Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- Harry just wanted his Luna back. 

Luna Lovegood, his dearest sister Luna. Siblings not by blood, but by the bond they two shared with one another. Stronger than any other even stronger than his and Hermione's perhaps. 

If it were- he wouldn't be here, barely sane, after mercilessly reading and learning about many different branches of magic, using it on others without care and himself for the sake of his Luna, his moon, his sister. 

Whether it be dark, light or in between barely passing to be legal, or just down right banned it didn't matter to him. He's tested many magic branches, and types over the long years he's lived miserably yet he'd never be satisfied until he'd find a way to hear the usual soft-toned yet dreamy voice Harry would hear from his sister, yet had never heard from again after two decades since her passing. 

Everything seemed useless, with every piece he's researched and worked on nothing seemed to work. It made Harry feel weak, and as vulnerable as before in the war between him and Voldemort, nothing but a pathetic excuse for a hero, just a child, fighting just to ensure survival it was foolish. 

When he was just a young man, who was more than unaware of the horrid parts of the magical community and how many lives young or old were at his mercy, merely happy -- excited to see another realm of light unaware that he was just being raised as a pig for slaughter, to be sacrificed for the Greater Good. Not once having a choice to choose with the pressure, and the faith that betouled him even before his birth. 

Harry James Potter before was nothing but an utterly naive, and weak child that easily trusted those who showed the least bit of kindness to him, that he had been deprived of in the abusive, and neglectful muggle household he lived in. Weak, and so little, an idiot to certain magic because of the prejudice people pushed to his mind when he had been young, deeming dark evil almost instantly. 

Yet even then, darkness had always been his one and only companion. His friend, what embraced Harry, comforted him whenever he was shoved roughly inside the cupboard underneath the stairs, being left to starve and huddle himself for warmth at the coldest of nights. People led him to hate the one and only thing that had always been there for him since the day he could remember. 

Now, he was nothing like before no longer weak, nor narrow-minded like how he used to be in his youth. Harry was turning forty-two soon. An old man whose focused on his research, and who barely showed his face to the public after the untimely death, of the not-so-famous magizoologist Luna Lovegood. A shut-in retired auror, that the media lost interest soon after becoming what he became by now. 

The former chosen one, Harry Potter didn't show anything other than a blank face at Luna Lovegood's funeral, though even so Harry stuck there every day, every moment, until the final day where Luna's coffin was buried deep under the soil. Ignoring the pleas of others to rest or eat something even if it were small or big, remaining as stubborn as ever like back in the days when he had still been a rebellious, trouble making teenager.

It didn't matter if they'd cry Harry a fucking river of tears while begging him, it was only Luna Lovegood who cared for his health, and mentality before, seeing him as a human instead of something that was used for sacrifice to save the wizarding race, a weapon of sorts. And now, that sole person was dead.

Luna who scolded him if he forgot to eat or sleep, Luna who made those messily and undoubtedly weirdly cut out shapes of sandwiches that tasted like home for Harry Potter when she could without Harry having to ask for it himself, Luna Lovegood who always showed her recent projects to him in a sweet attempt to cheer him up when he was upset or frustrated about something stupid, the only person who Harry found a sense of home in. 

Everyone merely saw him as the defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and The amazing auror Harry Potter yet Luna saw something greater in him, and that was as his own person, her stubborn Gryffindor brother who even in a short period of her life, has been there for her even through thick and thin.

But as the said man gathered his memories, returning back to the harsh reality Harry couldn't help but let out an irritated sigh, as he snapped back to reality. Standing up from his chair where hes been seated on for more than a few hours, tired vivid green eyes stared at the messy worktable filled with spell books, ancient magic books and his own parchment notes messily filled with gathered research. 

Without another glance to the messy sheets of paper and scattered books, Harry made his way to the bathroom, to rinse his face, and perhaps a poor attempt to try and wash away the exhaustion that crept in. Turning on the faucet quietly where the cold water began to trickle-down, the water flowing down the sink being the only subtle noise in Harry's undoubtedly purely silent and lonely bathroom, and muggle apartment. 

Splashing his face with some cold water, a small portion of his bangs getting wet as he did so, turning off the faucet before he decided to look at himself in the mirror, his expression slightly changing to a frown as he stared at himself longer. 

Merlin, I looked miserable ' Harry would later say to himself, having been unable to stop but to think about himself, as he saw his appearance in the semi-shattered mirror where in the corner lay what seemed like a hole of Harry's knuckles left on the half shattered mirror. 

Harry looked like a vampire with how pale he'd rather gotten yet he looked almost sickly, yet vampires were usually portrayed as attractive - or inhumanly handsome. Harry couldn't seem to see himself look anything like that, he looked like a mess that's what he looked like after rotting in either his chair reading books, or just rotting in bed painfully hoping for death to take him sooner or later.

Harry hadn't faced the sun in quite a while, unless it was necessary he only visits Diagon Alley for his necessities every once in two months even then that never provided much sunlight for him perhaps he should try more hobbies outside of being such a shut-in. Besides rarely shopping outside in Diagon Alley using both black and potter fortune to his utter mercy, Harry stuck to ordering via Owl, unless it was truly necessary to look for an ancient tome that wasn't available for order. 

Just for a moment, a ghost smile almost curved throughout his lips, at noticing how the lighting bolt scar looked almost nearly invisible at this very point, although not as nearly as Harry would've liked with in some angles it remained visible in a white silver-like color, much more in clearer light if so. But then again, beggars can't be choosers, and he'll take whatever he can get. 

Harry mentally reminded himself that a clear haircut was due in his next coming trip to Diagon Alley which he himself wasn't sure about when he would be going out, but possibly sooner or later with how noticeably longer it had been growing. 

Harry raised a slightly tired brow as he stared at his dark ebony coloured hair. Wondering how long has it been since he's last had it cut in the very long years Harry's been living a quiet, and alone lifestyle. Always used to the clever pale delicate hands that always braided his old medium length hair before, the way Luna had tied his hair in curious, yet adorable looking styles looking so pleased with herself as she made the Auror go to work having such a hairstyle. 

Since the day Luna's passing, Harry couldn't find it in himself to chop off his hair at all -- remembering the memories of each strand that had been braided so carefully in the past, it was like holding on to the last happy, and joyful memories they both shared in their almost sacred ritual. Harry couldn't help but wonder now what Luna would've done with his hair now, that has grown longer than before now possibly reaching down his thighs, making his masculine soft features seem rather feminine now being framed by the soft locks of dark hair. 

Slender yet scarred pale hands combed through the rather tamed, long ebony hair as Harry zoned out of his thoughts for a moment more, unable to stop himself from reminiscing about the past memories of happiness Harry had before the main thing that caused him pure blissful happiness was taken away from him without an ounce of mercy and Harry in the end, was not able to keep himself sane enough to cope in a more healthy manner rather than dabbling in the dark arts in a desperate attempt to find a way, find a solution to revive the dead, to conquer death itself. 

Harry remembered the very day, he was told about Luna's untimely death. It felt like the La La Land of pure bliss, and joy was shattered in mere seconds. It made his knees weak, it made him want to scream his lungs out in despair, and utter misery at having lost someone that was practically his other half, it felt like pieces of his heart were being torn apart painfully, and slowly at each and every sickening second Harry stood there near his doorstep within his hands holding a delicate written letter announcing Luna Lovegood's death and an Invitation to her funeral.

He didn't cry, weep or even show an ounce of emotion during Luna's funeral, usually bright shining eyes vacant of it's usual strong emotion, and spark. Nothing but a blank face, void of emotion unlike how he was portrayed to be in the Daily Prophet, a kind and fun Auror was nothing more but a memory people will remember him as. Harry was now nothing but someone who was trapped in a hollow shell that was a pathetic excuse of a body, no longer feeling human that very moment. 

Twenty years, Harry recalls quietly. That's how much time had passed after Luna's passing, and also how much time he's locked himself hidden from the public view after so long. Cutting ties with everyone, even Ron and Hermione his very best friends since Harry's first year in Hogwarts. Yet -- It's not like they attempted to reach out not once, even when they had their firstborn.

It's been a long miserable and exhausting twenty years of life filled with emptiness and perhaps multiple tons of bottles of fire whiskey, and Harry didn't seem to have any intention of changing it unless his futile attempt to overcome death and pull a resurrection move against a literal Deity was successful.

Letting out another tired sigh, as his thin long fingers stopped combining through the dark long hair, returning back to Harry's sides as he quietly made his way out of the bathroom. 

Stretching his limbs, Harry let out a quiet groan of satisfaction and pleasure as he arched his back hearing the loud pops of his bones. Harry's sour mood couldn't help but be sweetened just by a little as he felt the relief in his limbs, a small hum escaping him as Harry placed his focus back on the messy worktable, with a neat stack of books lay on top of the table, with many books that had been finished promptly stacked on the floor almost looked to be a wall at this point that surrounded Harry's workbench. 

"I should probably get back to reading.." Harry murmured loosely to himself in a rather dazed state as he rubbed his eyes quietly stiffing a yawn, yeah, Harry must' really be a loser to youngsters these days found out an old man; like harry potter was speaking so calmly to himself. Yet, it was probably the only thing that made Harry feel less alone, and might have helped him keep his little sanity intact. 

Along with the small fact; Harry didn't want to socialise. Finding it bothersome, and even exhausting to his social battery. Harry could barely even last the short conversation between him and a shopkeeper in Knockturn alley while he had been shopping for a certain item, much less handle talking to another person? The horror. 

His humming continued as Harry approached his worktable, a book he's been itching to read rest upon the center of his messy and cluttered worktable, a banned soul & death tome from 1634 a time and era where witch trials were most known and famous for. The dark book could either be three things; a stupid book that was written by someone insane, or a book with some interesting things in it, yet nonetheless still not having what he's been seeking. 

Then the third; was that it could have everything Harry's being seeking out for so long, the information he's been so desperately trying to find. A way to defy death, and bring back the dead' from the living. With of course, their soul and memories intact, such a mission was insane; impossible even, but for Luna... Harry was willing to try, to spend his entire life devoted to research just so he could bring her back. 

Harry just hoped and prayed that the very thing, he's been searching for has been here in this sole book. 'It better be or else I might be following Luna soon enough.' Harry joked to himself quietly letting out a bitter chuckle, though it sounded almost like a promise rather than a joke, though the thought has come across Harry's mind more than once, and more than he wishes to admit it had done the cowardly route by attempting to kill himself. 

Yet miraculously and unfortunately, every attempt to die has failed. Leading him to have a small breakdown at the very end, on his knees a strange feeling of shame, guilt and emptiness having washed over him every time, as Harry quietly allowed the tears to flow down his cheeks as he stared at the now healed skin which Harry had slit through, and easily bled out through. 

Unfortunately, perhaps after all these years .,. Harry's once already strange humour had gotten worse, more darker, if you could say that -- still chuckling over his own odd joke, Harry merely picked up the ancient tome with a unfamiliar sense of familliarity, not wanting the old pages to quite literally crumble before him if he was too hasty with his touch. 

Flipping it open, Harry began his little quiet reading session, with the only noise in the eerily silent apartment having been the small yet satisfying noise of a sharp edged quill touching with the parchment paper every once in a while as Harry took notes of things that could be some use for him. 

Ϟ

Harry was losing his patience and the excitement that once filled him when he first acquired such a book vanished almost completely, he'd been reading for how many hours. Harry found the book not so interesting, the said so cruel and inhuman nature of topics was mild and seemed extremely exaggerated with how many books of Dark Magic Harry had come across and read before in his decades long research, perhaps even then the books in the Black's library would've been worse.

But then again, Harry couldn't see for himself seeing that the library in Sirius's old home that had been once again left abandoned wouldn't view him as a true Black -- and unfortunately with most of the Black Family's home running with many blood runes that were god knows how many centuries old, only allowing access to those who had the family's superior blood inside of them, flowing through it's veins.

Harry could do so little, and he didn't seem so keen on the idea of trying to break something as ancient as this, he felt it would cross even the levels of disrespect to the once noble household now having fallen in utter despair. 

Yet, as we return back to the book. In his own opinion; Harry deemed it nothing but the dark rants of someone who had just been probably mentally sick in the head, and wished to just document and write these things in a book, for people would've made the writer of said book, an outcast had he spoken of these types of topics openly. 

Though, it was no shocker than whoever wrote this either was insane, or had just gone insane. There was small scribbles, messily written information that had documented the horrifying acts of the witch trials, what the wizard had to endure and watch as his kin, and even families were burnt to the stake, losing each person he held so dearly in his arms until he soon began to hate muggles and everything that surrounded them. 

Filthy, impure blood; that's what the book described muggles to be, to say that what flowed through their veins were nothing but misfortune and dirty mud, before it turned into rants, riddles and poems the mood shifting every chapter. From quiet and calm research about certain spells created, then flipping to the next chapter only for it to just become borderline being the sick rants of someone barely holding on to their little amount of sanity left. 

Though whenever Harry did stumble upon something interesting in his eyes, he would quietly write it down, being his quiet routine as he read. And currently in a long piece of parchment paper laid only seventeen topics, Harry had found the most interesting which wasn't a lot considering he's quite literally read more than five hundred chapters, and was already losing his patience. 

Unable to stop himself from letting out an irritated yet tired sigh of annoyance and impatience, Harry couldn't help but slam the book harshly on the hard dark oak worktable causing multiple empty glass jars of ink rattle by the sudden movement. 

Harry quietly attempted to compose himself sensing almost immediately that he had begun to lose slight control of his magic for just a small moment, harry silently rubbed his temple groaning with growing exhaustion evident on his features, as harry accepted the feeling and sealed fate of an upcoming headache soon.

He closed his eyes for a moment in frustration, and because he was utterly beat and tired from reading not needing a quick tempus to know it was 3'am in the fucking morning. As he breathed heavily trying to control his magic before it might begin to go on an utter rampage. 

Yet was soon shifted away from his futile attempt to remain calm, and compose -- as harry's entire focus was quick to shift towards the sounds of pages flipping vigorously until it was placed to a pause, returning back to the silence like was before.

His eyes fluttering open in surprise, and for a moment widened, as harry stared at the book in astonishment. No longer at the last page he had left it in, it shifted to a certain curious page. Page 777 , Harry noted almost immediately as his sharp gaze moved to look at the boldly written text which spoke more volumes than even necessary. 

Deaths Magik · 

Emerald eyes scanned the title further to make sure his eyes didn't deceive him. His breathing hastened drastically, his heart feeling as though it was ready to burst out of his chest any moment now. His scarred hands roamed around the old yellowish page, caressing it gently afraid it'd just turn into dust before his very eyes if he wasn't careful with it.

Harry just hoped this would be the key to bringing Luna back, to bring her back to the living and to defy the fate of death. Even with whatever consequence it may cost him, It didn't matter, it no longer mattered. It's strange what love makes foolish people do, platonic or romantic.

Eyes landing on the first sentence of the page, Harry let out a shaky sigh as he practically thrummed with anticipation, his hands trembling whilst harry held the book firmly. This could either be utterly useless and stupid or, something that could be very useful for him. 

And if that indicated harry needed, had to waste countless hours and sleepless nights of his useless astonishingly long lifespan just to see if it was all worth it in the end, he'd do it.

Harry James Potter no longer had anything to lose anymore after all.

The page about death's magic was seemingly straight to the point unlike the previous, and some utterly useless chapters of the tome where the writer would constantly shift from one topic; such as the spells they've created for certain purposes, or just torture before flipping to another page only to be faced with a whiplash of change from the previous topic on the last chapter. 

It was no longer rants about hate for muggles for wasting magic blood, for killing witches because they were unknown, a foreign concept for mere humans to understand, nor was it riddles, or poems that needed to be solved just to understand -- no, this no longer held back, it was straight as if hearing harry's frustration and took a small amount of pity towards him. 

To harry, this opened a new doors of possibilities, of hope, and knowledge. He was absolutely fascinated, wrapped by the sacred pages that contained information about death and soul magic, and about the many things one could accomplish, could achieve with one of the most darkest branches of magic ever to be seen, read and witnessed. 

It made harry feel giddy, his veins thrummed with a strange feeling of excitement with each sentence he read, as if this were sin, temptation Itself -- and harry eagerly took it and engraved it to his mind, every fiber of his body, without a second thought, seeking the knowledge he desired, he needed to comfort the thirst to do something impossible, he was fucking harry james potter for god sakes'! Nothing was impossible. 

Vivid green eyes that closely, and sharply resembled the killing curse focused intently on each text, each sentence rereading it more than once -- reading so carefully to make sure not to miss anything that could be crucial, whether it be small or big, his eyes read through it, as if attempting to engrave each word of the entire chapter in his mind. 

It was to Harry's simple conclusion everything he had just so carefully read was a simple yet long summary, about death magic, containing the so simple yet fascinating information about the banned magic, and then a short realization hit the him -- even then, what he's read, what's harry's thought he knew about 

Turning to the next page, looking at the back page where the words were in Latin , the next being a drawing of some sort of magic rune circle.

Harry’s breath hitched as his eyes laid upon the rune circle which looked so similar to the deathly hallows. It made him sick, to remember the events that occurred in his seventh year.

All the deaths that happened, all the betrayal, the screams of the innocent and guilty that filled the Dark cold air. With trembling hands, he unconsciously closed the book shut. Harry quietly laid the ancient tome on his worktable, heaving in a large amount of fresh air. 

For a moment, he doubted himself, his mind being clouded by the tormenting memories of his youth, he didn't want to do this .. Everything would hurt again, and everything would feel empty again. Harry wished to never have to feel fear and despair, to never feel the desire to not exist, to not be human, and to just end it all, to die, so he wouldn't need to .. Feel such emotions that tormented him every waking moment.

Harry shook his head, attempting to resist the thoughts of self-doubt, remembering who he was doing all this for. Harry was doing this for Luna, his little moon, his bestest friend, his sister whom he'd be willing to do anything for. 

It'd be useless to doubt himself now that he's come this far, sacrificed years of his lifespan on research about the dead, and other branches of magic. He had no right to break down now, he needed to do this, not for his sake, but for Luna whose life was taken so early in life. Perhaps, Harry was selfish, but, at this very moment he couldn't find himself to fucking care. 

Heaving a shaky sigh, Harry opened the book once more flipping it once more to page 779 where he had left it as before. Eerie emerald eyes that resembled much like the killing curse, trailed to look at the drawing of a magic rune, looking identical to the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Ad mortem adducere

The text written in latin was short and easy to read, it was straight to the point. Harry understood immediately, instantly, that this-- this was not just any magic ceremony that included the use of Death Magic. This itself, was something more, holy shit this was a sacred summoning ritual to call upon the deity itself.

Harry felt a smile begin to curve upwards on his lips a grin of something driven by a foreign, and unusual sense of emotions stirring within him, his pale lips forming a smile that nowadays was rare. His hands gripped tightly on the book, attempting to engrave how the rune circle looked onto his mind. Before he stood up, discarding the book on his desk table.

Without a second thought, he walked-- no, Harry practically ran to the dark oak wooden cabinets near his desk. Opening it with haste unfit of him as he shoved away unnecessary ingredients whilst he rummaged through the cabinet, with pure excitement dancing in his eyes as harry grabbed the sacrificial dagger, before rummaging quite a bit more for some white rune chalk.

Once harry had the said items in his arms, he stood up, for a moment attempting to get rid of the dust that stuck to his clothing from abruptly messing around through his storage cabinet for rituals which, had been neglected for quite some time. 

Trying to remove the dust from his clothing was in a clear weak attempt before -- harry lost patience after just a minute and once again all but ran back towards his worktable, grabbing the ancient tome as if it weren't ancient, the once gentle touch now rough without a care as he carelessly tossed it on the wooden apartment flooring. 

Harry kneeled down, his knees touching the wooden floors of his muggle apartment causing a slight creaking sound on the floorboards which he ignored promptly. 

Laying the dagger carefully next to him, the book in his right hand, and the rune chalk he held with the other. "I'm sorry, Mr. Peterson.." Harry apologised to his Landlord under his breath as with shaky hands, he began to make the rune circle. 

Unable to stop himself to imagine while he quietly drew the symbol of the deathly hollows. harry was already imagining what the elderly man with a bad hip problem would possibly think if the landlord came earlier to claim the monthly rent only to see harry’s bloody floor looking as if he were doing a satanic ritual trying to summon fucking satan, which, was rather accurate in some cases. 

As a small chuckle couldn't help but escape his lips at the thought of Mr. Peterson’s horrified expression, harry made sure to be careful to not make a singular mistake, nor flaw his eyes more keener and sharper than usual, as he engraved his magic into each stroke of rune chalk he carved in the floors. Wiping away a droplet of sweat trickling down his forehead with the back of his hand, before the former chosen one stood up and stared down at his work. 

It'd have to do, it was as perfect as it could possibly be -- or to harry it was, he wasn't exactly an artist. He dropped the rune chalk to the side, without a care as it served its purpose, allowing the white chalk to roll whatever small space it could perhaps roll itself in. Instead-- his focus was on the sacrificial dagger that was laid neatly on the floor.

Harry's heart felt like it was about to burst with every step, simple big or small movement he took, and even when he knelt down to pick up the ritual dagger, infusing his magic onto it before harry walked to his rightful place in the middle of the rune circle as its summoner. 

Inhaling a sharp breath, Harry lowered the dagger to his palm the sharp silver edge gleaming brightly as it hit the candlelight -- without even a second to process what he was even about to do, harry dug the dagger deeper until it drew blood and quietly trickled down to the floor.

Green eyes trailed as the dark crimson colour of his blood flowed unevenly down to the floorboards, with red droplets of blood soon toucher the rune circle before it soon began to emit a faint glow white, growing brighter by the passing moment, the feeling of magic beginning to grow, practically feeling almost suffocating. 

Harry's hand unconsciously dropped the sacrificial dagger stained with his blood, his lips curving upward to a barely sane almost psychopathic smile at witnessing the rune circle beginning to thrum with his magic -- and something darker, the magic felt strangely alluring, more intoxicating as if trying to desperately to cling onto him. 

Before harry knew it, he kneeled down once again, his knees touching the hard wooden boards of his apartment, as his eyes fluttered to an abrupt close, as harry began the ritualalic chanting, making sure each word he dared utter to summon a whole deity were loud and clear, unable to even dare to make a single mistake or lose his chance.

'O mors cara, nomen tuum invoco,’ Harry let out a shaky breath of air as continued to chant, his voice remaining strong even as it nearly wavered every suffocating second he continued to chant, for hope that death would soon come. Harry could only hope like a desperate fool for death itself to hear his pathetic plea.

' veni ad me, ostende te mihi, fac me praesentia tua, permitte meos indignos oculos te videre, liceat os meum nothum tibi loqui, permitte me coram te genua flectere. ' The last chants of Latin words slipped from his lips like a forbidden language as magic thrummed intensely through his veins as if it were his blood, harry waited, patiently his eyes closed tightly as he prayed, hoping that the ritual worked -- that Death had graced him with it's presence.

Soon-- few mere seconds, and soon became minutes, turned into hours, yet harry’s body remained still in the same position as it always had been for the last unknown hours, stubbornly stupid yet determined as he believed hopelessly, not taking the slightest hint that perhaps, maybe the ritual was unsuccessful.

The silver hope still shining yet soon growing dimmer as Harry waited, until .. He finally lost all his hope, the ritual was nothing but a fake from an insane man who had nothing else to do but share his sickening yet fascinating knowledge about dark rituals and magic, the bitter thought crossed his mind as he sighed tiredly. 

As he fluttered his eyes open blinking for a few moments as he tried to compose himself, before wasting no time to stand up and make his way to the bathroom with another sigh of annoyance and exhaustion feeling his body aching after staying in the same position for so long, and at the fact harry had believed it so quickly, so blindly without even a second to think if it were real or not.

Quietly he turned on the faucet open impatiently waiting no more time to let the freezing water touch the large gash harry had inflicted upon himself for the stupid ritual, the large gash was nothing out of the ordinary, he was used to scars and wounds such as these from his previous time in the war-- and short time working as an auror.

Reaching for the small medkit placed somewhere on one of his messily arranged cabinets, Harry paused from his movements, body stiff as he felt the cold air brush his against skin. Which in the very chances was fucking low -- if you were to consider the bathroom had no windows and was a simple closed off area, with harry surely not once giving a fuck whether he had air conditioning, he was a wizard for merlins sake! He could cast a cooling charm and he'd be fine.

In an almost slow motion, harry quietly tilted his head slightly to the side, feeling-- someone's or.. something's eyes on him which made him suppress a shiver that crept through his entire body. Eerily green eyes met with the hollow empty eyes of a skeleton-like figure, it wore a simple black robe, It's hood a governance as a way to hide some of its well -- bony facial features? Harry didn't exactly know how to describe shit like this. 

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." Harry uttered in a sarcastic tone and rather shocked tone as the hands that once grasped on the small medkit fell, making a small sound as it hit the porcelain sink, yet harry’s eyes remained fixated on the boney skeleton figure that loomed before him, the skeletal hands holding a scythe. " ... Master.."

Chapter Text

’Oh fucking shit.’

was the only thought that resided in harry’s mind repeatedly as death presented itself to him.. Well, before it shifted soon after rather quickly when the said being titled him as it's master. 

Harry didn't like the way how the somewhat soothing yet bone-chilling tone of the deity addressed him as it’s master, raising an eyebrow in his utter confusion Harry turned fully to face Death, hiding his hands behind his back unable to stop himself from grasping the porcelain sink for balance, his hands trembled in unkept anticipation, and perhaps terror at seeing how the thought to be failed ritual worked after all.

Death’s appearance -- couldn't be described so easily, hidden by a thin veil that looked old, ancient even with many small holes littered around the fabric; yet even then the thin veil was no enough to hide it's appearance forever, just a small glance one could easily outline it's ugly perhaps deformed face, it's smell reeked of something akin to rotten meat, or worst -- before it shifted into something new, turning into a bone structure, as if hiding away it's true form away from it's master in understanding that harry may come to fear it for just it's mere appearance, preferring to become what death is usually seen as for most. 

“Don't call me that,“ Harry said simply his voice quiet yet stern as though he wasn’t talking to the deity of death itself before pausing, “I am no one’s master.“ Harry continued soon after, denying death itself, by claiming to be no one’s master -- and perhaps that was true, harry viewed himself as no one’s master, yet for what death viewed harry as could be said differently. 

Silence, nearly ear piercing felt as though it was more than just mere moments in time but hours between them both, even almost feeling like an eternity; though perhaps he was just exaggerating with how he worded the tense encounter between them, Harry was snapped back to reality when he heard the chilling cruel rattling laughter of the deity, piercing yet exhausted green eyes widening for a spiked moment before it narrowed instantly.

“So humble, yet so doubtful of my presence, oh master .. You are too foolish to deny my existence anymore.“ Death spoke his hoarse soothing voice that brought chills down Harry's spine uncontrollably, an involuntary shudder washing over his body, a sense of newfound dread clothing him. 

Harry doesn't think he'll ever grow accustomed to such a voice that seemed to be laced with nothing but mocked amusement as death's eyes -- well where it's eyes should've been stared at Harry with hallow darkness, “I waited patiently just for you, master .. There is no reason to doubt my existence now, when I stand here unwavering at your service.“

Death uttered softly, almost comfortingly, which made harry feel as though he was going insane, Death? Comforting? How absurd. Once again he returned to reality at the feeling of the hairs on his skin rise, and an irresistible urge to shiver-- pull away, but unable to, as the deity gently touched him in a delicate manner. 

Death's fingers was-- is caressing Harry's face, pushing away the long locks of dark hair and long bangs from his pale face, as the deity stroked the pale skin. Almost as though they've waited so long to touch him, to touch harry in such a strangely intimate, yet soft way that it almost felt mocking in a way. “Humans .. So delicate, especially you. Skin so soft, it feels like you are just ready to break within my grasp.. If I were to do anything other than just a mere touch,“

Death uttered, it's skeletal long fingers still caressing Harry's cheek before lowering to caress his collarbone, as it continues to speak, “.. Why’ I do ask my existence, why did you keep pushing me away, master? .. The hallows, the wand, the stone and especially that cloak of yours that you are so fond of.“ The deity paused for a moment, before it spoke once more in a curious, and confused sounding tone which sounded so strange coming from a deity like itself. 

"They all returned to you , yes? .. Yet you pushed them away-- pushed me away, they belong to you, I .. Belong to you and you belong to me." Death spoke in a quiet murmur sounding almost like a quiet secret, a subtle confession shared between them both, whilst it's skeleton fingers moved back upwards to gently trace harry's features, as if trying to remember each flaw, each scar, each small bump, and little or big detail on his face. 

’Merlins fucking ballsack.‘ Harry cursed to himself inside the sanctuary his mind, trying to escape the cold touch of the deity yet was unable to, how was harry supposed to know that harry had been fucking pushing death away? Harry had just thought simply -- no more like assumed the elder wand and stone were borderline bloody obsessed with him. “Well.. !“ Harry spoke while being absolutely flabbergasted, speechless, not knowing what to even reply to the deity's words.

“You are absolutely maddening master, I must admit, everything you do, every time you push me away; as though I'm the dirt, the filth from the bottom of your very shoes should make me despise you.. Hate your very existence, and disregard you as my master.“ Death murmured coolly as if having accepted it long ago, and soon harry would, could feel the skeletal fingers soon pause abruptly, before it retracted back to wherever it may have come from underneath the dark veil of its robes. 

The touch, those strange cold skeleton fingers, even though were now gone, stopped from caressing harry’s face as if he were the most delicate thing in the whole entirety of the universe; It still left an invisible cold marking that easily made harry desire to hide away with being unable to shrug off the feeling of having the clear evidence of Death's touch practically engraved to his very skin even though it was, invisible.

Death remained silent for a moment longer, before it continued with its little touches, seemingly craving to touch harry -- its master whenever it was granted the opportunity to, which was clearly right now, taking advantage of harry’s seemingly distraught, and conflicting emotions about it's cold touch. “Yet, I do not, I cannot, everything, every unaware attempt you do to push me away; just makes me more desperate to speak to you, to hold you at least once, to touch you like as if you are the most precious being that ever existed.“

It's cold touch continued on, as harry potter merely stared back at the hollow and empty eye sockets of death, vivid emerald looking at vacant darkness, as the wizard merely remained silent eyes remained narrow shining with suspicion as harry took in the being's words. He didn't know how to respond to such words or such things, this was foreign concept to even him -- and harry has experienced quite literally a bunch of bloody mind blogging stuff in the past. 

Yet, this was new to him. The way death spoke to him, so tenderly, while all the so touching him as if harry were its most treasured, something the being has been wishing to have, to hold, and to speak to.

It's words that had been uttered towards the wizard sounded more like a confession from a lovesick, utterly devoted follower to its lord, which was a rather funny thought considering the deity was older than harry by, who bloody knows, a few millions of years old? 

Harry didn't know what to feel exactly in such a moment like this, disturbed? Baffled? One wouldn't exactly be swift to pin point what kind of feelings he'd feel if death appeared right before you, inside the bathroom of all places and had begun to confess its strangely sounding confession; along with its bony clutches not being able to keep to themselves at all. 

He usually was rather dense, and thick headed when it came to romance, or at least any attempt of more than platonic advances, even with his previous famous titles in the past, being known as The-Boy-Who-Lived certainty attracted a fair amount of crushes, yet even so, harry never truly noticed until after the war, though even perhaps now, he’s still rather dense, but harry wasn’t stupid enough to not hear the not-so-subtle confession at all. 

Yet; Harry still had his priorities straight nonetheless, there was only one reason why he even dared to play with the clutches of death and soul magic, why he spent two whole decades researching, why he pushed away everybody from his life whether it was ginny, or hermione and ron -- and harry wasn't so sure how long an opportunity like this one would ever appear again, but he'd might as well bloody make sure he'll make due right now. 

This was an opportunity, a weird blessing, yet nonetheless a fucking blessing and Harry James Potter would certainty be more than grateful to accept this entire thing wholeheartedly. “Is it possible to bring someone back., whole again? Mind, soul and body intact, everything.“ said words slipped faster than harry expected, yet he didn't dare take them back; as he awaited the deity’s response to his inquiry. 

His heart was practically on a rampage; beating so loudly harry was surprised it hadn't practically jumped out of his chest by this point, harry needed to hear it, to know that there was still a possibility, a way to bring luna back to life, back to his life, and to hear that everything he's worked so desperately for wasn't just a delusion, that it could be possible, that death could bring her back. 

Death was quiet for a few long moments, as though thinking about harry’s words, its vacant gaze sweeping to look at harry, with its fingers every so often pausing from caressing the wizard’s cheek before it spoke. “It's possible..“ its voice trailed off momentarily, before the deity continued on. “But, in cost for your desire to be fulfilled.. There will be consequences I cannot control.“

“Is she truly worth everything for you to accept the consequences of your actions, of your desires?“ Death questioned quietly, though it sounded almost mocking as if it already knew the answer to its own question for harry, yet asked regardless. “Would it make me selfish for doing so?“ Harry couldn't help but ask the deity, not out of curiosity, but something akin to almost guilt. 

Death was silenced by the wizard's words, yet without a hitch not sooner or later responded bluntly. “You have given enough to earn the right to be selfish, master.“ the deity’s tone of voice almost sounded soothing, as its cold fingers shifted upwards to caress the lighting bolt scar on harry’s forehead. “You have made it all seem painless to others eyes that they even dared to disregard everything, even your suffering.“ Death murmured softly, as its fingers lightly touched the faded cursed scar that started it all. 

“Man ain’t I the greatest?“ Harry replied with a bitter chuckle as the words left his mouth, leaving a strange sour aftertaste; for a moment harry desired that death wasn’t so blunt, yet regardless so he was grateful for the truthiness of reality that dawned upon him, the truth which harry potter has always denied, tried to forget, as if it weren't his past. 

Everything he's been through, since the moment he’s been born was nothing but hell, an environment no child, no teenager by any means had to grow up into, to even get accustomed to, for one to be surprised at the mere show of foreign kindness that should've been naturally given towards the child harry had preciously been instead of forcing himself to grow up faster than the rest; to become a hero for an entire population and future generations of wizards and witches for the sole reason that he had been chosen over the other. 

Harry Potter deserved to be more selfish than anyone else; to be granted his one and only true desire, to be given what he's wanted, what he's deserved after going through everything shitty in his long lifetime, and so he will. 

“I don't care about whatever consequence it may give me.. Just, please, let me have what I want.“ Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time I’ve begged. Was left unsaid, yet nonetheless heard, there were times, yes, that harry had begged the gods, to give him what he wanted, to have his selfish desires fulfilled for the first and last time, ever since he was a small malnourished child. 

Begging through his quiet tears inside the dark cupboard -- that was filled with dust and accompanied by nothing but spiders, with his legs hugged to his chest as he pleaded with the gods above, for the holy father to hear his prayers, to be treated decently like any other human by his relatives; only to to be left helpless as nothing answered to his silent prayers to his begging to be loved, to be held so tenderly like how his aunt petunia had held dudley in her arms whenever the little pig was upset at something; soothing him. 

Then the begging and the prayers for the desire to be loved, and held so sweetly, changed drastically in his fifth year, or perhaps it’s changed long ago yet harry hadn't realized until the moment he went on a rampage inside Dumbledore’s office, screaming whilst letting out tears of utter despair, and frustration as the old headmaster tried to comfort harry’s rage, there was no moment more than this in which harry wished he could’ve just died inside the ministry.

Or just desired, wished he wasn’t human so he would no longer feel emotions such as this whenever he would lost someone, someone so important to him, a person, like his godfather sirius whom he practically held so close to his heart that it hurt even daring to think about him. 

But that’s always how it’s always been isn’t it? How the life of the pitiful, pathetic, selfish harry potter has and will always be, as it seems, harry always loses the things, the people he never wanted to lose the most, the very moment he gets his hands on something worth going after, worth living for, he’ll always lose it one way or another. 

Death was silent, hollow empty sockets stared at Harry hauntingly as if already knowing what the wizard has been through, and for just a moment, Harry allowed himself to let the edges of his lips curved upwards into a small, barely subtle smile -- a smile that only held nothing but years, decades worth of grief, self loathing, and an edge to just die right here and now hadn't it been for luna’s sake, the dimming light to his entire world, the dark world he’s grown accustomed to. 

Wordlessly, almost in an motionless like manner the deity leaned closer to harry, and without hesitation, it surged forward to capture the wizard’s lips into what could be described roughly as a kiss, though in harry’s perspective was utterly horrifying; the kiss felt no more than magic, dark toxicating magic engulfing his entire being, everything suffocating him, wrapping around his body, mind and even magic in a possessive cold touch -- it felt so hard to even move, to even think, and before harry could grasp the situation he felt the stinging feeling of something engraving onto the back of his neck. 

Death’s magic was more than anything, something that could be indescribable with just simple words — it was disgusting, an edge of terror always hidden beneath that darkness; smelling of blood, decay and sickness and Death was consuming harry potter alone with it's magic as it kissed him. 

And soon -- without a warning just like the sudden kiss shared between him and death itself, the moment harry even dared to even blink for just a second, he was already falling, falling down from something, the sky? No, he was only able to recognize the looks of a ceiling before his back crashed and made an impact with something hard, causing him to wince in pain -- eyes fluttering shut tightly as he groaned, his arm wrapping around his side, too out of it to hear the loud horrified screams of students around him. 

His head spinning dangerously like how it was during apparation or perhaps whenever using a portkey, yet harry mentally composed himself for a few long moments -- cracking his eyes wide open only to stare up at the familiar ceiling, one harry wouldn't ever forget even if one were to erase his memories more than a hundred times using obliviate; a ceiling which belonged to no other than the hogwarts great hall.

Letting out a small grunt as he took in his bearings; letting himself take slow but steady steps to stand up right with both of his legs, losing his balance more than once or twice is something harry wouldn't ever wish to admit -- as his trembling legs supported his aching body, uncomfortably, harry blinked for a few moments staring at the young faces who stared at him modified as if he were an alien, something unusual, something not human that had fallen out of no where. 

Yet, harry didn't have much time to dwell on it as in mere moments, just seconds, his ears met the loud crash near him; with his head practically snapping to where the sound came from, his gaze met at the now cluttered, broken in half ravenclaw table, with the students who previously occupied the seats near the crash having jumped out of the way in time, just in time for harry to see a familiar figure, person that had just crashed the same way harry had just moments ago. 

Harry didn't hesitate, even as his legs trembled, desired to give up on him, he staggered helplessly towards the ravenclaw table; ignoring the concerned bystanders who tried to stop him from exhausting his body any further -- the moment striking avada eyes laid on the body of his sister, luna, harry’s heart seemed to be nearly ready to leap out of his chest -- His steps paused, as harry stared at luna helplessly, as if not being able to believe this. 

Maybe perhaps this was one of his foolish dreams of his, maybe he had hallucinated everything that happened between him and the deity of death, yet, the living proof of luna lovegood being alive was the slight uncomfortable frown that she had while her eyes were shut tightly closed in pain caused by the impact of her fall, with her chest rising in an uneven rhythm that gave a clear sign that she was panicked — everything was enough to make harry believe, that this wasn't some sick joke, that he hadn't truly gone insane. 

“Luna.“ Harry’s voice was no more than a mere whisper, as he helplessly stared at the girl; oh, she looked much younger than when she had died, yet harry didn't pay much attention to such a detail. Pushing away the small crowd of students that surrounded his sister in worry, as every step felt agonizingly slow, even as harry walked at the center of the broken ravenclaw table where luna laid, breathing, alive, which filled harry with something indescribable. 

As harry kneeled just short inches away from luna’s laid form, harry’s arms stretched out towards the other, shaking in a way that was uncontrollably, even as he wrapped his arms around his sister’s warm — not cold form with his chin placed on top of her head -- her silvery blonde locks touching his face slightly as he did so, yet harry continued to hug her tightly as if she would disappear in a blink of an eye, holding her for she was the most precious being in his entire life, and it was the truth, luna lovegood truly was the most precious person in harry’s life. 

Harry was silent, his breathing laboured as he continued to hug luna, seemingly not realizing the other had returned his embrace; as if in a daze, the wizard couldn't hear nor notice anything else whether it be the sound of luna’s soft strained voice sounding as if she were speaking again for the first time in a long while, or the loud horrified murmurs of students staring at them with curiosity or with terror within a great distance; along with being unable to notice the small round of hogwarts teachers holding up all of their wands in a defensive stance as if in fear harry would randomly attack them all. 

He could only feel his throat hurt, feel as if he couldn't breathe, harry could only hear someone’s screams from afar, then the sudden wave of realization hit him, the reason why his throat was in so much pain — was because the one who had been screaming had been harry, himself. 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!“

His screams pierced through the thick air of tension, as harry held luna in his arms, protecting her with his entire body, his life, harry screamed in despair, in joy, yet also in shame and guilt, he let everything out -- every fiber of his body harry allowed himself to let everything out, and for once, he indulged in uttering his despair for his own existence by his loud echoing screams. 

Harry was only a human after all; not just a wizard, not a weapon, not a saviour, he was human -- he was supposed to, no, allowed to, had the right to feel this way, to feel suffocated by his emotions as he screamed even when his throat began to hurt from his relentlessly screaming, even when harry felt something watery, a warm liquid fall down from his cheeks — even as hogwarts began to shake uncontrollably as he screamed within her walls. 

Everything was muffled, whether it be the panicked crowds of young students, and teachers who ran away from the great hall to safely evacuate as hogwarts began crumbling beneath everyone in a blink of an eye, as everything was beginning to fall into ruins; the ancient walls and grounds of the castle cracking, breaking into little pieces that soon grew bigger by the second as harry swallowed himself in his self destruction, allowing everything in his surroundings, to be destroyed into oblivion. 

Yet — through his daze, harry could faintly feel the touch of something, someone wiping away his tears, he blinked looking at luna, the alive luna staring back at him with a sad shine in her pale eyes, her lips were moving, she was talking, yet; harry couldn't hear her, but, even then he could easily know what she was saying -- she was comforting him, harry.

Oh, how a wreck harry must've looked in his sister's eyes yet, a sense of joy filled him in an instant as he stared at luna, the very much so alive luna lovegood, breathing and kicking -- well not really kicking but you get the gist of it. “Hey..“ his voice never felt so utterly small until now, as he let out a relieved yet tired smile as he stared at her. “Hi..“ Luna returned the greeting softly, with a small smile; and once again harry didn't hesitate to pull her into a tight hug like previously. 

“It's nice to be back, harry.“ The muffled whisper of luna’s words weren't left unheard, as harry only held her tighter in his arms; seemingly not noticing their surroundings as the cracks and damages once made by whether harry’s screams, his magic, or something that will be forever left unknown slowly began to repair itself, the shaking of the hogwarts castle stopping the moment luna intervened the destruction and chaos was inflicting onto himself, but also his surroundings. 

“I'm glad you are back.“ Harry whispered tiredly, allowing a lazy smile to grace his lips as he pulled back from their tight embrace; something well deserved after being reunited once again — It was strange how luna never seemed to question anything about this, perhaps she didn't know she had died? And the more as harry looked at her, she truly did seem younger than before when she had died; harry would be able to recall an adult luna in contrast to a luna lovegood who looked to be in her fourth year at hogwarts. 

But that's how luna has always been, well.. unique in her own ways; harry wouldn't pry unless she came and told him herself whether she knew already or not but harry wasn't stupid enough to not know that luna seemed to know more than enough information than needed. “You did great, harry, you gave more enough -- rest, you deserve it more than anyone.“

The words were sudden, harry blinked owlishly for a moment at luna but the words seemed to make him realize how tired his body truly was, yet, harry felt reluctant to leave luna alone whilst he rest -- afraid that something may happen to her again, that he wouldn't be there to protect her just like the last time.

But her smile was soft yet firm, as if she was wordlessly coaxing harry that she would do well alone on her own; of course, he trusted luna more than anyone, she was a good fighter one that shouldn't be underestimated even with her petite structure; it wouldn't.. hurt to rest, just for a short moment. 

Nodding tiredly, harry placed his forehead on luna’s shoulder as his eyes closed seemingly too tired to notice the fact his glasses weren't on his face anymore as he slept soundlessly in just a few short moments; allowing luna to glance at him with a small smile, as her clever pale fingers quietly trailed harry’s long hair, combing through the locks with a small comforting hum that rang quietly around the now deserted hogwarts great hall. 

“Thank you truly, death.“ Luna lovegood softly murmured to nobody, but herself and perhaps to the sudden breeze of cold air. 

Chapter Text

Pure and Radiate, that was Orion black’s first thought the moment that strange boy fell — no crashed onto the slytherin table breaking it on immediate impact, followed by another on the ravenclaw table after just a few short moments later, yet, his unwavering attention, fascination was settled upon this boy, this angel.

The moment his grey eyes settled upon this unknown person, Orion understood quickly that attempting to look away would prove futile and useless, he's been utterly charmed — bewitched, the power, the magic, the authority practically radiated off this unknown being as if it were natural, and it tasted so delicious, Orion was almost tempted to lose all of his dignity to just lick the air like a dog in a pathetic attempt to have an actual taste.

Of course; Orion didn't actually do it, though he was nearly seduced into doing so without a second thought — At just sensing that overflowing, even perhaps an endless amount of magic was more than enough to make even the heir of the most noble and most ancient house of black act like a shameless rabid animal with no morals, or manners whatsoever.

And god, those eyes, those green, green eyes — they never once even looked at his way but just a glimpse of them made Orion’s knees feel so weak, if such eyes gave just the tiniest attention to him, he was almost sure he wouldn't hesitate to give away all of his family’s fortune towards this strange boy, the utterly bewitching being that fell out of thin air and split the slytherin table in an instant.

Orion needed to know who this boy was, who the young man with those eerily vivid green eyes that seemed to glow with nothing but magic was, whose night-black curls were so long, and dishevelled yet suited him so beautifully nevertheless.

Silently Orion felt a hand quietly travel down to his own chest, feeling his loud, rapid heartbeat without a hitch, a simple motion that easily described what Orion felt for this mysterious being — person, young man, it took just a split moment for him to notice it was his own hand that hovered over his own chest as he felt the rapid beats of his restless heart.

A feeling he’s never felt for anyone, of course — while others were just a fleeting crush, a brush of admiration or sick cruel obsession that disappeared the moment the said person became less interesting .. This certain young man was something more akin to genuine love? Orion didn't know what to call such emotions per say.

He would truly need to send a letter to his father as of today as fast as humanly or owlishly possible — It would make him a fool to not realize, he's been absolutely gone smitten for a boy he barely even knew until now, and of all things necessary Orion black needed to be the first to court this pretty gem that his eyes had just laid upon.

Though, his attention, his longing desperate gaze was ripped away as crowds of students were being evacuated — and Orion for just a split moment wanted to stay still in the great hall even with the knowledge the great castle herself was shaking, falling into utter destruction but even amongst the chaos his eyes always settled upon him and only him.

That ear splitting scream — fueled with nothing but hurling fury and unspeakable despair, a silent dangerous promise to ruin everything, that dare even come across his path, something that left Orion breathless, he felt desperate, felt pathetic as he wanted to come closer towards this strange young man.

Yet — the moment he even dared to take a short step, hands gripped upon him and for once, just for split moment — his unwavering attention shifted away from that strange angel like being and settled upon the faces of his cousins, Alphard and Walburga Black.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, you bloody nitwit?! Let's go before the castle collapses down on you, not just you, us!“ Walburga screeched angrily through the loud rumbling of ancient stones collapsing yet with her high voice was a stark contrast to her eyes, wide and terrified yet determined to not let a black die in such a way.

Alphard merely nodded his head in silent agreement though his body was clearly tense, the small hands that held Orion steady shaking uncontrollably, it was not the boy’s fault after all — most likely chance is that Walburga dragged poor young Alphard along against his own will to save him from being crushed by hogwarts.

As both of his cousins attempted to spew sense into his dazed hopeless existence all the while dragging him to also evacuate the crumbling hogwarts castle, Orion shifted his head absentmindedly turning to look for that strange young man once again, searching endlessly almost restlessly even.

And Orion found what he had been searching for amidst all the chaos -- grey eyes landed upon that sole person that enraptured his very heart, soul and existence by just existing, just by breathing.

That young man was crying, so beautifully so; Orion wanted no more than to come closer, wipe those said tears away from those awfully pale yet delicate cheeks of his while Orion would comfort him.

Yet his absent train of thoughts of longing to have just a mere touch on that pale scarred yet nevertheless beautiful pale skin were snapped in a merciless instance as a sudden stinging pain met with his cheek.

“Huh?..“ Orion muttered in a quiet daze, blinking monetarily for a few short seconds to regain his bearings and dignity as his gaze met Walburga’s everso stern and dare he say mean ones — all the fear now gone in an instance after having evacuated hogwarts now.

“What has even gotten into you?? Are you perhaps such a fool to just stand there while everyone was in haste evacuating?! Explain!“ Orion didn't even understand what his cousin was bloody spouting about — his mind merely and only circled on one certain thing, those enchanting eyes of that unknown young wizard -- or perhaps veela with how much of a daze that boy dragged him in.

———————

Irritated –— was what described Abraxas Malfoy’s mood the moment a unknown body crashed onto the slytherin table causing not only his new exotic robes tailored in Japan, but also well taken care of and lovingly maintained hair and face to be utterly drenched in a mixture of both mushed up unfinished food and unknown mix of liquid drinks after not having seen it coming like many other slytherins, having had a late response until the very last minute but even then, it was too late even for him to even attempt to move away in a quick haste.

And there he was just standing amongst the crowds of Slytherin students, arms crossed disapprovingly just holding his tongue even so practically biting it to not ramble at the fact he -- the proud son and heir of the malfoy family will certainty be telling his father all about this and make sure whoever dared to dirty his fine, stunning exotic robes would truly pay for this sick joke, with an even much greater price for even daring to mess with him, a malfoy of people?? Such unfunny ’pranks’ truly, the nerve of people nowadays how crud.

It was cruel and childish, whoever this unknown person was, the malfoy family along with many proud other families would make sure to give them a piece of their minds. It didn't help that the said assaulter was, well — attractive, just a little there was clearly much better out there in the world.

Though, Abraxas would rather wear the most outdated seasoned robes of the century rather than ever even admitting to something such as that, how horrifying, he would never! Not even to his most very trusted acquaintances — like riddle or avery, would never hear or know about this ridiculous thought nor opinion of his, the horror it would bring if Abraxas himself ever dare to do so!

The very moment someone would be able to even force such a stupid confession out of his throat was either between a life or death situation — or if someone dared to threaten burning down Abraxas’s lavish and rare collection of robes that he so truly adored and were only specifically made for him and only him, no one else.

Abraxas sniffed, scrunching and wrinkling his nose slightly, as he turned his head away from the unknown person — preferring to not stare too much unlike heir black of all people, and many others, how silly, though surely just a few short glances to that awful strange boy’s direction isn't considered anything close to more than a look, or merlin forbid a stare so similar to Orion Black’s shameless look of pure daze of being absolutely charmed.

The other boy of such a high status couldn't truly have made it more obvious than anyone else, couldn't he? The malfoy heir wasn't curious, or anything else — He was irritated, annoyed, and would surely make sure that careless idiotic boy with the most vibrant green eyes would never hear the end of it from him or his family, Abraxas will make sure his father would hear all about the disrespect he's faced today, the sole heir of the most respectable and ancient malfoy house! Unacceptable.

Abraxas ignored the strange quick and almost unhealthy beat of his heart, he ignored the way his eyes would unconsciously rest upon wherever the stupid young man went — if not he told himself it was only curiosity, nothing more nothing else.

The malfoy heir liked girls — not boys, it was wrong, impossible even with all his flings having been all perfect and very much so dignified pretty young women.

He ignored everything that he himself had strangely felt, rather choosing to face his focus with following the evacuation with the teachers and the headmaster not allowing the perfects to meddle, in worry that they too would get caught in the danger all the while hastily signalling for all hogwarts students from every house, making sure for everyone to make quick as the great castle of hogwarts crumbled down underneath all of her children.

———————

This being was a monster — that was the only thing that rang repeatedly in young Tom Riddle’s head, a monster, something ethereal and inhuman.

It’s magic was greater than his, greater enough to even be able to eat Tom Riddle whole and without mercy, it gave a false sense of comfort, and warmth as if it were all light and pure, ever so kind; but one would be foolish enough to not see it, see through it's disguise.

The way death clung to this being, hidden in his very shadow as if he were it's master following him til’ the very ends of the earth cold and waiting, a everso patient fellow that grew hungrier as the seconds ticked by, this monstrous boy was worse than the devil himself.

It was a sense of immediate danger — The stink of death worse than when Tom Riddle had made his very first horcrux; which was no other than the precious black and normal looking muggle diary of his.

From the unknown young man’s clothed body, to his very magic clung the lingering mark of death, underneath the false layer of that magic hid a cruel edge to it, dangerous and unforgiving; it was delicious, not entirely dark, but not entirely so pure either.

It was grey, a perfect grey — unlike his, they shared something in common; yet Tom Riddle couldn't place his finger on it, but the strange dangerous sense, feeling of curiosity had already been planted into his mind, into his head — Tom had always loved mysteries, and this boy was just as intriguing if not more.

Tom Riddle has been provoked, his curiosity spiked; he needs to learn more about this inhuman, and so unnerving boy sooner or later — but for that to happen, Riddle must need patience, and a whole endless amount of it.

A being that reeks with the sickening, and cruel unforgiving touch of death, that was almost, just almost similar to that of when Tom Riddle had created his very own and first horcrux -- with this young man being something entirely if not completely different from soul magic yet also in a way was involved in it.

The unknown always truly had a way to both terrify him, yet also spike his endless hunger for knowledge and cruel truth — And even as he evacuated his one true home, even as the great lady hogwarts castle crumbled in a fast pace, even as Tom could feel his body nearly tremble in sickening fear that if hogwarts were to be destroyed now, he'd be left to return back to the muggle world where the risk of death by a bomb was more high than necessary.

His thoughts always circled back to that strange monster; remained everso stuck to that young man, to that great sinner.

Though whilst his greatest crimes in life may not be easily seen nor deciphered by just magic, one cannot deny such a being with that type of magic hasn't killed before.

Evil always recognizes evil — or perhaps, the young man is something akin to in between, morally grey if many would describe it as.

 ———————

Harry opened his eyes to glance at his surroundings, eerily familiar as he stared blankly at the misty and almost blurred out image of the same ministry court room that was used for the trial of Luna Lovegood’s murderers; He knew it was nothing more than a mere memory, a nightmare if he could say so himself.

He remembers the day so clearly, perhaps not much as before; with many proud faces of the court blurred — their existence smudged unlike for the face of those young wizards or just one certain one; smug and shamelessly having not shown any remorse for the crimes they've been revealed to have committed to someone so lovely, so pure, barely having lived long enough to even find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack she had been so fond about.

Harry remembers their names so clearly, Vandou De Culdevar; a young french man in his early twenties, tall in structure with a fine build that could have easily overpowered someone with luna’s petite body, hair a dark brown colour with his features sharp, cheeks hollow with clear dark circles underneath his eyes that were crazed with sick pleasure out of this entire situation.

He had such the nerve to look so smug nevertheless; to even dare look at Auror Harry Potter as if challenging him to come at him and his younger brother right here, right now.

Though whilst Vandou showed clear arrogance, easily assuming such crimes made by him would earn him nothing but just a slap on the wrist — His brother could be said differently.

His body was thin, too thin for such classical formal pureblood robes — An unhealthy pale colour, his face was gaunt as if something, someone was haunting his very existence and tormenting him slowly, and agonizingly into insanity, unlike the former photos showed in Nier Chalamet De Culdevar case documents; one would say the said man that stood in front of the court today was nothing but the mere shell of whom he used to be.

But Harry knew he deserved much worse, deserved to suffer a consequence more worse and cruel than death itself; His thoughts ran wild as he stared at the memory blankly, as it motioned and moved around as the court went and go slowly.

Harry could only ask himself what was he thinking through the utter distraught of Luna’s death, all the while facing her own very murderers just a few days after her passing — just a day after having seen her casket buried into the ground.

One looking so proud and assured that this was nothing to worry about; whilst the other seemed to be suffering the guilt, slowly but surely being suffocated and drowned at the very unforgivable sin he's just committed — or perhaps it wasn't guilt at all, but instead the utter fear of the punishment to come.

If not by the stain left on his mental stability, Nier’s appearance easily showed that he was slowly diving into the dark unreturnable depts of insanity where there would be no return.

“She was a lucky one..“ The sound of a misty hoarse voice snapped Harry out of his restless train of thoughts, as his gaze settled upon Vandou silently; observing with sharp keen eyes as that sickening bastard spoke.

“If Auror Ron Weasley hadn’t come so early.. Me and my brother could’ve had just a little bit more fun with a sweet body like hers,“ His words rolled out of his tongue through a thick accent, yet what drove Harry on edge was the small proud smirk that subtlety appeared on Vandou’s lips as said words left his disgusting mouth.

And unlike the true occasion, the real memory where Harry Potter only sat in a tired daze, and distraught state having tuned everything out until the very end even as the two brothers were sentenced; Harry could feel himself grip onto his holly wand quietly, though while it sparked a strange familiarity; it no longer held the warmth and magic it did so long ago Harry would easily note to himself as his body tensed with pure seething hatred, hate, that burned and made him see nothing more but bright crimson red.

Harry didn't flinch as he aimed his wand motionlessly and quietly to the french bastard that continued to remain boasting about how easily Luna Lovegood was tricked in front of the whole court, arrogant and proud thinking that such crimes like these would go forgiven easily.

He talked about how easy it was to have made her suffer through those long aggravating two hours of utter merciless torture, describing how she called out for her precious auror brother -- cried and begged for mercy, begged to let her and the child growing in her to live, but most of all fought back against her assaulters; “Oh.. Ye, she was a cute one truly, crying but her eyes were so fierce as she tried every time to fight back.. Useless in the end though.“ Vandou couldn't keep his mouth shut.

It was more than just hate and rage Harry felt about this young man just nearly the same age as him; It was sickening, he desired no more than to torture him until Vandou was no more than a vegetable, useless and locked away in the deep wards of St.Mungos — The man had deprived another of a wife whom beared the blessing of a sweet child on the way, this bastard had deprived Harry of a sister, and a niece or nephew perhaps even both.

It was unforgivable; both in the eyes of the laws and magic itself children, witches and wizards alike supposed to create peace and equality yet instead of that so — They continue to spill sacred magic blood, continue to kill for the sick pleasure of it, continue to steal away the beloved lives of many others without much of a thought. It was only a memory; Harry would remind himself.

A memory he had tucked in the very back of his mind, hidden it and locked it away as if it were a monster ready to escape sooner or later and come to hunt him once more.

So as he stood there, staring watching that boy even undeserving of the title ’man’ — His wand pointed, his breathing sharp and hasty as Harry could feel every singular cruel spell cross his mind, a desire to inflict immense pain cocooned his mind.

Yet; he didn't, he couldn't — Luna wouldn't like this? Would have she tried to stop him had she been alive? That singular thought about his sister was able to shake Harry to the core, his hands felt clammy and weak as he watched as his own hand gave away and dropped the holly wand go the ground; not making a noise whatsoever as it did so.

This was wrong — In so many degrees, it would do no use to spill more magical blood. It would only be a great unforgivable insult to mother magic herself; yet, the temptation was strong, standing so clear in view in front of the judge, in front of Harry even, cuffed to be kept in place and helplessly so cluelessly vulnerable.

Harry was losing himself, yet he couldn't help it. He had done nothing the very first time, merely sat there like a fool, like a mess, unresponsive — It was only a memory, Harry reminded himself, a memory that cannot be changed yet already has been to even just a small degree.

His magic uncoiled itself from him, unleashing it just around his surroundings as Harry quietly raised his hand to observe the flow of magic just from his very fingertips, and without another word, merely pointing a finger at Vandou wordlessly — Harry watched as the french man abruptly stopped talking, watched as something akin to dark smoke yet also liquid binded his legs together, watched as it rapidly began to engulf his entire body as Vandou screamed so horribly as if he experiencing the greatest pain known to man.

It took Vandou’s entire body; Engulfed it into a matter of seconds before soon slowly disappearing leaving nothing but the now crumpled up soulless and seemingly dry fragile body of the boy — looking as if having had his body sucked out of everything, his eye sockets were empty only showed hollow darkness, mouth eerily agape showing that even in the last moments of cruel death, it was only fear one showed.

Yet, Harry Potter felt nothing as he stared at such a scene — the rage and hate all gone, the feeling of despair, the need and thirst to kill having vanished the instant he had done this to Vandou.

But, just like him the surroundings of the memory was also quiet, still and unmoving as if not knowing how to move on forward as this hadn't originally happened.

He felt so strangely numb, so inhumane. As if he wasn't breathing, as if his heart wasn't pumping blood to his very veins to keep him alive, it was like as if he were no longer human.

It was nothing like Harry Potter’s true kill just two years later, on a muggle used as a sacrifice for a certain dark spell Harry had found in one of the oldest books in black castle.

Then suddenly, the numbness, the feeling of being hollow inside as if he were no longer human disappeared — slowly but quickly, Harry felt the feeling of sick, twisted and sickening satisfaction as he stared at Vandou’s corpse, stared at the now unmoving surroundings of the trial, paused as it seems, of course a memory wouldn't be able to continue on with an event that didn't occur in reality.

The power thrummimng in his very fingertips, deep in his veins — It belonged all to him, entangled in his very being, protected him, and would obey him for now he has grown.

Nobody has to know that he had gotten joy out of murdering, unlike before where he had done it as a necessity.

It can be a little secret — a small secret that you can keep? Can you not?

Then — Abruptly, Harry awoke.

“Good morning, master.“ A smooth voice spoke softly to him — smooth and velvety, yet held a certain edge to it cold and unforgiving something similar to a certain deity. Silently, Harry opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he adjusted with the light; only to realize his surroundings or so the familiar ceiling of the Hogwarts infirmary was more clearer than ever.

Yet, he couldn't feel the weight of his glasses? What was happening? Though, as if having heard the turmoil in his mind, the voice spoke again. “I've fixed your sight — truly has nobody told you yet that you have such beautiful eyes? Not your mothers, but yours only yours.“

His gaze immediately shifted to his side where the voice could be heard the clearest; and there stood a young man — in his early teens perhaps around just fifteen.

With his hands behind his back, wearing the usual black robes for hogwarts though had no colour of a house as if having not been sorted just yet.

This unknown yet so oddly familiar individual had an appearance of a handsome young and very so flourishing young man.

From his brownish dark hair like that of chocolate, shining slightly in red whenever the soft rays of the sun touched his hair from where he stood near the window — to his dark eyes that almost seemed empty, the darkness within those very eyes almost willing to mercilessly swallow anyone whom dared to stare far too long.

Features, once again — was handsome, soft yet were already showing clear signs that in just a year or two once truly reaching puberty those soft teenage features of his would be no more; and instead would grow sharper, and the young man would only be more handsomer than now.. Nose slightly crooked as if having been punched and broken at least once.

Skin; in between both an unhealthy colour pale and tanned — Harry couldn't quite find the easy term for the boy’s skin tone, though for his structure at his age or so Harry hoped was his age was taller than most already — or perhaps it was because Harry had been smaller at fifteen than most people were, with times even the girls from his year being just a few inches taller than him.

Then it abruptly clicked in his mind — and without hesitation, Harry spoke or attempted to at least scratch his words out from his extremely dry and aching throat. “Death?“ He whispered — voice hoarse and softer than usual for the sake of his poor vocal cords.

“Yes, great master.“ Death spoke coolly as it — he took a quiet step forward to the bed where Harry lay, resting now newly awoken. “Though, it is better to begin calling me by the name Mortise Aegorian Tempus from now on.“

Harry’s features couldn't help but contort into confusion at those words, before he knew it the words already left his mouth. “Shouldn't you be off collecting the souls of puppies?“ The sarcasm was undoubtedly not present at the moment, yet if Harry’s throat wasn't killing him perhaps it would've been laced with the infamous sass Harry Potter was known for.

And if one were to observe closely enough, they would be able to notice the subtle twitch of Death’s lips; as if it — or rather he was forcing himself to not react to such words, yet those hollow dark eyes now held a small difference than previously so, it held a rare bright shine to it's dark depts, as if showing his fondness instead through the eyes rather than an amused smile.

Yet, as the deity opened his mouth to respond, the curtains of Harry’s section in the infirmary was abruptly pushed away revealing a very much so alive, and younger version of the Luna Lovegood, Harry knew — holding a tray of various breakfast meals, along with a cozy warm cup of coffee floating effortlessly in the air.

And of course, with a honey waffle stuffed in her mouth as she looked at the freshly awoken Harry without any surprise as if having expected this, yet nevertheless, gave; or at least tried to give her brother a smile with a waffle in her mouth as she wandlessly floated the breakfast tray onto Harry’s lap, before taking her floating coffee from the air.

“Greetings, Miss Lovegood.“ Death or rather Mortise greeted politely, along with a small nod of acknowledgement as Luna quietly sat down on her usual spot near Harry’s right side on the infirmary bed, with Luna giving the deity a beaming smile as she peacefully chewed on her honey waffle with delight, before quietly looking at Harry as she continued to go on finishing her waffle.

It took Harry a few moments longer than expected before he spoke, silently switching his gaze between his sister and the deity whom was now literally disguised as a unsorted hogwarts student.

Not to mention everything seemed so strange, the fact Luna was younger looking like how she had been during her hogwarts years unlike when she died as an adult, everything felt.. In a way new? It was an indescribable feeling yet something was different, everything was different in a way Harry was unsure of yet knew, like a strange instinct, like an itch that kept reminding him that he had been bitten by something — it bothered him.

Though, as Harry’s thoughts went haywire, Luna perked up instantly breaking the others trail of thoughts as she spoke — her waffle now devoured, and savoured by her stomach who let out a pleased sound that was barely audible.

“It is the 1st of November of 1942 today.“ She spoke softly and gently her voice like a soothing lullaby, before silently moving a long strand of his hair away from Harry’s face, as if having sensed his inner turmoil.

However, as the words left Luna’s mouth, Harry could only glance at her, then at death rapidly, and to his utter embarrassment on his behalf of.. Well his dignity and pride that could never be restored after this very moment — Harry James Bloody Potter’s jaw went slack, before his eyes rolled back from his head promptly fainting.

"That certainly went better than expected!“ Luna exclaimed towards Death whom stared blankly back at her, as she clapped her hands together in a way that the deity could politely describe as a unique gesture.

———————

The moment that boy fell from nowhere but thin air, Albus Dumbledore knew something was wrong, extremely wrong — yet one couldn't easily point a finger as to what was wrong.

And with the panic of the students, the possibility of danger upon his lions? and of course the other houses as well.

Sweet Merlin the thought was horrible, yet, as he as well as the other teachers along with Headmaster Dippet raised their wands defensively towards that boy and his companion, circling them both to make sure no harm came any of the children’s way.

Dumbledore felt something in his heart, it felt so awfully wrong, his hand trembled as he pointed at that strange young man, broken and in despair — as if there was a connection, a strange one that prevented Dumbledore from taking action, and for a moment he wondered why he hesitated.

This could be one of Grindelwald’s spies for mother magic’s bloody sake! Yet, the thought only crossed his mind, his mind clouded with strange Deja vu, as if he's seen this boy before, even though Dumbledore knew he hasn't.

He would've remembered someone like the young man; Yet, he didn't, only the lingering feeling of familiarity clouded him, overwhelmed him to the very point it practically, slowly choked him breathless.

And there it was, a flash of something, too fast for his eyes to see clearly nor to remember, yet it was that boy next to him, next to Albus Dumbledore yet he was young, oh so young, sitting near Dumbledore’s feet near the fireplace knitting socks together in what looked to be the headmaster’s office.

The voices flashed rapidly, nevertheless enough to properly understand the short conversation.

“Professor Dumbledore?“

“Is there something wrong, my boy?“

“Do you ever wonder if my destiny is to be like my mum and dad? #£&#* by You-Know-Who?“

“Now, now Harry.. You mustn't think about such things so young, also while knitting socks at Christmas day! And to answer to such a curious question,“

Dumbledore paused, though even so from the warm tone of his voice it was clear enough that a soft gentle smile was clearly on the old man’s lips as the fire from the fireplace crinkled lightly as background music behind them both.

“I swear to you, my dearest boy, Harry.. No harm nor injustice would occur to you as long as I'm alive, as long as the lady magic allows the magic in my veins to continue, for you are what people would describe.. My only child.“

Those words echoed inside his head, slowly disappearing before a flash of the same boy, so young, so innocent so naive yet to see the full cruelty of the world showed him smiling, his glasses crooked and broken.

And for a moment Albus wondered why he hadn't bothered to fix them in this odd vision? Not once noticing that his wand had already fallen to his sides, only shaking out of this train of delusions the moment Hogwarts herself had begun to shake.

Chapter Text

A dream. Or so be called a vision was no longer a surprise to Gellert Grindelwald — having started experiencing them ever since he was a young remarkable boy up until his adulthood, yet nevertheless, this one was strangely different from all the rest.

Where all his visions merely lay and circled upon him near the far future and the events that involved only him, it seemed that the usual was not to be seen anymore; here he stood still, numb and unable to move as the scenes flashed before his eyes, as the voices spoke in a misty stone barely coherent yet also in a way was understandable. 

There in front of the Dark lord stood two mystical beings and one. Normal, creatures to be exact, with just one strange young man with flowing long black locks of ebony hair standing in the middle amongst all the chaos that surrounded them with his back facing Gellert — obscuring his face completely. 

With those said mystical creatures that accompanied that unknown boy, a child almost he could be described with how thin and short he seemed despite his clear teenage youthful age. 

One of those that accompanied the boy was a large beautiful dragon, with shining black razor-sharp scales in a way that could be described as breathlessly magnificent yet terrifying stood proudly its scales and wings rustling slightly as if the slightest bit of provoking could lead to the said persons' swift demise. 

With its brilliant alluring scales and large spiked wings was itself on its own a silent warning for those to merely admire yet do no more for just a simple touch. Was more than certain to lead to more harm than good. 

And.. Paired along with such dark glimmering scales were grey onyx eyes that keenly eyed Grindelwald as if they were able to see him, clearly, or perhaps sense him in a way even as though it were something more than just a mere curious vision of his. 

— The horrifying beast quietly and slowly circled protectively around the unknown young man who had his back facing Grindelwald, his face obscure by the long locks of his dark hair that flowed softly with the wind yet... The undeniable sense of overwhelming magic easily radiated off his being — despite it all being... A vision, merely a vision, nothing more. 

Next was a raven, something normal one would think -- assume had it not been for the strange eerily presence it had whilst simply being perched over the said young man as before and just like his master was looking out into the open — their surroundings covered in an array of magical fire, green, white and along with. Grindelwald's signature blue. 

Then, there was a flaming majestic White Phoenix, hovering in the air and circling as it let out soft beautiful shrills of what could be described to be something akin to sadness with small glittering teardrops falling from its pale eyes — its beautiful wings flapping pitifully as if it were soon to collapse whether in exhaustion or of utter despair itself. 

Everything was a mess, in utter complete ruins, yet, the young man didn't turn around to face Grindelwald as if staring at a scene he wished he hadn't witnessed yet nevertheless had; but sooner, longer than the Dark lord would have expected — that boy soon slowly turned around. 

His boots made a small crackle noise as they made harsh contact with the rough ground of stone and nothing more than cobble; yet, Grindelwald could now see his face, that young tender yet... Silently and dangerously enraged beautiful face was a deep reminder of what he had been also. 

"With his death.." The raven soon uncannily tilted its head, before a third eye appeared above his former two — it spoke abruptly in a deep whisper, akin to that telling a secret eerily yet similar to how most visions would be spoken to him. "The war of magic has come to an end. And the war of fire and blood began." 

That boy's features contorted into deep hurling fury, yet he remained silent; his lips curled into a thin dominating line, his frows burrowed as his green, oh so-green enchanting eyes were expressing just what he'd do to whoever had murdered the said person who died as the three-eyed crow proclaimed previously.

Yet there was one... Undeniable factor in his face, the small singular delicate teardrop that fell from his cheek — Though, before one could simply place their attention upon such a small critical detail, the young boy, barely even a man but instead a child, a teenager growing raised his wand upon the air, pointing it to the dark cloudy skies. 

And without a word, light shot up from the tip of his wand a wand scarily similar to Grindelwald's own — a wand that is impossible to hold a copy of, unless, it had been stolen from him, taken away, or had been murdered for it; nevertheless, besides the clear ownership of that child of the dark lord's beloved wand. 

As the flash of magic touched the skies, a green mist in the form of the deathly hollows appeared similar to Grindelwald's marking of his. Well, reign yet unlike his, the green-eyed boy's marking held a dangerous serpent coiling around the symbol oh so familiar, flicking its tongue every once in a while as it slithered continuously in a silent neverending loop. 

The deathly hollows, encaged by the large circling green snake were the symbolism of this young man's reign, the beginning of something new for the Wizarding world and alike — yet the question stood if this child's reign had just begun.. What has happened to his own? What has happened to the greatest dark lord of the century's ruling? 

Breathing, heavy breathing; it didn't come from him, but the young man as he quietly and almost numbly pushed the raven off his shoulder — to which the animal tried to deny, clinging onto its master as if knowing what it was about to do, yet, in the end, proved futile. 

Magic, pure magic crackled in the air without a sound to indicate anything, the blinding flash of magic surging through the sky lit up the grey clouds, the light that shone came from no other than that strange boy; now in the high air, as thunder rumbled from the far distance, as the ground began to quietly rumble at it's wake. 

"In the name of the mother of magic, the creator of all constellations and the never-ending universe," His voice rang clearly from the sky, easily heard by all if anyone were to survive such a disaster like this — Powerful and clear, something rare to be seen in such a child like this, a sense of magic coiled within those simple words demanding the utmost respect. 

"I, Hadrian Peverell... Formerly Harry James %#℅∆\.. First and last of his name, protector of the realm and its people, the reincarnated loss fragment of who shall be named no less than mother of them all." He — now known as Hadrian, oh young poor Hadrian breathed heavily as he paused from his words, as if hesitant of what was to come, of what he was about to do. 

Quietly, he tilted his head upwards to view the grey clouds up the endless sky above him — staring at them momentarily before it began to rain as if he had undoubtedly wordlessly commanded itself to do so with just a simple look. "Hereby declare. People of .. Nonmagic and once children of the lady, " Hadrian whispered, as he lowered his gaze to the ground.. Before letting the words slip out of his mouth. "Your sins are forgiven."

And like a righteous god, the boy raised his hand in the air — as he without a flinch allowed all the magic within him to spill out of his entire being, caging itself into an invisible bubble seemingly ready to pop any second more; yet it never seemed to stop, the endless flow... Like a holy being, an angel sent from above gives itself up for the sake of humanity. 

This, in front of Gellert Grindelwald in a vision that indicates this to happen not far in the future; the Dark lord watches, unable to move his gaze away from the scene as the boy sacrificed everything, from his magical core, from his body that was growing thinner than it had already been previously — leaving him an empty husk as all his magic was drained from him. 

Yet, he remained beautiful, as his eyes fluttered closed to a shut; and as the bubble of his near-endless large amounts of magic pooped in a blink of an eye, it surrounded everything — going everywhere and perhaps anywhere it could around the earth's globe. 

Hadrian Peverell remained unmoving in the sky, his body curled up into a small ball as from the ground it seemed the boy was out of life; making a sacrifice not even the dark lord knows what may be until the future event truly happens sooner or later.

And then, the grey clouds soon came to what could be seen as a halt, the rain stopped the sound of inraged thunder stopped – as if time itself came to a stop, with every singular drop of the rain freezing at its current state, unmoving, whether it were just inches away from touching the ground or rather remaining in the skies, unable to fall due to some force.

"It's all nothing but a story," A misty, chilling voice cut through the silence and the bond that formerly held the Dark lord in place seemed to disappear, allowing Grindelwald to hastily turn around and face the direction where the voice came from.

There stood a young woman, no, not a woman. A child barely even looking like a mature girl just yet, she stared at Grindelwald with a strange intense gaze, her lips a simple thin line as her dreamy gaze shifted away from him and instead to the sky.

She was an odd one, with wavy long locks of platinum pale blonde hair paired with light blue eyes that looked almost all-knowing despite the appearance of her age, an air of mystery seemed to surround the young girl whose name was yet to be known.

The Dark Lord's gaze shifted away from the young girl. Settling back towards the sky, to which. A large hand now cradled Hadrian's unmoving body, quietly fumbling the small child as if attempting to raise it from its wake, yet instead was met with nothing.

The large hand was bright, shining, and blinding in all indescribable ways – yet, even a squib could sense it instantly, magic. It did not coat, nor wrap around the large hand of whatever this was. 

It simply was magic, it did not hold magic, did have not a core somewhere within itself to hold magic... For its very existence and being was made of nothing but magic and crushed little stars, and as it held the boy in its large palm – a halo, almost seemed to have illusioned itself over the child's head, as if he were an angel or god who sacrificed itself for humanity; a child of a god, the child of magic.

A biblical symbol, illuminated by God's light, a halo that symbolized something that Grindelwald didn't know just yet, but the young girl that stood next to him without a doubt knew.

"And both you and I. Are nothing more than a small part of it." She murmured as her gaze lowered the moment the ground began to rumble once again, yet along with it came even the magic within Grindelwald to his very core felt as if it was to betray him and explode his entire being out of what? The unknown sense of anger and uncontrollable disdain?

Yet, the small hand of the child with pale hair quietly stopped his rush of thoughts, causing the Dark lord to turn his head slightly to face the girl. "It is not you. It is not your emotions. It is hers." She said simply, her soft voice laced with acceptance as if knowing that whoever was the cause of this... Would bring destruction for the simple sacred sacrifice of the mysterious Hadrian Peverell.

Then, Grindelwald opened his eyes. Blinking furiously as he stared in a slight daze at the ceiling of his bed chambers, feeling the clinging sensation of sweat and the ominous feeling of something wrong.

Ϟ

Harry quietly gave the required amount of gallons to pay for his and Luna's along with... Death's Hogwarts School supplies. They've already gotten their uniforms from Mister Mizchael's Robes for all occasions that Harry just now found out that in just a few years Madam Malkin the one from his original timeline would inherit from her father; who in terms of personality seemed to have gotten her overwhelmingly joyful personality from her father Mister Mizchael.

Everything was different no doubt, though it will never cease to stop being magical despite the lingering and stinging reminder that he, along with his sister and a deity disguised in human form was currently inside the era of Tom's bloody stupid Riddle along with a war in muggle London.

Yet, as he gazed silently at the floating parchment of their list of school supplies along with ignoring the intense gawking of wizards and witches who came and went whenever they all saw him easily commanding his magic with a simple wordless flick of his finger or sheer will whilst being preoccupied between the list of required school supplies and... Of course getting used to his teenage body once again.

Death and Luna didn't seem to mind Harry being the responsible one for now, the two odd yet wonderful pair roaming around Diagon Alley along with Knockturn as Harry's magic simply shrunk the items they've all bought, which were both a variety of school supplies yet also items that they simply picked out for themselves.

Though Death's issue with killing anything and everything he touches was yet to be soon resolved the deity of death was simply allowed to glance and point at the books, small trinkets, or types of clothing he so desired or found interest in to own before Harry, now Hadrian Astra Demusure Rosier Peverell simply laid out the gallons that were taken out of the small gallon pocket that was connected to Perevell, Rosier along with the multiple numerous other heirs' vault and .. Of course, vault number 1 which was Death's vault.

The routine was simple, but Harry had to find a solution for the deity's instant lead to the afterlife touch before they headed back to Hogwarts and got sorted into their possible individual yet respective houses. 

Quietly as Hadrian watched the two run off somewhere, Luna giggled sweetly with the deity simply taking suit of her example of joy and allowed an almost robotic laugh to escape his mouth to which the dreamy girl commented nothing about merely offering her signature soft smile.

About to follow suit on those two, his gaze was abruptly torn away from the path where the two had gone – instead locking on a pair of black elegant gloves on a glass display of some shop Harry did not have the patience to learn about, simply thinking about it for a second before he didn't hesitate to take a step forward and wordlessly push the shop door open allowing the small bell to chime making the Owner aware that a customer had entered.

"Whys a good' afternoon to you chap! What could I help you with today?" The wizard beamed politely behind the desk, his glasses tilting slightly as he welcomed Harry ecstatically. 

With just a polite nod of acknowledgment, Harry's magic didn't hesitate to levitate the fine pair of black leather gloves to himself with a simple snap a small bundle of 90 gallons appeared on the desk – which appeared to have startled the older man. "Thank you, keep whatever is the change of the amount given."

He stated simply as he carefully placed the pair of gloves in one of the pockets of his trench coat, wandlessly opening the door for himself as Harry left the shop easily without any further need for another tiring conversation.

Merlin, he truly didn't like socializing and unfortunately, Harry didn't mind denying such an obvious factor of his personality despite the people clearly may find it rude.

He was happy, he truly was. No doubt about it. Here was Luna Lovegood now known as Lunette Elinora Asterlayna Rosier Peverell, a beautiful but long and complex name that Harry and Luna's parents in this timeline seemed to have a fun time creating alongside the obsessed deity of death in a humanized teenage of itself following his sister around as they explore like sweet little kids.

Harry – no, Hadrian.. He cursed himself in his head as he tried to make the new name stick to no avail. He had everything, heir to the Peverell fortune, along with multiple other vaults filled to the brim with all the gallons he'd ever need with nothing to cross his way, his sister back from clutches of death, along returning as a proud student of Hogwarts once again like how he wished so desperately in his previous timeline.

Yet, everything felt surreal like a cruel dream, something lucid and real that could be lost in an instant once he woke up, numb and cold to the core, with the only bit of signs of his living existence being the chilling beat of his heart, and the thrumming of his magic through every part of his body.

He sighed as his eyes fluttered shut, hiding away those vivid green irises of his. It didn't take more than a second for him to sense the magical signature of Luna's magic, soft and calm like a warm spring river along with Death's... or rather, Mortise's magical signature that was accompanied by something, someone both familiar yet also distant and unrecognizable.

Eyes fluttering open to stare at the duo, now a trio with the unknown person Luna was happily dragging along whilst humming a soft odd tune. "And who may that be?" Harry inquired as he glanced at the small kid, looking young enough to be a first-year student in Hogwarts, his brow raising slightly.

The child wore nothing but simple oversized clothing and jeans that looked to barely fit her even had it not been for the belt that held it together from falling; the mere appearance of this unknown small girl easily brought a sickening image of what he used to be, how he used to be.

Yet despite that. Those wide and unfortunately adorable bug-shaped yellowish and gold eyes continued to stare at Harry with a gleam of recognition... And joy?

"Wellll...." Luna said in a sing-song voice as she dragged her L's, a beaming beautiful silly smile on her lips as Death quietly hid behind her, his expression blank. "Snowy owl." The girl said cheerfully as if that would be a great way of summing whoever this was.

For a short moment, Harry’s mind traveled through his memories trying to recall whether or not he’d ever remotely had an encounter with this child while a snowy owl was present, yet as his gaze returned to the little girl owlishly staring at Harry as if silently waiting for something, the wizard soon noticed his first look hadn't.

From her pale skin to her yellowish golden eyes to her stranger-colored hair that was a mix between white and a soft pale blue – her baggy clothing unfitting and not her size allowed the skin of her neck to be shown just a tad bit more, showing what could be seen as green lighting trailing from the slight bit of the base of her neck and down to what Harry would guess straight to the chest.

The scar resembled that of Harry’s own from a certain wizard, yet the girl’s own was colored slightly by a green hue though if one were to look hard for the small detail considering the scar was a thin fine line as if it had been healed almost perfectly.

Then it simply clicked in his head. As if a light bulb had been switched and allowed light to seep in, his eyes widened as he stared at the little girl who continued to stare at Harry, unblinking just like a familiar snowy owl once formerly did. “Hedwig?” his voice was quiet, yet his lips were trembling, feeling an already bright smile slowly welcoming itself to his lips.

Harry watched as the little girl’s ears seemed to perk at the call – her name, being called by her master after so long. She smiled, bright and sincere as her eyes wrinkled in happiness; and without a word or indication the once owl now small delicate little girl opened her hands and pounced on Harry for a hug.

The wizard didn’t deny the girl of the small intimate gesture, as he quickly returned the hug – with Hedwig clinging onto Harry’s waist and simply burying her face onto the fabric of the other's trench coat. 

Quietly, he shifted his gaze away from the owl girl. Or simply a girl? Harry needed to know how to... Describe Hedwig, unsure if she were still considered an owl despite her human form’ yet setting such thoughts aside he looked up to glance up at both Luna and Death; with which the other which was Luna was quietly clapping her hands together with nothing but cheerful joy seemingly flooding her veins – and.. With death now having stopped hiding behind Luna and instead simply stood beside her, a small smile gracing the deity’s human lips as if satisfied with Harry’s happiness.