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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Potter
Warnings: AU, violence, universe hopping/rebirth, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, underage relationship (ish)
Summary: While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
A/N: For ages at the start of this chapter, Harry is 8. (Will is 7 and Chris is 4.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Eight – Never Want to Come Down
-0-
Harry had no idea what excuse Lily gave James for the jewellery, but he seemed to have bought it, so they took it out that weekend and sold it all for a reasonable amount of coin. He did agree with Lily about waiting until Will started Hogwarts before he could touch any of it, despite Will's attempts to convince him otherwise.
Harry's own funds were nothing to shake a stick at, once he'd sold off his collection of gems and added it to the coin purse. He celebrated by sneaking bottles of butterbeer and a helping each of fudge to his brothers on the full moon, when only Lily was in the house, as James was with Sirius and Remus, keeping the latter from hurting himself as much as they could.
"Can we celebrate every full moon this way?" Will requested.
Harry rolled his eyes at his brother, not even bothering to look up from his book. "The last thing any of us needs is me bowing to the demands of your sweet tooth."
"My sweet tooth is far more terrifying than Voldemort," Will declared.
"Wouldn't go that far," Chris mumbled, then let out a squeal when Will threw a pillow at him.
"Please don't start another pillow war when Mum thinks we're peacefully in bed," Harry requested, turning the page of his book. "If she sees you two with those bottles and the leftover fudge, we'll all be grounded for a month."
Absolute silence fell over the room.
Harry gave it a moment, then asked, "Hey, Will? Is your sweet tooth more terrifying than Mum?"
"...no," Will decided.
Harry nodded. "I'll buy you two sweets if a full moon falls on one of our birthdays, but otherwise, consider this a one-time treat."
"When will that be?" Will asked hopefully.
Harry finally glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow upon finding Will hanging off the end of his bed upside down. Chris was trying to mimic him, but he wasn't so daring as to trust his bedposts to serve as an anchor. "I'm pretty sure I heard something somewhere about the dangers in letting all the blood rush to your head," he commented.
Will made a face at him, which really just looked ridiculous upside down. "When's the next time a full moon's on one of our birthdays?"
Harry closed his eyes to consider his mental calendar, only to come up blank for at least the next couple years. "Don't put it on your calendar any time soon," he suggested, turning back to his book.
"I don't have a calendar," Will pointed out.
"Talk to Mum and Dad," Chris suggested and Harry snorted.
Will and Chris sniped back a forth a bit more, and pillows were tossed a couple more times, with Harry always reminding them they didn't want Lily coming upstairs. Eventually, they both passed out, and Harry got up to collect and vanish their rubbish, then climbed into bed himself.
"He's waiting for you," Death offered when Harry stepped into the Realm of Death with Voldemort's present, after having spelled his brothers asleep.
"Yes, I expected that," Harry admitted, offering a smile to the apparition. "I actually would have been surprised if he'd just gone straight to bed."
Death inclined its hood and vanished to handle its duties, leaving Harry to his trek alone.
When he stepped into Voldemort's room, Harry found it empty of its resident. He raised an eyebrow at that and called, "Voldemort?"
"A moment," Voldemort called back from the attached room that Harry had always assumed was a bathroom. When there came the sound of a flushing toilet before Voldemort stepped out, Harry's assumption was proven correct, and he gave himself a mental pat on the back. "Another group of verbal stories?" the dark lord asked, nodding at the new-looking book in Harry's hands.
Harry smirked. "No, though I did have to copy the text over by hand; things created in the Realm of Death don't tend to last long without being fed the correct energy."
Voldemort frowned and accepted the book when Harry held it out to him. He opened the front cover, and Harry knew the moment he figured out what he held because he took a sharp breath and didn't let it out again.
"Happy birthday, Voldemort," Harry offered as he took a seat, amused.
"Is it the whole thing?" Voldemort demanded, flipping through the pages. "Even the tales he didn't get completed before his death?"
"It is," Harry agreed. "And I compared it; he revised his original tales so they flowed better. They're arranged in the order he handed them to me in, as I expect it's how he wanted them to be read."
Voldemort hugged the book to his chest. "Thank you."
Harry felt his heart stutter in his chest at the honest gratitude in the dark lord's voice. "You're welcome," he offered, forcing his voice to remain steady.
They were both quiet for a long moment, the silence comfortable between them.
Finally, Voldemort set the book on his desk. "Your mother is as hostile as ever."
Harry snorted. "Yeah. For some inexplicable reason, she really, really hates you."
Voldemort offered a mean little smile. "I can't imagine what I might have done to earn her ire."
They shared amused looks.
Voldemort settled back in his chair, expression turning curious. "I do wonder how your brother was able to see the thestrals."
Harry shrugged. "Well, we did have a minor Death Eater incident when he and I were much younger."
"Scythe," Voldemort called, unamused.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I may have introduced my brothers to the physical representation of Death."
"To what purpose?"
Harry sighed. "They've both seen him before. Chris created an imaginary friend in his image, and Will jealously thought he'd actually had the chance to meet Death. So Death...introduced himself. Because he does that sometimes."
Voldemort took a suspicious look around the room.
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "No. No, he has other duties to see to right now. I expect you'll meet eventually, but I'll aim to give you proper warning, first; I know how paranoid you are about what he represents."
Voldemort scowled at him. "There is nothing wrong with having a healthy respect for death."
"I never said there wasn't," Harry pointed out. "Though, admittedly, it's not a practice I tend to take part in."
"Yes, I expect you have some leeway in that regard."
"Some," Harry agreed.
Voldemort snorted. "Did your brother call Severus 'Secret'?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh, and he nodded. "Yes." He covered his smile with one hand. "Oh, Merlin, that will never not amuse me, I'm sorry."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"I taught Will the motion for keeping something a secret–" Harry pressed a finger to his lips "–before Severus started visiting, and when they first met, I did it for him, so he wouldn't mention Severus’ visit to Dad. When Severus visited the next time, all Will remembered about him was that he was a secret, so that's what he started calling him. Severus seems resigned to it."
"He certainly appears so," Voldemort agreed, laughter in his voice. "Though your brother may wish to change his name for him when he first begins at Hogwarts."
Harry snorted. "Oh, I don't know. Watching Severus react to half of whatever house Will ends up in referring to him as 'Headmaster Secret' could prove entertaining."
"Only because you'll be watching everything from a distance."
"Your point being?"
Voldemort very obviously considered that for a moment, then snorted. "I don't believe I actually had one. It would be amusing to see how he handles matters."
Harry shook his head. "Better 'Headmaster Secret' than 'Headmaster Severus', I expect."
"Or even just doing away with the title of respect entirely," Voldemort agreed. "Lesser of two ev–"
Voldemort's room door slammed open, interrupting him. Harry immediately pulled the power of the Cloak over himself, vanishing from sight, but Voldemort wasn't so mild in his reaction: "Crucio!" he snarled, and the Death Eater dropped to the floor, writhing.
Only then did Voldemort look towards Harry's chair, and his eyes narrowed on what appeared to be an empty spot, even as he ended the curse. "Explain yourself," he ordered his follower.
"Master," the tortured Death Eater gasped out, "attack...at the gates."
Voldemort let out an angry sound. "Go. I will follow directly."
As soon as the door closed behind the Death Eater, Harry let his head reappear. "How nice," he offered drily, and Voldemort's gaze jerked over to him. "Someone was kind enough to give you people to kill as a birthday present."
Voldemort just sort of stared at him for a moment before asking, "Did I know you could do that?"
"The mere fact that you have to ask suggests you didn't," Harry returned, amused. "On that note, I seem to recall offering you the use of my unique services, should you ever require them; did you want me to stay?"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes and stood. "Yes," he decided. "If nothing else, I might actually get a sense for your skills. Assuming you're willing to get your hands dirty, that is?"
Harry laughed and drew his invisibility back over his head, vanishing from view. "Lead on, MacDuff."
Voldemort snorted and led the way from his rooms and down to the entrance hall. A couple of Death Eaters had already been laid out there, some wounded, others very clearly dead. Black-robed men and women with lime green bands around their arms moved among the wounded, helping where they could. When they saw Voldemort passing, they all ducked their head in a quick show of respect before returning to their duties.
Out in front of the mansion where Voldemort resided, they found Death Eaters trading spells with a force wearing blood-red robes. The Death Eaters weren't doing well, by all appearances.
"At least they're not dressed in white," Harry muttered before stalking off to find a good vantage point of the battlefield.
The tide turned once Voldemort lent his not-inconsiderable magic to his followers, and a number of the red-robed opposition fell before they realised they had a new opponent to focus on and regrouped.
Harry caught the first barrage of killing curses aimed at Voldemort with a doorway into the Realm of Death and redirected them back towards the huddled group from behind, using the weird physics of the other realm to his advantage.
Keeping an eye out for killing curses that he could redirect, Harry started picking off those red-robed figures that were standing by themselves, swallowing them with doorways so quickly, they had no idea death was coming for them.
It was the Death Eaters who regrouped then, rallying behind Voldemort and finishing the main bunch while the outliers simply...vanished. Two were captured for questioning, and Voldemort turned his attention to ordering his people to either manage clean-up or be seen by a healer.
Harry stepped up next to Voldemort as the last of the Death Eaters moved away. "It seems you have other things to deal with tonight, and it is quite far past my bedtime as it is."
Voldemort snorted. "You and your bedtime," he muttered, and there was hostility in his voice, but Harry knew it wasn't aimed at him. "As you please, then. Go sleep while the adults toil, Scythe."
Harry chuckled. "Happy birthday, Voldemort. Enjoy your book."
"If I ever get to it," the dark lord grumbled before Harry stepped backwards into one of his doorways.
"Busy night?" Harry asked Death, spotting it not far away.
Death gave its scythe a little twirl and pointed it at the pile of freshly deceased bodies that Harry had sent to its realm. "It often is when you get involved, Master," it agreed, sounding quite pleased by that fact.
Harry laughed. "Let me know what Tom finds out? Assuming he doesn't attempt to play an equal and pass any updates along of his own will."
"A rebellion, Master," Death offered, and Harry turned his attention on his eternal servant. Death tapped the butt of its scythe handle against the decaying hand of one of the bodies. "You cannot hide the truth from Death, Master," it reminded him.
"You can't, can you?" Harry murmured, walking over to the pile of bodies and Death. "Very well, what sort of rebellion? Not something my family is involved in, I hope."
"No," Death soothed. "The leaders of this rebellion are English wizards – muggleborns – but most of their army are from the continent. There is a fear that Voldemort will soon turn his eyes to other countries, and those leaders played on those fears, suggesting that a pre-emptive attack is the only way to stop Voldemort."
Harry snorted, kicking a leg. "Fools. Once he discovers this is a European funded endeavour, he'll turn his attention to the continent. They've doomed themselves."
"It will not be an easy fight," Death warned.
Harry reached up and touched his chest, feeling oddly naked without his rings for the first time in years. "No," he murmured, "I don't expect it will be." He sighed and dropped his hand to his side. "Well, he knows some of what I can do, now. If he gets into a tight spot, he'll hopefully call for me. If not..." He shrugged. "I've fought this war once, I have no interest in leading it again."
Death inclined its hood. "I will inform you the moment he asks for your aid, or if he is in such a position that he should ask for you."
Harry snorted. "I appreciate that, even if he won't."
Death reached out and cupped his cheek. "I only do so for you, Master."
Harry pressed his own hand over Death's and smiled. "I know. Thank you."
"Master, it is but my pleasure." Death drew back. "For now, sleep may be a necessity, recalling how your family tends to act on the last day of the year."
Harry groaned and turned to go. "Yeah, don't remind me." With luck, he'd get home in time and fall asleep quick enough that Sirius' 'Final Wake-up Call of the Year' wouldn't make Harry want to kill the man.
If Voldemort did leave any messages for Harry, Death didn't bother passing them on. Harry wasn't particularly fussed, though he was intrigued by the fact that no wizarding news media seemed to have even an inkling that an attack had occurred.
When James started coming home looking absolutely done-in after a week or so, Harry started sneaking downstairs at night again.
"There's word of war breaking out with the continent," James admitted the first night. "There have been a few attacks on secluded positions – manor houses, mostly – places where it was easy to cover up, even with the casualty lists. Any captured prisoners have said the same thing: Someone on the continent wants Voldemort gone, and they'll do anything to see to it."
Lily reached across the couch and took a hold of James' hands. "Do you remember that discussion we had? The one about making the best choice for the boys?"
"The one that Harry won?" James returned, a tired smile twisting his lips.
"That's the one," Lily agreed and squeezed his hands. "We need to remember that discussion."
James sighed. "Lils, what is the best choice for them? I mean...Voldemort?"
Lily's expression twisted into something that looked painful, and when she spoke, her words sounded forced, "He's been...good to us. He's passed laws protecting squibs, protecting Harry. And muggleborns, too, he's giving them – giving me – a chance. He's not–"
"He's not the monster under the bed," James offered quietly, and he sounded just as pained.
Lily took a deep breath. "For now, sit tight and do your job," she suggested. "Let's see how this rebellion fares. See if they start putting out feelers for British support, then ask some pertinent questions."
James drew her into a hug, and she returned it with a level of desperation that made Harry look away. "They're our priorities," James whispered. "Harry and Will and Chris."
"Fight for them," Lily agreed.
Harry walked back up to his room, mulling over his options. Given, there wasn't much he could do, but... Death?
"Master?"
How likely is this rebellion to come searching for British support?
"They believe that anyone living peacefully under Voldemort's rule is with him."
Harry turned his eyes towards where Chris and Will were peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of the danger that hovered over their heads. "Well," he whispered into the darkness of their bedroom, "I suppose that simplifies that decision."
If Death had a response for that, it didn't offer it up. Harry walked over and kissed the foreheads of both of his brothers, checking to make sure Chris hadn't completely thrown off his blankets – he'd always been a restless sleeper – then climbed into his own bed to sleep.
In February, during the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, the European rebellion attacked the village. James was called in to assist by a battle-scarred superior who had fire-called with blood dripping down his cheek from a ruined eye, and the whole family sat in the living room, staring at the fireplace and praying for James' safe return.
He did return safe, and with Sirius at his back, but there was an air of fury around him that kept Will and Chris back, when Harry knew that all they wanted was to hug their father. James met Lily's eyes and shook his head, and Harry could only assume he was saying they would never side with the rebellion; for all of Voldemort's cruelties, for all the deaths to his name, he had never attacked Hogwarts, had never attacked Hogsmeade while there were students there. And, while Harry assumed that was because too many of his followers had children in the school, it still held true that he'd never taken that step. Hell, once Harry'd got to him, he'd even gone out of his way to offer protection for children.
Harry stepped forward and grabbed James' hand, unbothered by his father's anger, because Harry understood it, was struggling to hide his own at the thought of people who believed it was okay to attack children.
James looked down at him, and for a moment, he just stared, a thousand horrors playing across his eyes. And then James sank to his knees and he pulled Harry into a tight hug, one that Harry returned wholeheartedly.
Will and Chris joined them after a moment, with Lily not long after.
"Oh, now I feel left out," Sirius complained, and Will giggled before slipping away and running over to hug his godfather.
With the seriousness eased, James pulled away, a sloppy grin on his face that was so obviously false, it made Harry's chest constrict. "So," he said in a light voice, "it occurs to me that these boys have only ever been in Britain, and that's just–" He clucked his tongue in disapproval. "We can't have that. How about a holiday?"
"It's term, James," Lily reminded her husband as Chris got picked up and swung around by Sirius, earning a squeal that was half terror, half glee.
"So?" James shot back. "They won't be hurt by missing a couple weeks. Merlin knows Harry's always been ahead, and he'll keep Will on track." He shot Harry – who had so far managed to avoid Sirius by keeping close to Lily – a knowing look.
Lily sighed and pulled Harry closer for a hug. "Where would we even go?" she asked, and Harry knew she was really asking where they'd be safe from the brewing storm.
"America or Canada?" James suggested. "Or Australia; they actually speak the Queen's English there, not that bas–"
"Language," Lily warned, and Harry couldn't quite muffle a snicker.
"Are you laughing at me?" James demanded, mock angry. He pulled Harry away from Lily and, rapidly enough that Harry barely had time to think he really should have run for it, held him up towards Sirius. "Got a pup for you, Padfoot!"
Harry groaned and resigned himself to being swung around in the air by his brothers' godfather.
Lily didn't give in to James' pleas for a holiday until the beginning of April, and only then because there'd been an attack on the ministry and James had spent two days in St Mungo's before being set home with a limp. They settled on Canada, because America was the most likely of their options to side against Voldemort, and Remus had mentioned dangerous animals in Australia, which had Lily vetoing it.
Sirius and Remus came with, both of them having agreed with James all along that the family could do with a trip out of the country. An invitation had been offered to Peter, too, but Voldemort had him running around Europe every time he got an update on where the leaders of the rebellion might be, using his animagus form to get in undetected and see what he could learn before they skipped to their next base.
The holiday had turned out to be extremely relaxing, and all of the adults looked much better after their first two days at the magical resort James had found. And Harry – whose duties during his second life had required he travel the globe regularly – discovered that there were still things he'd yet to do, as he'd never tried skiing before. Will was beyond gleeful to discover Harry didn't know something, and made a point of telling everyone he was better than his big brother at something. (Harry let him have that pleasure, didn't bother trying to master skiing, just so Will could have that one thing he would always do better.)
As the last day of their two week holiday approached, however, the adults started to look tired again, like they weren't sleeping. And Harry hated how much this rebellion was stressing his family out.
So, the night before they were to leave, Harry travelled to Voldemort's mansion. Given the time zones, that meant he arrived early in the morning, and the strain the dark lord was under was obvious in the fact that he'd fallen asleep at his desk.
Harry bit his lip, torn between wanting to help and needing to let Voldemort sleep, because he clearly needed it.
A commotion outside Voldemort's room ended the internal debate, as the dark lord jerked awake, turning to glare at the door of his room, as though it had done him the greatest of harms. "What now?" he complained, sounding so very tired and human.
And then he turned and caught sight of Harry, and every hint of exhaustion and humanity vanished behind a snarl. "Are you incapable of announcing your presence?!"
Harry shrugged, unmoved by the dark lord's temper. "How can I help?" he asked.
Voldemort looked thrown for a moment, staring at Harry as though he had no idea why he'd even ask that question. But then his eyes turned to the map on the wall, which had expanded to include the rest of Europe and parts of Africa and Asia. "Find me their base so I can blast it to hell," he decided, fury dripping from his words.
Death? Harry called, and his servant provided the details as Harry stepped up to the map. "Their running base, the one you keep sending Uncle Peter to, is currently just outside Corlay," he offered, pointing to the French city on the map. "Their main base, however, the one that you should attack, but which they've managed to, so far, keep you from even knowing about, is taking up two buildings in Limassol, on Cyprus." He turned to face Voldemort's disbelieving stare and smiled. "Once you die, you spill all your secrets."
Voldemort lurched to his feet, fury painting his face. "How long have you known this?" he snarled.
Harry frowned at him. "About two minutes," he returned coolly. "I hadn't bothered to go around questioning souls as to their base of operations until you asked about it. In case you missed the memo, I've been on holiday. And if you're going to start blaming me for keeping my nose out of your business, I'm going to bed; I'm taking an international portkey in the morning, and they make me sick even when I've had a full night's sleep."
Voldemort looked, for a moment, as though Harry had smacked him, then he dropped back into his chair, exhaustion painting his features again. "I never even considered..." he muttered.
"It never occurs to people that, once you've died, there's no one to hide your secrets from," Harry commented evenly, stepping towards Voldemort's desk. "To be fair, I doubt I could have told you where their main base was back in December, but you've killed someone since then who knew. How recent that information is–"
"It's current, Master," Death announced, stepping out of a doorway directly behind Harry.
Voldemort was on his feet again, wand pointed at the apparition before Death had finished speaking.
"You really need to get over this need to appear unannounced around people who haven't had occasion to meet you," Harry complained, rubbing at his eyes.
Death rattled a laugh, close enough at Harry's back that he could feel its chill creeping up his spine.
Harry sighed and looked up at where Voldemort was still standing, wand out, though it was clear he'd realised the stick of yew filled with phoenix feather was no better than that very thing against the cloaked form. "You might as well put your wand away, Voldemort. Death means no harm." He turned to his eternal servant as Voldemort lowered his wand. "How current is 'current'?"
"They haven't moved since they established that position before their first attack," Death offered, genderless voice bland. "But I verified it when a spy was killed an hour ago." Its hood raised, looking towards Voldemort. "Your feelers are effective at making contact, but not at remaining undetected."
"I'm aware of the deaths," Voldemort returned coolly.
"But not of how close they got," Harry assumed, walking up to the edge of Voldemort's desk and picking out a piece of parchment that hadn't been written on, as well as the quill currently resting in an inkpot.
"What are you doing, Scythe?" Voldemort demanded, stepping closer to his desk, but making a point to keep an arm's length between himself and Death.
"Writing down their address," Harry replied, amused.
Voldemort plucked the quill from his hand, making Harry frown up at him. "You are capable of simply walking in undetected and putting an end to the problem on your own, are you not?"
Harry raised both eyebrows at him. "Yes. However, I was under the impression that you would want to, as it were, leave your own personal mark on the slaughter. My own manner will simply have everyone involved vanish into thin air; no one would tie that to you."
Voldemort stared down at him for a long moment, then turned his attention to the map, looking past Death. "You said their current – what did you call it? running? – base is in France?"
"They're in a farmhouse outside of Corlay," Death supplied.
Voldemort nodded and turned his gaze back to Harry, who raised an eyebrow at him. "Their main base is not within my grasp, not easily, not when no one even knows about it. And, in all honestly, the last thing any of us need is for the Middle East to turn their collective attention towards us because I'm committing a mass murder too close to someone's border for their comfort."
Harry nodded his understanding, plenty familiar with the explosiveness of the area in question, after his last life. "So, this is rather a case of you publicly taking out the head that's sticking above ground, while I crush the body where no one can see it?"
Voldemort snorted and opened one of the drawers of his desk. "Essentially," he agreed before sorting through a couple smaller, more close-up maps of France. He pulled out the one that had Corlay on it and spread it out over his desk. "This is hardly exact, but show me at least which side of Corlay the farmhouse is on. I can have people fly over the area for more exact coordinates once my people are on the ground."
Death reached over Harry's shoulder and pressed one skeletal finger against the spot on the map. "There."
Voldemort grimaced, but made a mark with the quill he'd taken from Harry. "Excellent. I'll gather my people now." He looked up at Harry. "I expect you'll head directly to Cyprus?"
"Remember what I said about international portkeys?" Harry replied with an amused smile. "The sooner they're dealt with, the sooner I can go to bed."
Voldemort snorted, collecting his marked map. "Rather."
Harry reached up behind himself and tapped Death's shoulder. "If you would, Death? We have souls to pass on."
"As you wish, Master," Death agreed and a doorway swallowed them both. "This way," Death offered, pointing in the direction they needed to go.
Harry joined his eternal servant, idly altering the robe he'd thrown on before leaving Canada so it had a deep hood and longer sleeves, hiding every spot of skin with the black fabric and shadows that magically gathered in his hood. He allowed his eyes to show through, letting months of worry and anger turn them gold.
The appearance was a familiar one, the disguise that got him through the war he'd led in his second life, without revealing Sirius and Remus as a weakness. No one here knew of Lord Sol, but recalling that name reminded Harry of the name this Voldemort had given him, and a scythe formed in his hand, the handle a large replica of the Elder Wand.
Death rattled a laugh. "It suits you, Master."
Harry eyed the scythe, his gold eyes reflecting back at him in the blade. Formed in the image of the Wand that was a part of him, with a nod to the one being that never changed from reality to reality, it felt very much like it belonged in his hand. "Good," he decided, before taking a quick glance around to ensure there was no one in his way, then giving the scythe a twirl and promptly dropping it.
"Perhaps some practise will serve you," Death commented neutrally.
"Perhaps," Harry agreed drily as he picked the scythe back up.
Death stopped after another few steps, extending its own scythe to point at a space in the air. "Here, Master. I shall remain on this side and clean up the inevitable mess."
Harry snorted. "You can tell me to stop any time, Death."
"I should never think to curb your murderous tendencies, Master."
Harry laughed at that, because Death would give that sort of response. "As you will, then. And let me know if we miss anyone because they're out shopping or some such."
"As you order," Death agreed, and Harry stepped forward, through the doorway that opened for him.
The building Harry had stepped into was a multi-storey one with multiple flats, rather than the house he'd expected. He knew this one and one other building on this street were being used by the group, presumably another apartment building. How many innocents? he asked Death.
"None. They kicked out the ones they could and killed off the ones they couldn't."
Harry nodded to himself and walked up to the nearest door. An unlocking spell had it opening at his touch, and he stepped quietly inside. There was only one resident, a reedy man with a full beard and a slow reaction time, as he'd barely begun reaching for his wand when a doorway opened underneath him.
Harry made quick work of the building, stepping into a flat without a word, opening a doorway to the Realm of Death beneath any residents, then walking out and closing the door behind him.
He'd almost finished the second building when he finally met resistance: A witch stepping out of her flat a few doors down from the flat Harry had just finished with, saw him and grabbed for her wand while shouting, "Intruder! Intruder!" in Greek.
Four flats were left, not counting the one the woman who had caught him had just exited, and it took but a moment for their inhabitants to pour out onto the walkway, wands turning towards Harry, who hadn't moved.
"Who the hell are you?" the first woman demanded, looking nervously over Harry's shoulder at the lack of movement.
"Thank you," Harry replied, "for making my job easier." Then he opened a long doorway under their feet, dropping the line of witches and wizards into the Realm of Death without any further fuss. Once the doorway had closed behind them, he walked along the walkway, checking that the flats were empty and closing the doors. Did I miss any? he asked Death.
"Two," Death replied. "I will direct you."
Harry pulled the magic of the Cloak around himself and followed Death's directions through the city to where the two missing wizards worked. For them, Harry silently cast a spell that would give them heart attacks, leaving them for their co-workers to see to.
Back in the Realm of Death, Harry smiled at Death, who was standing over the pile of decaying bodies Harry had dropped through. "I expect you have another slaughter to stand watch over," he commented.
Death turned its hood to stare into the distance. "Soon," it agreed before looking back at Harry. "Shall I direct you back to your holiday spot, Master?"
Harry vanished his scythe and reached out a hand for Death, which it caught without any hint of hesitation. "You might as well. Merlin knows what other messes I might leave around for you to clean up if you're not keeping an eye on me."
Death rattled a laugh and led Harry through the realm to where he could open a door to the room he was sharing with his brothers. Albus Dumbledore was sitting nearby, looking through the Veil in that way that only the dead could, watching the living from afar. Dumbledore had made it something of a duty to keep an eye on Harry's family, when he wasn't watching his brother or the school.
"No one woke," Dumbledore offered, looking towards Harry as Death vanished to – Harry assumed – see to the fight in France. "You were gone a long time. Talking with Tom?"
Harry snorted. "Some. Mostly, I was out making sure Dad doesn't end up in St Mungo's again."
Dumbledore's expression fell. "You are far too young to be assisting Tom in his attempts at world domination."
Harry shook his head. "So you've said. And I still say he's not interested in world domination."
"Not yet, perhaps," Dumbledore allowed.
Harry just rolled his eyes. "You go on thinking the worst of him, Albus, by all means. If I feel like hearing a rant one of these days, I may even pass on your concerns. For the moment, I'm going to bed."
Dumbledore sighed. "Good night, my boy."
Harry ignored the spirit and stepped through to his hotel room. He shucked off his robe, which had returned to its original appearance during the walk from Cyprus, then climbed into bed.
The news of victory was everywhere when they got back to Britain. Harry was actually quite grateful for his portkey-nausea, because it helped him hide any hint of the smugness he felt at the magical celebrations they heard about over the next couple days.
As holiday endings went, it was the best possible outcome.
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Pro | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
1 - Death Once Again || 2 - Bring Out All the Good Inside Me || 3 - Death and Living Reconciled
4 - Orphan Man || 5 - Using Gentle Words to Shelter Me || 6 - Living on Your Breath
7 - You Just Might Get it All ||
10 - Love is a Doing Word || 11 - Nothing Sacred || 12 - The Heart Yearns
13 - Mirrored in Your Stare || 14 - Camouflage Denial || 15 - Precious and Fragile Things
16 - Perfectly Reckless || 17 - Your Arms Feel Like Home || 18 - The Sun Will Set For You
19 - Your Love Has Always Been Enough || 20 - Keep Up This Charade || 21 - Truth Like a Blazing Fire
22 - Give Yourself a Try || 23 - Done Pleading Ignorance || 24 - Your Razorblade Caress of Love
25 - Summer's Scent Still Lingers || 26 - Burn Out the Stain || 27 - Final Masquerade
.