Crowley hissed, her head resting on Harry's shoulder. "Aziraphale will buy the books we haven't got already. You'll be receiving Death's wand next week, of course."

And so Harry James Potter, Boy Who Lived and Master of Death, got on the Hogwarts Express feeling a little bit scared, but mostly ready for the adventure that awaited him.

"I've memorised all the books," said a girl with bushy hair and large teeth. She probably didn't eat her bread until it was nice and hard, either.

"I only read them once," Harry told her. "Do you have a pony?"

"It said 'owl or cat or toad.'" She looked over at the ginger boy who had introduced himself as Ron. "Rats weren't on the list."

"Oh, that's not a rat," Harry said. "It's just pretending."

Scabbers, who had been about to experience turning yellow, scampered off. Ron's face turned red and he scrunched up his eyes like he was trying not to cry.

"There, there," Harry said, and Ron burst into tears.

.oOo.

When the train arrived, Harry let the flow of people carry him along to the carriages. Harry had been hoping Hogwarts would have ducks, but thestrals were much better. He fed a lovely mare some bread before getting into her carriage. The other children were looking very hard at him, so Harry looked back.

Crowley and Aziraphale had said he shouldn't worry about other children, that it'd be just fine. These three looked like he should be worried about them. Harry was very glad when the carriage stopped so he could follow the crowd into the school's throne room.

"Hey, how did you get in here?" someone said.

Harry looked up and up at the boy. "There was a train, and a carriage?" Crowley had teleported him to the station, even though it would have made much more sense to teleport to Scotland instead.

"Right. Come along, then." He took Harry's hand just like Aziraphale would have.

.oOo.

"Potter, Harry," said the professor, covering Harry's whole head with a hat.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" said the hat. Harry walked toward the table of cheering children, they seemed very lively and loud. Crowley had said that school would probably be better than hell, so Harry had promised to give it a fair try.

"You were supposed to be in Gryffindor," said the girl sitting next to him. She had a thick black ponytail and glasses that made her eyes look ginormous. "I'm Sally-Anne Perks, I got sorted just before you."

Since she already knew who he was, he skipped right to saying, "Howdoyoudo. Who told you about me belonging in Gryffindor? Hufflepuff's a great house."

She puffed up her chest a little, then said, "Everyone knows your parents were in Gryffindor."

Harry thought of his dad wearing a red and yellow scarf. "Do you know if Hogwarts has a gift shop?"

"I think you're not going to be like anyone was expecting, are you Harry?"

She didn't say it like it was a question, so Harry just smiled at her and helped himself to some stew.

.oOo.

Most of the other children were very noisy, especially Zacharias Smith. Harry felt very lucky to be the only boy in his year who got a room to himself, everyone else had to pair up. Smith said it was proof that Harry really didn't belong in Hufflepuff, but a prefect gave him detention.

It didn't take long for Sally-Anne to become Harry's friend, like the children in his books were friends. They talked about how strange it was that everyone else ate dead animals and they both only ate dead plants. Sally-Anne told him she missed her mum's curry, and Harry said he missed his dad's stew.

Sally-Anne didn't think it was strange that Harry had two dads. She told him she had an uncle who had a special friend, they had twin girls. It wasn't really the same thing as Harry being raised by Death and a snake-demon, but he tried not to focus so much on their differences.

Classes were alright, too. Aziraphale had made Harry promise to do his best, but there was a lot of wand-waving and saying of silly phrases. Harry couldn't help thinking that magic should be done by wishing really hard, or maybe snapping his fingers. He'd managed to make his feather float like that sometimes at home, so he knew it was possible if he really tried.

Harry wasn't sure if he'd be doing his best if he used silly words to make his magic work. In Transfiguration, at least, he could get by without. When Professor Flitwick taught them Wingardium Leviosa, Harry's feather was the second one to float.

.oOo.

On Samhain, Harry skipped the feast and went for a walk through the forest instead. Dad said it was the day where it was easiest to reach the dead, and Harry'd always wanted to meet his mum and his other dad. He knew the thestrals lived there, they could find any address, just like owls.

"Can you take me to heaven?" Harry asked the same lovely mare from September, offering her a hen he'd found behind the groundskeeper's hut.

She blinked at him and flapped her wings twice. Harry climbed onto her back as she crunched on the chicken's bones. He spent all night there, waiting for the moment when the barrier would be lowest so that they could go, but she just ambled through the forest, breath steaming in the cold air.

.oOo.

I love when I post something and you get all excited. It makes me get all excited, and then I spend my days writing instead of getting my work done (so worth it). Thank you for reading. Happy day 11/post 12 of 33ish posts this December.

Chapter Text

"When did you get here?" Harry asked, staring at the human-shaped Crowley sitting on his defense Professor's desk.

"Mister Potter, if you had been punctual then you'd already know."

He grinned and hurried to his place between Hermione and Sally-Anne.

"As I was saying, due to an unfortunate accident involving a mountain troll I'll be covering Professor Quirrell's lessons for the foreseeable future," she pushed her sunglasses up her nose and wrote on the chalkboard in big letters. "You may call me Professor Crowley."

After class when it was just two of them, Harry hugged her tight. "Madam Hooch has yellow eyes too," he told her. "She told me I'll be a great seeker."

"Ah, and here your father was pushing you towards being a conqueror. That'll show him." Crowley stepped back and smiled at Harry. "You're doing alright, then? Are you taller?"

"I haven't grown that much yet. But school's alright, I even made a friend!"

"That's great, Harry." Crowley patted him on the shoulder and pushed him towards the door. "I have to teach, we'll talk later."

Harry got detention for being late to his next class. He hurried to his seat next to Sally-Anne, grinning all the while.

.oOo.

"Professor Quirrell's soul didn't work right," Harry said, swinging his legs. It was fun, sitting in a classroom after all the day's classes were over.

"You're supposed to sit at the table, not on it," Crowley said. She had her feet on her desk, which Harry knew from Aziraphale wasn't allowed either.

"Is it true he had an accident with a mountain troll?"

Crowley grimaced. "There was a bit of an uproar when you went missing on Samhain. The headmaster contacted me, when I arrived Quirrell was trapped in a bathroom on the second floor with a very angry chap named Ghlufr. While I tried to talk him into letting Quirrell go, the rest of the staff stunned him." Crowley shrugged at Harry's wince. "Dumbledore thought I'd make a better Defense teacher than the one that just got half-crushed by a fainted troll, and I wanted to check on you anyway. You haven't sent any letters."

"I was supposed to send letters?" Harry asked.

Crowley rolled her eyes and transformed back into a snake. "It's getting late, let's get you to your dorm. You can tell me about Quirrell's soul another time."

.oOo.

Dad was really happy when Harry came back home for Christmas. He didn't have a face, but Harry could tell by the way his grin was extra toothy. "You've grown!" he said, spinning Harry around the throne room. "Crowley tells me you can see the souls of the damned now. Come, we must feast! I've made your favourite."

Crowley wore a silly red hat, Dad wore a headband with antlers. Together they sat around the kitchen table eating bland stew with stale bread. Harry picked out his beans first and explained how his Potions and Defense professors had magic that didn't belong to them latched onto their souls.

"Snape's is more like a limpet, Quirrell's is more like a leech," Harry said happily. Dad loved when he used macabre imagery.

"Professor Snape," Crowley corrected. Death was smiling.

.oOo.

Crowley showed Harry all the best parts of the school. Harry climbed through pipes and behind tapestries and through trap doors. It was a great adventure, though he wished he could bring Sally-Anne along.

"This is a different kind of adventure," Crowley said, showing a secret passage that led from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. "Sally-Anne's parents didn't train her in situational awareness. She won't understand the necessity of knowing all the exits and loopholes. We should talk to the elves about teaching you to apparate through the wards, too."

Harry tickled the Willow's trunk, smiling at the way its branches were writhing like a playful kitten. His other dad used to come here too, Aziraphale had said, and it made Harry feel like he could reach through time and touch his other dad's hand, too.

One Sunday after breakfast, Crowley took Harry climbing through the sewers to a throne room filled with crunching animal bones and crumbling statues. There was a very confused-looking rabbit sitting in a corner, it hopped away when Harry and Crowley started hissing.

"There's a snake here that's gone mad, Harry. I need you to put it out of its misery."

Harry raised the wand Death had given him. "What do I do?"

"Close your eyes," Crowley said, rearing up in front of the biggest statue of them all. "Salazar Slytherin," she hissed. The sculpture's mouth ground open.

Harry heard a very, very big snake come closer. "Ssss," it said. "Sshssa!"

"Stop," said Crowley. "I command you to shut your eyelids."

The big snake stopped moving.

"You can look now, Harry." Crowley sounded sad.

Harry blinked. It was a basilisk. Her body was wider than Harry, but he could have counted her ribs. The scales looked milky and were peeling off in places, like when Harry scabbed his knees.

Worse than that, though, was her soul. There were chunks of it missing, as if someone had tried to carve her into something she wasn't. "Oh," Harry said. It felt like there was a constrictor wrapped around his chest. He blinked again, letting his tears fall.

"Point your wand and wish for her to not be hurting anymore," Crowley said.

Harry closed his eyes against the green light that flashed through the room. He listened to the basilisk's body falling to the ground.

He felt Crowley's hand on his shoulders. "You did well. Come on, let's get you back up to the kitchens for some cocoa."

As they walked towards the door, Harry found the rabbit cowering in the hall. He picked it up, feeling its heart beating thudthudthud against his body.

Once he'd had his hot chocolate and gotten a carrot for the rabbit, he asked Crowley to show him the way to Gryffindor tower.

Ron looked very confused when Harry handed it over, but he said thank you before he hurried back through the portrait with his new pet.

"Aziraphale would be so proud," Crowley said. Harry headed to bed feeling happy.

.oOo.

"Why didn't you get me a rabbit?" Sally-Anne asked him at breakfast.

Harry passed her a bowl of porridge and shrugged. "I'm the reason his not-rat ran away. Besides, you already have a kneazle."

"Yeah, Cedric said she'll be having kittens soon. Maybe you can have one."

Hell was full of all kinds of cats, Harry didn't see why his sheets topside should be covered in their hair too. "I'd rather just visit other people's pets. Did I show you the cerberus on the third floor?"

"Harry, you shouldn't tell stories like that," a prefect said, Harry kept forgetting his name. "Professor Crowley can't turn into a snake, there were never any werewolves at Hogwarts, and there certainly isn't a cerberus in the school."

"I'm going to visit it after class today," Harry whispered, but Sally-Anne just rolled her eyes.

"I'll be in the library finishing my charms essay. You should spend more time doing your assignments, you know. We're the house of the hard working."

Harry knew he hadn't become a Hufflepuff for that. Aziraphale had always been telling him his work ethic had room for improvement. But he'd read in Hogwarts, A History that Helga Hufflupuff had been a great finder, and Harry figured that if he just kept searching, maybe he'd figure things out eventually.

.oOo.

Most of the school was worried about exams. Harry didn't really get why some words on parchment were so important. He did alright in his Transfiguration and Charms exams, and got extra points for doing his spells wordlessly. Harry's pineapple's dance wasn't very rhythmical, but that was because there wasn't any music.

For Potions, Harry ignored Professor Snape like he'd been doing all year already. His Forgetfulness Potion wasn't the same shade of orange as Hermione's was, but Crowley had told him not to compare himself to Hermione whenever possible.

One of the elves gave Harry an exam on apparating through wards, even though Harry didn't think he was ready. She had to reattach his eyebrow afterwards, but Mimsy was very nice about it. She even gave Harry a great big bucket of offal to take up to Fluffy on the third floor.

Harry was just rubbing the middle head's ears when the wooden door opened. The person was invisible, but Harry recognized the broken soul.

"You're the one my dad warned me about," he said, stepping away from the cerberus' bared teeth.

The invisible person shimmered into existence. He looked a bit like Quirrell, if Quirrell had been made of wax and put next to a fireplace. Half his soul was dead. The other half was like cracked ice, but without any ducks.

"And what did your father tell you to do in this situation?" Not-Quirrell said, grinning as he brandished his wand.

Death had talked a lot about conquering the souls of the damned, but Harry wasn't really sure what that looked like. He lifted his wand and wished very hard to make his dad proud. In his fingers, the elder wand let out a shower of green sparks. "I suppose this is one of those learning by doing things," Harry said to Fluffy, nudging his ex-professor's body with his shoe.

He pulled out his ring and wished for his dad to come and help him.

"Well done, little master," said Death.

Harry smiled and introduced him to Fluffy. "Just like the one we have in hell," he said.

"That soul isn't fully conquered yet," dad said, waving his scythe in the air. "Can you see it?"

There were little strands like spider silk stuck to the bit of not-Quirrell's magic that was still drifting around the room.

"Crowley will help you," Death said, ruffling his fingers through Harry's hair. "Well done, little master. I've been awaiting this one for ten years."

.oOo.

They followed the first threads to a hidden room in the school. Crowley sat on Harry's shoulders as he pointed his wand and wished for some old-fashioned conquering. The next day they went on a field trip to a charming cottage with a dead snake nailed to the front. Harry apparated them into a Gringotts vault without splinching, then he had a scuffle with a slightly mad house-elf over a bit of soul that was trapped in a locket.

He returned to school only to get into a whole bunch of trouble over skipping his History exam, even though the treasure hunt for the bad man's soul was much more interesting.

"Exams are important for your future," Sally-Anne huffed. She wasn't even a professor, there really wasn't a reason for her to be upset.

"My dad says I'm supposed to grow up to be a conqueror," Harry told her. "I don't think my History grade really matters for that."

Sally-Anne went to bed without telling him good night. Harry couldn't fall asleep for a long time, too busy trying to make his mind stop thinking.

The next morning, when his classmates went to their Herbology practical, Harry gave Sally-Anne a good luck hug and a sad smile. Then he and Crowley followed the next thread off to a house in Little Hangleton. Harry used his magic to separate the person who had been pretending to be Ron's rat from the last shard of the broken man's soul and realized that he wasn't going back to Hogwarts.

I'm an infinite soul having a human experience, Harry reminded himself. He packed his cloak, his dad's ring, his other dad's snitch, and his mother's willow wand. Then, he headed west.

Day 22, bonus update! Thank you my people. I am so fond of you all. Happy Thursday.

Chapter Text

Castelobruxo was shaped like a pyramid, and all of its rooms were glowing with light.

"The Lethifolds can only exist in the shadows," Padre Silva said, showing Harry to his shared dorm. "You'll get used to sleeping without darkness."

It reminded Harry of the constant red glow of hell, but he didn't think Padre Silva would want to know about that.

"You're very young to be doing the exchange," the man said, looking Harry right in the eyes. "We didn't receive papers from Hogwarts. Is everything with you alright, child?"

"I came here because I'm looking for something," Harry said, shrugging. 

"Hmm," Padre Silva answered. "I hope you'll be finding it. I will remember you."

.oOo.

It was easier making friends this time. They didn't speak that much English, while Crowley was still teaching Harry Portuguese. 

Along with all the first-years, Harry got a mandrake leaf to keep under his tongue. They didn't need to talk for Luca to show Harry broom-racing. Sophia mimed out which plants in the rainforest Harry definitely shouldn't touch. At the end of the month, he was almost sorry to have to go back to inefficient words again.

They all sat in a circle when the thunderstorm came, cups of potion in hand. "I will remember you," they said, and drank. 

.oOo.

Harry was flying. He always thought it was the best part of Castelobruxo: being able to race through the treetops. Harry was still more intimidated by the green than the darkness. If Crowley was with him, she'd never let him get eaten by a Lethifold.

Harry was flying. He could feel the air rushing under his wings. He tilted his head, peering at the ground below. With absolute certainty, Harry knew where he was and where he was going.

When Harry opened his eyes he was sitting in a circle with ten friends. Just like in every room of the pyramid, they were surrounded by a pervasive white glow. Harry listened to the chatter, watched Sophia's big gestures, saw a friend giggle and stomp about.

"What are you being, Harry?" Padre Silva asked. He passed over a cup of water.

"I was flying," Harry said, wiping his tears when he noticed them. "It was incredible."

"Ah, it must not be incredible. If you want, you can learn to believe. I will remember you, Harry," the man said, moving over to the next student.

.oOo.

There were hundreds of metres between Harry and the treetops below. Crowley was wrapped very tightly around his chest, her head just poking out of his collar.

"I'm not sure where we are," Harry said, turning his broom into the wind as it buffeted him. 

"I thought you were a Hufflepuff," Crowley hissed. "Why don't you work us into a better situation."

Harry had meant to go looking for the Lethifolds, even though they were invisible. They had their breeding ground somewhere in this forest, Padre Silva had said. That was why every child that came to school first learned an animagus form, and then learnt to cast a Patronus. The ones that didn't learn were lost to everything but memory.

Harry's Patronus was wrapped around the front of his broom, hissing whenever they veered too close to the treetops. It had been fun for the first few hours, but now it was tiring. Harry felt his grip on his broom loosen. He looked down, it was a good distance to fall from. He'd probably have time to really enjoy the feeling of freedom before his body went splat on the ground.

There was a sharp pain in Harry's shoulder. He jerked his eyes open, correcting the broom's course. "You bit me," Harry said, rubbing the wound. 

"Your Patronus went out," Crowley said, nuzzling her face against Harry's. "I think this is the place. You found it."

There was a lump in Harry's throat. His Patronus had never abandoned him before, he hadn't realised how dangerous this expedition would be. Harry wrapped the cloak his dad had gifted him more tightly around himself—it made him feel a bit better.

"I want to go home," he said, turning the broom around. "I'll remember this place, though."

.oOo.

"That was very brave and very stupid, meu querido," Padre Silva said, rubbing Harry's arms. "There are so many of us whom we lose, you must not go losing yourself."

"I wasn't getting anywhere with my meditations," Harry said, trying not to sound like a child. "I wanted to do something useful."

"Making yourself be dead isn't useful. Go back to your room and recall why you did come here. You were seeking something in September. I have learned it wasn't God, and I know it wasn't Death."

Later, Harry sat on his bunk and thought of the feeling of flying, of being exactly where he was and where he wanted to be.

"You're turning invisible!" Luce said, bouncing next to him. "Your form is something invisible! Maybe you're a Demiguise."

They'd celebrated Festa de São Miguel and Dia de St. Lucia, but Castelobruxo didn't observe Samhain. Harry remembered how he'd tried to fly to heaven. It seemed so silly now. "I'm a Thestral," he said, hugging his friend. "You just can't see me yet."

.oOo.

That Christmas, Harry went home but Death wasn't there. "He's dealing with a crisis," Charon said. "Lots of influx. Much to do. We'll talk later, little master."

Crowley took them to the house in Godric's Hollow instead, where Aziraphale joined in for a meal of stew and stale bread. Harry visited his parents' graves and listened to all the latest stories, but he couldn't help thinking that it didn't feel like home anymore. 

Returning to Castelobruxo was easier, what with its pressing light and glowing heat. He listened to Padre Silva's sermon on heaven and hell, wondering what gave a place feeling .

Padre Silva said heaven was beautiful and hell was torture, but most people Harry had met in hell were there because they'd chosen to be, whereas the people he'd heard stories from in heaven mostly wished they could be somewhere else.

'Your mum sends her love. She says she'd give anything to be there for your birthday,' Aziraphale told him every year. 

Padre Silva taught Harry the story of Jesus being resurrected from the dead, and he taught Harry how to turn into a little colt Thestral. He couldn't properly run or fly yet, though not for a lack of trying.

Harry taught Padre Silva that hell was just like Castelobruxo but with less leaves and redder lighting. People only went there when they chose that was where they belonged, just like the people at the school had all chosen to attend.

"You are wise," Padre Silva said, holding Harry's hands in his own big ones. "Yet you belong to somewhere else Harry, hmm? I can hear how the winds are calling."

"I'll remember you," Harry promised. Then he packed his bag and headed west.

.oOo.

The air shimmered with the sheer number of their invisible bodies. Harry shuddered, holding tight to his broom. Crowley was wrapped twice around him, real and Patronus, so tight that it was hard to breathe. Death's cloak was cool against his skin.

Harry couldn't see the Lethifolds, but he could see the air shaking. It looked like a portal, like a hole in the universe. 

He thought of ducks, snitches, and feathers floating. Patronus-Crowley glowed brighter.

They ate thousands of people a year, Harry knew. He couldn't see the Lethifolds, but he could see the broken souls being slowly digested. Harry turned to the side and vomited; it took a minute to hit the ground.

"This is wrong," Harry whispered. He'd grown up hearing about souls of the damned, of twisted abominations, of creatures born corrupted. "These, these are the monsters dad told me about."

" 'You'll find worse in heaven than in hell,' ' Crowley quoted. "And the very worst stay topside, I suppose. Your dad can't touch what was never living to begin with."

"That's why he needs me," Harry realised, lifting one hand from his broom to raise his wand. He looked down without feeling dizzy. Most humans did magic by waving their wands and saying silly words, but Harry had learned there were stronger magics that he could cast by wishing real hard. "You're not supposed to be here," Harry said, pointing his wand at the shimmering air, "And I'm supposed to conquer you."

Harry remembered the comic books he'd used to read under his covers at night. Teenagers dressed in costumes who fought for everything that was good and right in the world. He thought of Padre Silva, who worried every day that one of his students wouldn't come home. Harry wondered how many of the broken, half-digested balls of light had been children.

This time, Harry watched the magic as he cast. The light wasn't green like the trees, it was green like his eyes, expanding from his wand like a shockwave. The air stopped shimmering. The souls vanished, choosing their own ways up to heaven or down to hell.

"Well done, son," Harry heard his dad's voice say. He tucked away his wand and rubbed at the ring on his finger, not sure if he'd imagined it or not.

"Dad always said I'd make a fine conqueror one day," Harry said aloud.

"He wasn't wrong," Crowley hissed. "You did marvellously. You'll have to come back next breeding season, but if you keep at it they'll go extinct soon enough."

It was strange how tired Harry felt. He let his Patronus go out to save his energy. Then he pointed his broom towards the setting sun and carried on.

.oOo.

Day 28 of an update every day this month. Remember to join my Discord server so we can exchange pictures of sweaters. Also, early access to updates in the future.

This chapter was inspired by BlueMaple's works, specifically Solace. See her amazing series here. 

Chapter Text

Harry arrived in Japan just in time to see the cherry blossoms give way to budding green. The professors at Mahoutokoro were very impressed by Harry's Animagus form, but very disappointed that he didn't know any runes. 

Crowley made Aziraphale take over tutoring Harry in the local language and alphabet. It was hard work—most of the letters just sounded the same—but the angel was patient as an angel, and Harry's professors didn't mind him learning at his own pace.

Runic magic boiled down to writing out the thing you were wishing for really hard. It was intuitive and appealing once Harry got around the bit where letters were made up of pictures, or was it the pictures that were made up of letters? Harry wrote that he wished his dad would remember his birthday, but it still surprised him when a crow came to deliver a note.

Happy Thirteenth Birthday, Harry. Phobos has been eager to spread her wings. Her species is sworn to serve me, and by extension you. Use her well.

Phobos's eyes had a sharp glint. Harry smiled, holding out a tentative finger, then smiled even wider when he didn't get bitten. "Do you think you can fly to England, pretty girl?" When she bowed, he got out some parchment and started writing letters.

.oOo.

The time in Mahoutokoro flew by with all the deliveries Phobos was making. Sally-Anne said she'd transferred just like he had, and that Beauxbatons was much grander than Hogwarts. Hermione wrote that she'd joined Sally-Anne in September, explaining that she liked how there wasn't a house competition keeping people apart.

Zacharias sent a very confused thank you note, plus a bar of Honeydukes. The Hufflepuff prefect signed his reply Cedric so that Harry would finally remember his name. Professor Sprout wrote that they had all been a bit worried, and that she was happy his schooling was going well.

Phobos wasn't very good at talking yet, but she very effectively showed Harry her displeasure at having to deliver a letter to the Whomping Willow. Through her thoughts, Harry watched the memory of the tree taking his letter without giving a response, which was a bit disappointing but not unexpected.

Ron's reply didn't arrive until Christmas when Harry was back with Crowley and Dad in the kitchen in hell, humming carols and eating stale bread.

'It's a good thing you left when you did. Things went barmy for a while, Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban and came knocking this summer. Dad had to call the Aurors in.'

"Sirius Black was in Azkaban?" Harry asked Crowley.

"I think he's still there, actually. He'd have to be mad after years with the Dementors. Horrible creatures, they are, though they don't steal souls very often anymore."

"Dementors are real? I thought they were like the bogeyman. You said," Harry turned on Death, "you said they were born from the abyss, but that it was a metaphor!"

"The Bogeyman is real," Death said slowly. He tilted his bowl to drink the dregs, dribbling some down his mandible. "He lives in sub-Saharan Africa and eats small children."'

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. "Do you think I should vanquish them, dad?"

"Young Master, you have all the time in the world," Death dabbed his non-face with a napkin. "You will conquer everything within infinity."

Harry rolled his eyes, setting down his spoon. "That's not specific or helpful. I can't picture infinity ." He turned to Crowley instead. "Where do the Dementors live, then?"

.oOo.

The wards were locked tight against house elf apparation, but they were wide open to Animagi. Harry wasn't the most elegant Thestral colt to fly across that bit of the Atlantic, but it didn't matter so long as he was getting things done .

Aziraphale would have been appalled at Harry's rugged clothes, but Padre Silva had taught Harry all about sensible footwear. He followed the slippery roughhewn tunnels down to the centre of the prison, very pleased with his grippy rubber soles. 

The creatures ignored him completely until he took off his cloak. Then they startled, like Luca always would when caught eating Harry's snacks. Compared to the Lethifold breeding ground, the Dementors' pit gloominess was barely noticeable. Harry decided not to cast his Patronus, just to be polite.

" You are his chosen ," one of the Dementors breathed. His voice sounded like waves churning a gravel beach.

"Hello," Harry said, smiling a little. "Do you have a name?"

" We are suffering, misery, loss, death."

"Well, I know for a fact you're not Death," Harry answered. "Can I call you Steve?"

It shrugged. Next to Steve, the other Dementors took a collective step back. 

" You do not belong in this prison ," Steve said.

"I'm just visiting." Harry frowned. "You shouldn't tell people where they do and don't belong, we have to decide that for ourselves."

" You are not people. " 

Steve had a point. Harry thought for a moment. He knew the Dementors sucked the joy out of you, that they could eat your soul. He'd been scared of them when he'd been little, but Steve didn't terrify him in the midday sun lighting the damp pit. It was almost sad, knowing what would have to come next.

Harry wet his lips. "Why are you here?"

" We are. We were. We remain. "

" There was a sorcerer once ," said a different Dementor. Her cloak was much more ragged than the others. Harry hadn't known there were female Dementors until he heard her voice. It reminded him of when Sophia had tried to play Padre Silva's cello on a dare.

" The sorcerer wanted to live forever. He found a way, but it required great sacrifice. "

The darkness under Steve's cloak paled. " Mother ," he said. 

The other Dementors echoed it. " Mother." 

"Mother, Mother ." 

" It was a long time ago ," her voice sang through the pit. " Forsooth, it is time we moved on. That is why he sent you, no? Death's chosen servant. "

Harry swallowed. "He calls me his master, actually." Then he extended his arm through the side of his cloak, lifting his wand. "Also, I sent myself."

" Teach me what it means to be free ," said the mother Dementor, approaching Harry with arms wide open. " Your soul is exquisite. I would eat it, but I am sure you would cause me indigestion. "

Harry knew a lot about freedom. "You can choose where you end up," he said slowly, formulating his wish. "It's best not to have regrets, I've been told, if you want to go up rather than down."

" I regret what my child did, " she said, but her voice was smiling like a caterwaul. " I regret him turning me into this, but I do not regret the knife I put in his throat ."

The green light spread slowly, from one Dementor to the next. Mother and Steve were the first to vanish into nothing. The sound of a groaning cello faded. The rushing of waves over gravel stopped.

Harry hadn't realised how sad, tired, blunt—how dull everything had become until the pressure lessened. He took a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling the salt and the mould. He walked back to the shore with his legs trembling, not quite sure what had happened.

Transforming into his Thestral form made it easier. He flapped his way back to the mainland thinking only about simple things like where he was and where he wanted to go.

After the winter break, Harry decided to move on. Mahoutokoro wasn't particularly sad to see him leave; they'd probably written him off as a slow learner anyway. He made his way west to Uagadou by plane instead of the offered portkey—with Aziraphale in the window seat praising his good sense.

.oOo.

Harry liked the way life and death were in balance around the mountain. The lions ate the antelopes. The vultures picked the bones. The hyenas hunted in packs, whooping and laughing in delight.

He could stand as a Thestral in the middle of the massive herd of zebras, and all of them knew he was there. In the Oubangui plains around the mountain of Uagadou, the living understood the meaning of death. 

The school was famous for teaching duelling. Harry tried to learn, but his wish magic was too slow for the kind of fighting they wanted him to do. 

"You'll never get far like that, child," his tutor Sylvaint said. "Flick, swish. Stab. Nonverbal is very good, but you must know what you are casting before the magic leaves your will."

Sylvaint demonstrated. It looked very impressive. Harry hauled himself back to his feet and got into his duelling stance again, ignoring Phobos' cawing laughter.

.oOo.

"I talked to Sirius," Aziraphale said. 

Harry blinked up at him, admiring the way the sunset formed a halo around the angel's head.

"He's surprisingly lucid. Your parents helped me gather some evidence to get him a new trial. It's just a year in Azkaban for every muggle he killed, and a pardon for the escape. Apparently attempting to leave that ugly rock is a normal human instinct rather than a crime."

"I didn't know wizards could think so sensibly," Harry said, sitting up and patting the ground next to him. "Do you reckon I could talk to him? You did say he knew my parents."

Staining his white trousers with the orange dirt, Aziraphale sat beside Harry and sighed. "Don't get your hopes up, please. He's a good man, if a bit insane. I think Crowley would like him; he has a very morbid sense of humour. However, Azkaban requires a good amount of time to recover from. He'll always be a bit odd, you understand."

Harry didn't have the energy for hope, anyway. Sylvaint had been teaching him all the different ways he could dodge, and he was a very effective tutor. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the mosquitos started droning in chorus with the noisy crickets. 

"I'm pants at duelling," he finally admitted. It was a bit embarrassing that even the eleven-year-olds in Uagadou outclassed him. 

Aziraphale ruffled his hand through Harry's hair. It felt warm and left Harry tingling, like when Luca had pressed a kiss against his cheek. "There's no shame in that, Harry."

People kept telling him that. It made Harry think that he was right to feel like such a failure. The next time someone told him he was full of potential, if only you try a little harder he was going to—

—well, Harry hadn't gotten that far in his thinking yet. He was Master of Death, if he'd learned one thing in hell it was the art of keeping a level head.

"I want to be better at duelling, but I don't want to keep doing something I suck at." Harry knew he sounded like a whining teenager. He'd read about the biology of puberty in the books Crowley had given him, but it all seemed so abstract until he was busy feeling rage-disappointment-anxiety-emptiness-arousal-ennui, all in the space of a minute.

"There are other schools you could try. Maybe the teaching here isn't the right fit for you. Durmstrang's focus is more on the Dark Arts, that might suit better."

Sometimes, Harry hated Aziraphale for being so sensible. He leaned back, letting himself fall onto the dirt. The cloud of dust made him cough. Harry slapped the mosquito biting his knee.

"I hate this," he said.

Aziraphale looked at him with wide eyes. "Err," he said. "Do you want me to go find Crowley?"

Harry smiled and jumped up, dragging Aziraphale along with him. "He's probably talking to Elder Tapiwa. C'mon, he'll be happy you stopped by."

.oOo.

Usually they'd have astronomy lessons after dark. The dry heat would give way to galaxies opening up above them, and they'd lie on their backs while the elders told stories of future and past that were woven through the stars. 

Harry had decided to leave on the summer solstice. He'd already packed his bags, but he wanted to stay for the celebration.

The sound of drums made his heart pick up. The feeling of a magic as old as red light and burning ash thrummed through him. They were celebrating Life in a way that told Harry he couldn't belong, no matter how he tried.

He ended up sitting in an out of the way tent with Elder Tapiwa, scowling that Crowley and Aziraphale had abandoned him.

"Your anger is not your own, child."

Harry scowled harder. He was almost fourteen, not some boy , and he'd already done a lot of conquering. "I'm going to go hunt your Bogeyman, the Bulgu," he said. 

Elder Tapiwa blinked twice. "Why?"

"Because—" Harry hadn't really thought about it. The Lethifolds had been evil. The Dementors had been wrong. The Bogeyman had seemed like the natural extension of a mental list. "Well, because I don't want you to have to be afraid of him." 

"A noble cause, Mzungu."

Harry hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath. He slumped on his overstuffed pillow, eyes still trained on his classmates jumping between the bonfires.

"And if you vanquish the ogre Bulgu, what happens next?"

"Nobody will go around eating children. He'll go up, or down. Either way, he'll move from the living realm to the dead one." Harry might not understand duelling, but he did know Death.

"And then?"

"I'll go west? Or north." Aziraphale had suggested Durmstrang, and Harry wanted to see green trees, white snow, grey mountains, blue seas. So long as the dust wasn't red, he'd like it.

Elder Tapiwa tsked. "If you vanquish the Bulgu, whom will we warn our children that they must be wary of? We are few, every year we grow fewer. Sixteen children this year, when I was a youth we were a hundred strong. From Senegal to Niger, from Nile to Zambezi to Limpopo, and from Sahara to the Kalahari. 

"It is not your place to take away our Bogeyman, boy. He gives us our common foe. The people will turn on each other; we will destroy ourselves. It is better Bulgu eats a few children, than that we gobble up ourselves." Harry watched as Elder Tapiwa smiled, with sorrow heavy in her eyes. "The good of the many must stand over the good of the few. You know how Death is always hungry, child."

Harry turned his gaze back to the whooping, thudding, vibrance beyond the tent. He could feel the drums beat staccato in his chest. 

If there were things in this world that weren't meant to be conquered, what did that make him? Dad always said that Harry had his own part in the circle—in the ouroboros—but growing up had taught Harry that sometimes, Death was wrong.

It felt like his world was turned upside down. Maybe he should have gone to Australia instead.

...

Once he got to Durmstrang, Harry started getting letters. They were long, drawn out things full of smudges and crossed-out lines. At the bottom his godfather always signed Yours Truly, Sirius Black . Harry wasn't sure how to write a letter untruly . He also didn't know what to write back, but he didn't want to leave Sirius hanging. The silence between them stretched until it was awkward. Then Harry wished real hard for an owl ward and the letters stopped.

Making new friends was difficult. The students didn't feel the same as his first friends, the ones that Phobos still visited for him. She was strong enough to fly to Brazil. When she sat on his shoulder he could see her mind, and it made even Durmstrang's dull hallways seem beautiful. Sitting with her during meals was enough for him.

"You are postoronniy , a stranger," one of the older students told Harry during dinner, a Quidditch player called Krum. "They will study you so long as you are interesting, but always you will be the stranger."

"I'm here to learn the Dark Arts," Harry told him, watching as the older teen ordered himself Borscht from the serving elf. "I have other friends, just not here. I'm not lonely."

Aziraphale worried that Harry was lonely sometimes. So did Sirius, who seemed very insistent that Harry should go back to Hogwarts where he'd be surrounded by friends.

Krum just laughed. "You are interesting, Harry Potter. Tomorrow, you might sit with me. My friends will be your friends. I would like to learn about the world apart from here. The headmaster says you know many magics."

Harry hadn't been lonely, but he didn't want Aziraphale to worry. "What will you give me in return?" he asked, because he didn't want Krum to think him naïve. 

"What would you want, Harry Potter?"

He thought for a bit, finishing his dinner and waiting for Krum to finish, too. He thought of his dad back in Hell being busy doing all the reaping. He thought of Aziraphale and Crowley, who always had time for him but had lives of their own to worry about. He thought of his friends' letters. He thought of Luca's kiss. "I'll tell you about magic and conquering. You can tell me what it's like having one mum and one dad, do they both go to work like Hermione's? Did they read you bedtime stories? When you celebrate Christmas, is there a specific ritual you do?"

When he was finished, Krum's lips weren't smiling, but his eyes were twinkling. "I will teach you family, yes. We have an agreement."

As they shook hands, Harry felt a spark of magic. He wondered if Krum wasn't taking this a bit more seriously than Harry had meant it. Then he shrugged and left for study hall.

.oOo.

I usually try to avoid long Author's Notes but can't leave this unaddressed. Part 1 is about racism, part 2 explains Sirius Black's fate.

1: Working within Rowling's sandbox here is super problematic. Continental Africa obviously has many, many cultures. I've used the bits I'm personally most familiar with (Caveat: my last visits were over a decade ago).

Geography: Central African Republic, the mountain being hidden by magic.
Given names: Zimbabwe and Democratic Republic of Congo.
Bogeyman: Ethiopia's mythological child-eating ogre, Bulgu.

Blending canon with IRL history, I imagine the imperial colonialisation would murdered a lot of the local magicals, especially children. We're left with a diverse population, and working with the racist canon assumption that there's only one main magical school, I suspect a massive melting pot of traditions that you tend to get in international schools.

I am aware of the irony of protesting Uagadou but not Castelobruxo. I'm understanding Castelobruxo as a fortress necessitated by Lethifolds decimating the local population.

Thank you Ace of Braids and ex-livreira for sensitivity-reading for me.

2: What happened to Sirius (this isn't intended to play a big part in the story, so this is to pre-empt questions in the comments):
Sirius was in Azkaban. He broke out when he saw the article about Arthur Weasley doing a raid on a house in Little Hangleton that was leaking dark magic from various artefacts. They found a dead shrivelled corpse missing a finger wearing a look of terror on his face. Investigations were ongoing.

Sirius broke out and went to Arthur, trying to find out what happened. He was half crazed mad, nobody can make heads or tails of him. They arrested him and stuck him back in Azkaban. After Harry kills the Dementors, Aziraphale goes to check on him and says that he's recovering well. He uses some healing magic. Crowley, to spread chaos, gets some people looking into Sirius' conviction. Sirius got released and the prison received a bit of an overhaul. 

Aziraphale never looked into Sirius before because everyone assumed that he was imprisoned for killing 12 muggles and Peter. Lily and James are in heaven, not omniscient, they had no idea Peter was alive. Harry just doesn't really relate to or care about the man.

Chapter Text

Viktor invited Harry to see him play every game leading up to the World Cup finals. Harry wouldn't have minded buying his own tickets, but it felt special to be invited by a friend. For the Ireland-Bulgaria game, he shared a small private box with Mister and Doctor Krum, and Sirius Black.

Harry's Godfather was a bit like a thistle stuck to his shoe. No matter how hard Harry tried to shake off his well-meaning advice and inappropriate attempts at parenting, he was right back in Harry's private box talking about how Harry had his dad's face and his mum's eyes.

"I have a dad who raised me," Harry told him firmly once the game was over and the box was empty. "I know you loved my parents, and I love them too, but I'm not interested in reliving the past with you." He'd had Aziraphale ferry a fair number of letters to and from heaven. Harry didn't want to hear Sirius' laments about being stuck out of time. "Tell me your happy memories with them, not some boring comparisons."

The rest of the stands were almost empty by the time Sirius found his voice. "I don't have any memories," he said quietly. "The Dementors took them."

Harry looked at the man who was sitting with his hands in his lap like a schoolboy. "Then what good are you?" he asked. Then he winced—Padre Silva was very, very far away—Harry could nonetheless picture what he'd say. 

Crowley was always insisting that Harry didn't need to take on problems that weren't his own, but Sirius had been his parents' friend. They'd want Harry to help him, probably. 

"Maybe you should go to Brazil," he offered. "They know all about remembering there."

.oOo.

It didn't take Harry long for him to realise that he didn't belong at Durmstrang, either. The school had helped him figure out wand-magics, which was great. When wielding Death's wand, it was easy to cast the Dark Arts, though they never made him feel giddy or sick like his classmates did after those lessons. Unfortunately the school was too fixated on violence and destruction, which Harry wasn't interested in at all.

When they announced the Triwizard Tournament, Harry was relieved. He signed up to join as the only fourteen-year-old and was pleased Viktor immediately offered to bunk together.

After almost three years of searching for his place, Harry returned to Hogwarts hoping that it'd feel like coming home. 

Just as they had the first time, students pointed, whispered, and gossiped. Harry could feel the professors looking at him the way Phobos looked at beetles. If he'd been smaller Harry would have worried about them wanting to eat him, but he'd grown up some. 

Harry brushed aside the staring and brought Viktor over to sit at the Hufflepuff table, where they were welcomed with open arms.

Maybe Harry had outgrown Hogwarts, but that didn't mean she'd outgrown him. He moved from one class to the next catching up with old friends and making new ones. When Viktor and Cedric got picked to compete, he cheered along with the rest.

Above the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, the stars twinkled down at him with the promise that they'd help Harry find what he was looking for.

.oOo.

A Ravenclaw came up to Harry over breakfast the next day wielding her magazine like Padre Silva had carried his Bible. 

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she said, sticking out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter. My father has told me all about you."

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Draco was adding sugar to his porridge. "It's nice to meet you too. Have I met your father?"

"My daddy's a Seeker," she said, then sat down and helped herself to Harry's toast. "And you're the one who's Found."

"Ah," Harry said, shrugging a little. "Victor's a seeker too, maybe your dad knows about him?"

Victor looked up from his coffee. "Hm?"

"Not a seeker, a Seeker ." Luna's eyes were the colour of a frozen lake just before spring. "Daddy's seeking The Hallows, silly. He tracked down the Nargles who had the wand, and he found the Heliopath who had the stone, but he never knew to whom the Plimpies had left the cloak."

Harry swallowed, pushing aside his breakfast. Why hadn't Dad told him? He'd thought they were gifts, not some kind of magical trinity. Harry's ears were ringing. All this time he'd thought himself just another wand-wielding wizard, but he didn't belong with the rest of them at all.

”—arry? Which cloud has your head flown away to again?"

He blinked at his friend. "Sorry Victor, sorry Luna," Harry said. "What did I miss?"

Luna's cheeks were a little pinker than before. "The lady," Victor said with a flourish, "has asked for your accompaniment for the Yule Ball."

"There's a ball?" 

Of course there was a ball. Hermione had written about how she'd be visiting, too. 

"Luna, I'd love to, but can I answer that later? I need to figure something out."

She looked a bit lost as she walked off with Harry's second piece of toast dripping jam through her fingers. 

"I need to figure out whom Hermione is going with," Harry explained to his friend.

"I will invite Hermio-ninny," Viktor said. "You must tell Luna yes, the lady is as mad as you."

"Hey!" Harry shoved him. "If anything, she's just as sane as I am."

.oOo.

During the first task, Harry sat with Luna in the stands, squeezing her hand very hard as he watched his friends steal golden eggs from dragons . Harry had never felt fire that hot, and he'd grown up in hell.

… 

On the last day before Yule, Harry was summoned to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. He sent Phobos to fetch Crowley so that they could go together, because Death had made him promise.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," Dumbledore greeted, eyes twinkling. Seeing he wasn't alone, the headmaster startled. "Ah, Mister Crowley. Do take a seat."

The rest of it went as expected. Dumbledore had been worried—Harry wasn't interested. He let Crowley handle the boring bits and let his eyes roam the room, looking at all the shiny trinkets. 

Harry got up and looked closer at a locket that had the same markings on it as the ring on Harry's finger: a circle in a triangle bisected by a line. "What are the Hallows?"

Dumbledore turned to stare with wide eyes. "Where did you hear that word, dear boy?" Crowley was burying his face in his hands.

"Luna Lovegood told me. What's a Seeker?"

"Ah, I'm afraid it is not my place to tell you that story," Dumbledore said, glancing over as Crowley stood. "Perhaps another time, Harry?"

"One step out of line, Dumbledore, and we'll be homeschooling him," Crowley said, putting an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Come on, Harry, you can walk me to the boat."

"Karkaroff says it's a ship, not a boat."

.oOo.

Luna wore a bright yellow dress that made her look like a tulip. Harry was glad he'd let Aziraphale help him with his robes so he didn't look stupid standing next to her. Krum and Hermione sat down with them after the first dance, both a little out of breath and grinning. They both liked reading and both their mums were doctors, but Harry wasn't so sure about what made people similar or different, not since Sally-Anne's talk about her gay uncles.

Dancing with Luna was very different from how Aziraphale and Crowley had demonstrated, but Harry didn't mind. She told him his Humdingers were very balanced, and he made sure to never once step on her feet. Afterwards they sat in the gardens where even Harry could see the little fairies fluttering about. 

When he asked her about the Hallows she said her Daddy could tell the story better, so as the rest of the students left for Christmas break Harry got on the train right along with her.

… 

"There were once three brothers who were travelling," Xenophilius began, "and they wanted to cross a treacherous river…"

"—sorry, but Death spoke to them?" Harry couldn't help himself. 

"It's a metaphor," Xenophilius explained. "They were passing over the abyss."

Then he told the rest, about an unbeatable wand, a resurrection stone, and a cloak that could hide the wearer from Death himself. A line, a circle, a triangle, making up the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Harry remembered the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. There was a tombstone there with that same symbol of it. The Potters had lived and died in that place even before they'd been Potters, and all of them had worn that same cloak. Harry could feel it fluttering invisibly around his shoulders. He could remember his Dad's words when he'd put it there: "You'll be a great conqueror one day, young master."

Harry thought of the words on his parents' grave and swallowed. 

.oOo.

On the day of the second task, Harry saved his toast from breakfast to feed it to the ducks. Luna smiled as she stood beside him waiting for something interesting to happen on the surface of the lake. 

"The squid scares them," Luna explained, throwing an apple into the water. After a minute a tentacle came and sucked it down. "You can come feed the Thestrals with me later, but Hogwarts doesn't have any ducks."

Once Hermione and Viktor were safely back on land, Harry asked his friend why he hadn't just taken the boat. 

"It is a ship, not a boat," Viktor said. "Also it is a contest of magic, not of sailing."

"Sure." Harry smiled. He snapped his fingers and wished really hard for him and Hermione to be dry. "Luna and I are going to visit the Thestrals, d'you want to come with?"

They were busy, apparently, so only Luna got to see Harry's animagus form. She seemed impressed enough as she climbed on his back and told him to find the Thestral herd, and he knew exactly where to go.

"My Dad gave me the Hallows when I was little," Harry told her while feeding a bit of bread to his favourite mare. "I never went Seeking or anything. Well, I'm seeking all the time, but not for these."

He watched as Luna picked them up one at a time, turning them over before passing them back to him. "And what is your heart's desire?" she asked.

"Dad says I'm supposed to be a conqueror," Harry said reflexively. 

"Hmm," Luna replied. 

"He says I'll be beside him forever. I think—" Harry swallowed. "I think he made me immortal."

"Does Death often go around making things?" Luna didn't look away from the foal that was nuzzling her palm. Harry liked that about her; she was sensible.

"I don't know." Dad didn't even make stew, now that he thought of it. Sometimes gods would come over to hell for a visit. Having served them tea many times, Harry privately thought that a god each for creation, continuation, and destruction was very logical.

His Hallows were a bit like that. A trinity. "If he didn't make me, and I'm not supposed to be a conqueror, where does that leave me?" He'd been happy in hell, he'd been happy learning at all the different schools. It felt like he was still searching for who he was. 

The mare nickered, nosing at his pockets. Harry turned them inside out to show they were empty and she trotted back to the herd.

"I love my dad. I want him to be happy," Harry said.

"I love my dad too, but he wants me to be myself." She stood, brushing her hands on her robes.

It was so tempting to join the herd as they moved on. At least when Harry was a Thestral, he always knew which way to go.

He had dreams like that often, where he was flying, with the world a tiny speck beneath him. He'd fly higher and higher until he got to heaven and the sun would come out. 

The dream always ended before he reached the gate. His wings would melt and he'd come crashing back to the ground.

"I don't know who I am," Harry finally said. He turned back into a Thestral so Luna could climb on. 

"You're Harry Potter," she said, lying across his neck as he walked them back to Hogwarts. "You're the Master of Death. You're my friend."

.oOo.

For the third task, Harry was even more bored than during the second. Luna had skipped it entirely, off on an emergency expedition to Sweden with her father. When Fleur won the cup, Harry was glad that it had been both his friends who'd lost. They had a wonderful pity-party on the Quidditch pitch afterwards, drinking enough firewhiskey that they were seeing double. When Cedric suggested a seeker's duel, Harry sent Phobos to keep an eye on them lest they lose the snitch entirely.

Harry sat his OWLs with the other students when Hermione sent him a letter saying she had already taken hers. He wasn't sure what the point of it was, but confusing the examiners with his wish-magic was worth it. Only afterwards did Cedric explain that Harry was supposed to do them a year later. If he didn't pass them all, Harry supposed he'd go back to school and try again. 

He could visit Beauxbatons next. Sally-Anne kept asking him to visit, and it'd be interesting to head east instead of west for a change.

The last nights at Hogwarts were spent flying with the Thestral herd or sitting in the Hufflepuff common room. There was an itch under Harry's skin that he couldn't shake. No matter where he went, he was still looking for somewhere to belong.

His parents had been wizards, his dad ruled hell. Harry didn't think he properly fit in either place. He wished Luna were back from her expedition, she'd probably say something profound about needing to go before being able to arrive.

Harry sat on the Astronomy Tower roof marvelling at the way the stars were so much closer than they'd seemed when he'd lain on the packed dirt by the Oubangui. He found Ursa Major and went from there, smiling when he spotted Sirius. It was pretty cool, having his mum and dad be in heaven and his godfather amongst the stars.

Sirius hadn't written any more letters since the World Cup, but Aziraphale had explained it was a normal human reaction, not to worry.

"Enjoying the view, Harry?"

Dumbledore was climbing up the last steps, his hair almost glowing in the moonlight. He sat beside Harry and offered a smile. 

"Hi Headmaster." He should probably send Phobos to fetch Crowley, like Dad said he should always do, but it was the last day of term and the night was beautiful. "They're so close from up here. Like I could just reach out and—"

Harry stretched up, wondering how long it would be until he could grasp them. 

"They are certainly splendid, albeit far from our influence, dear boy."

Turning to face the old man, Harry frowned. "I'm sure I'll conquer them one day. Dad says it's only a matter of time, and I've got plenty of that."

Dumbledore laughed. It sounded a bit wheezy. "I have exchanged many letters with your guardian. I can imagine that those were his words quite easily." Then he met Harry's eyes with none of his infamous twinkle. "I have many regrets in this life."

People with regrets, Harry knew, tended to go down instead of up. "Good," Harry said, smiling. "I'll tell you all about the stars when I visit for Christmas." Then he sighed, because it was late and he was tired. "Why is it so hard to reach them?" He waved his hand, gesturing beyond the stars. "I just want to visit my parents, you know?" If the night sky was so amazing, heaven had to be even better.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore said, tears falling quietly into his beard, "I'd tell you it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, but—" he tilted his head up and closed his eyes, "—I suspect it is advice I wish I had been given rather than words that will mean anything to you."

There was nothing in Harry's life but dreams and death. He pictured what Luna would say. "Maybe it's one of those things you have to figure out for yourself?" he offered.

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "I wish you the best of luck."

Chapter Text

Sorry I'm late, having an effing disaster of a week. Hope you enjoy:

There were people who could move through heaven and hell like they didn't even exist. Harry knew, because he'd met them. Angels were the most common, but there were also the gods.

Some angels, like Gabriel, were gods too. Most gods had become from people believing in them. Most gods, Harry knew, were a figment of the collective imagination, but just because they were all in people's heads didn't mean they weren't real.

Zeus was a bit of a prick, always prancing about stabbing things with his lightning. He'd gotten old, thought that didn't stop him from doing whatever he wanted—from doing whomever he wanted.

Apep mostly visited Crowley, but he also liked the sound of his own voice. He would talk to Harry for hours about struggles and consequences, about how some things existed as a result of other things also existing.

The Trimurti stayed on Earth, always moving. Vishnu followed Brahma, Shiva ran after Vishnu, and Brahma chased Shiva in a cycle that they never seemed to tire of.

Sometimes gods came and visited Death for tea. They'd all sit around the dinner table eating stew, talking about how they'd always been gods, about how god was inside everyone. 

They mostly chatted about the Good Old Days when men had believed. They barely mentioned the women, probably because those had spent the Good Old Days doing more sensible things.

Michael told Harry about the new choir they were forming in heaven. Apparently, The Metatron were in need of more baritones, so they'd sent him to check if any of hell's residents were ready for a bit of redemption.

Harry was a grown man now, but he still didn't understand why heaven had to be such a dead end. Only gods and angels came and went, the rest were stuck. He told his parents how dumb it all was at great lengths during his next visit, and the visit after that, and the visit after that.

People who killed themselves almost always went to hell, why hadn't Lily and James escaped heaven on that technicality? He just wanted to meet them for a moment. Were her eyes really green like his, or a different shade? Did his other dad's hair stick up in the same ways? From whom had he inherited his knobby knees and his sense of justice? 

Dad didn't understand human morality at all, so it had to have come from Lily or James. 

How could Harry possibly know where he belonged if he didn't know where he came from? He knew he was looking for something, but he didn't know where he was going without a compass or a map.

"Harry," Aziraphale greeted. Crowley stepped up to pat Harry's horsey neck. "Maybe it's best if we stop moping about graveyards, alright?"

Harry looked up and flapped his wings, then shoved against Aziraphale's side. Crowley understood immediately, transforming into a snake to drape herself across Harry's neck. The second Aziraphale had hauled himself onto his back, Harry took a running jump into the sky.

"Your parents asked me to talk to you," Aziraphale shouted against the wind once they were high up above Britain, her windows winking up at them. Almost everything Harry could see was covered in artificial light.

It was beautiful in a different way than the stars above were beautiful. 

"He can't hear you," Crowley lied, then leaned herself over to hiss in Harry's ear. "Head for southern France. I'll give you the Flamels' address when we're near."

The rising sun cast the sky pink and orange. "It's Nice here," Harry said once he was human again. "Thanks for having me." He was covered in sweat, but Perenelle Flamel didn't seem to mind as she shook his hand.

"We've heard that one before," she said, "but you're very welcome."

The grey pebbles on the beach clattered as the waves washed against the shore. The house was rather big, jutting against Nice's cliffs like a worn down tooth.

"Aziraphale has been a friend for a very long time," Nicolas 'Call me Nic' Flamel said instead of hello . "When he told us you needed help, we couldn't refuse."

"I don't need help," Harry said. Then he swallowed. "I'm not sure I want help? I mean, why do you even think you can help?"

"Well, we've been around for a very long time, Harry. Why don't you give us a go?"

These two were experts on the art of living. "I want to go to heaven," Harry blurted. "But not the usual way. Just for a visit."

The Flamels were quiet for a while, but at least they didn't laugh at him. "I'll give you points for originality," Nic said. "We'll try, and if it turns out we can't do anything for you I'm sure we can send you to someone who can."

They did end up sending him on. He met a Chieftain of the Choctaw. He studied with Tibetan monks and Scottish monks, Ofo of the Igbo, and Jewish Rabbis. The Oglala taught him about reincarnation; the Anangu taught him about rebirth.

In the end it was Luna who gave him the answer as she sat silver-haired and cloudy-eyed on her deathbed. "My dad was always a Seeker, but you're the one Death chose for his Hallows to find. We have things the wrong way around so often: it's the butterfly that makes the cocoon."

Harry heard her words through Phobos' ears and through his own. The crow was only thinking about juicy caterpillars, but Harry could feel the answer like a word that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

"Daddy was so sad when I told him, you know. He worshipped them almost as much as the moon."

Perhaps, in another universe, Luna had been named 'Hallow' instead. Harry smiled and patted her hand, tracing life-lines and wrinkles with his own forever unblemished skin. 

"You'll visit me, of course," she said, with a certainty that Harry'd never felt himself. "I believe in you."

It was like the world was crashing around him. Harry's every hair stood on end.

He closed Luna's eyes for her. Afterwards he sat in the Lovegoods' living room, bouncing baby Tumnus while the family rocked with grief. He didn't stay for the funeral, though. Those were for empty bodies, cold soil, and consolidated absence.

How many friends had believed in him? How many people had worshipped the Hallows? How much faith did it take to transcend from not-really-human into god ?

It took a few more years of visiting friends on their deathbeds, years of grandchildren and great grandchildren held in his arms. He vanquished the last Lethifold. Whenever his dad sent him after someone who was running from Death a little too hard, Harry went and conquered.

It took almost no time at all, in the space of a blink wherein everything went momentarily black. 

When the Master of Death finally came for the Flamels, they greeted him with a smile. "We knew this was coming," Perenelle said, pressing a fresh pie into his hands. "I always believed you'd get there in the end. We'll be seeing you soon."

When Harry came for the Flamels, he waited for Dad to do the bit with the scythe, then walked them up to the pearly gates himself. Harry was holding Perenelle's hand and a still-steaming pie. He could hear The Metatron practising just beyond the silvery silhouette.

Harry passed Nic the pie to free his own hands. He reached out and touched the warm metal bars. The singing got louder. It was murky, like looking at a fogged up mirror, but Harry thought he could see his parents on the other side. We believe in you , he knew they'd be saying.

Two centuries on earth, yet time had not touched him. He'd been to hell and back. He had his own little following back home of friends and family who'd taught him everything they knew about being human.

Nic passed through the gate as if it didn't exist. Perenelle smiled and let go of Harry's hand to do the same.

'Wait,' he wanted to cry. 'Don't leave me!' he wanted to call out, or, 'At least leave me the pie.'

I am an infinite soul having a human experience, Harry remembered, then scoffed. "Enough of this," he said, to whomever was or wasn't listening. "I'm a human soul having a divine experience." 

Inside of him, something clicked so loud it echoed. Harry felt like he'd been plugged into a socket. The earth didn't shake, but against his skin, the Hallows were trembling. Back on Earth his parents' tombstone lurched, cracking right down the epitaph: The last enemy that shall be conquered is death.

The bars were still there, but at the same time he knew that the gate was all in his head. Harry took a deep breath and stepped through to the other side.

"Mum," he called. "Dad. I'm home."

You know the drill: I'll see my chipper commenters in the comments section and my lovely lurkers in my statistics. Thanks for stopping by. Hope we all have a lovely next week. It's been a pleasure having you read my story, do consider hopping over and reading the next.