Reading Time: 96 Minutes

Title: Bone Deep
Series: The Master of Death
Series Order: 7
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: Harry Potter
Relationship: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson/Susan Bones
Genre: Romance, Alternate Universe, Reincarnation
Warnings: Discussion-Child Abuse, Canon Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Discussion-Suicide, Sacrificial Magic, Explicit Sex, Character Bashing, Grammarly Beta, Fucked Up Canon
Word Count: 50,037
Author’s Note: Celebrating my 52^nd birthday by giving you guys a present! I finished this a bit ago but was holding it back because I wanted to have a firm grounding regarding the next story in the series. I think it ends in a great place as it tells the story I intended to tell.
Summary: Harry Potter grew up in the unique embrace of the God of Death. The ramifications of this are more than some can tolerate.

* * * * *

Chapter 1

Harry dropped his bag on the bench at the end of the bed and took a deep breath. He hadn’t set foot in Britain since he’d left Hogwarts, and even in the bank, the corruption was pushing at him in the most obscene fashion.

“Will this serve, Master Potter?”

Harry focused on the dverger who had escorted him to the guest quarters. “Yes, of course, it’s great.”

She stared for a moment and slowly nodded. “You just don’t want to be here at all.”

“No, I loathe Britain,” he admitted. “I can’t help it at this point—it’s a magical manifestation of grief created by the murders of my family. My closest living relative is so distant that magic barely recognizes them as related.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your time, Master Blackaxe.”

She nodded. “Master Stonewill instructed me to tell you that she’s available to brew cleansing draughts for you, if you run low. We know you brought your own, of course.”

He’d brought enough for a whole damn year, but he hoped to be in and out of the country in much less time. “Thank you, it’s always a relief to know that Omis Stonewill is available should I have a need.”

“Master Pierce will be arriving from Rome within the hour and will be housed across the hall.” She paused. “Master Ito is already here but in a meeting with the king. Do I need to deliver a message for you?”

“No, I want to get settled alone. But if they need me, then please don’t hesitate to let me know,” Harry said.

She nodded and pulled the door shut. Wards activated as soon as the door locked, a security feature he’d always found a relief on dverger-owned or managed properties. He sat down on the bench beside his bag to tug off his boots.

“Any pain?”

He looked up and found his father leaning on the wall near the door. Thanatos’ eyes were dark and intent on him, as they often were, when he physically manifested. Growing up in the embrace of Death, as he had, allowed him an immense amount of grace when it came to the impact of death magic on the body. He’d seen older and more powerful people succumb to it over the years in a variety of ways, none of them particularly good, merely because his father manifested in a room.

“No, sir,” he said quietly. “It just feels gross.”

“You didn’t follow my advice, I see,” Thanatos said dryly.

Harry shot his father a look. “Fucking is a short-term solution, at best. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to….” He waved a hand and shed his cloak, which he tossed on a chair. “I need more than most can or will provide. I’ve accepted that. Why can’t you?”

“Because I made a promise,” Thanatos said quietly. “And you living half a life didn’t factor into it.” He huffed, pulled out a case of herbals, flipped it open, and offered one to Harry. He took one without speaking.

Harry lit the herbal with wandless magic as he put it between his lips and slouched down on top of his cloak with no care for wrinkling the material. Magic was good for a few things, chief among them—ironing and cleaning charms.

“You’re in a good place now, and can handle the ritual required to clean up the corruption, but first you must bring Riddle to task,” Thanatos murmured. “I don’t know that you’re emotionally ready for that, Harry.”

“What choice do I have, Dad?” Harry questioned. “Dumbledore is going to demand more and more from me—even fixing the mess he made with Riddle won’t make him stop.”

“He’s precariously close to interfering in my official business,” Thanatos muttered. “And the moment he does, he’s going to meet his maker. I don’t expect him to survive this situation. I know you don’t either.”

“Managing the fallout of the so-called leader of the light dropping dead due to his own unmitigated gall was never going to be easy,” Harry said. “But keeping him in check while I grew up was for the best, even if it did make going to school with all of those kids difficult.”

“Are you ready to see Draco Malfoy again?”

Harry flushed and averted his gaze. “Come on.”

Thanatos sighed. “In any other circumstance, your little infatuation with him would’ve been charming. Instead, it just turned into another tragic fucking loss for you.”

“We agreed!” Harry snapped and took a deep breath because he didn’t make a habit of yelling at his father. “I just…it was the only choice to be made. Anything else might have gotten him killed, and he deserved better than that.” He cleared his throat. “They all did. None of those kids at Hogwarts asked to be in the situation they were in—it was done to them before they were even born. This country has been corrupting itself since Riddle created his first horcrux.”

“And now?” Thanatos questioned.

“Now, I’m a jaded, unreasonable dark bastard drenched in death magic. He’s too light for me, Dad. He always has been.” Harry took a long drag off the herbal and took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

“Ah, lad, you’re far from okay,” Thanatos murmured as he sat down on the arm of the chair. “Listen, Harry, you didn’t ask for your situation either. You did absolutely nothing in this life or even the ones before it to deserve to be where you are. That’s why I said yes. That’s why I accepted Sirius Black’s sacrifice, his magic, and the profound paternal imperative that came with it.” He cupped Harry’s head gently with one hand. “And I don’t regret it.”

Tears briefly stung his eyes, and he blinked hard. “Don’t coddle me.”

“Someone must,” Thanatos said gently. “And who else could?”

Harry couldn’t imagine anyone else getting away with it. He rarely let anyone touch him unless he planned to fuck them, and even then it wasn’t personal. It never had been personal.

“Do you suppose the magic of the sacrifice will start to bleed away if the corruption is corrected?” Harry questioned. “Am I going to lose you if I fix this fucking country?”

“Never,” Thanatos said. “You are my son—in this life and all the ones that come after. You are the Master of Death Magic, Harry, and no one can change that going forward. I’ve made sure of it.”

“You told me once that he loved me,” Harry said. “Do you still believe that?”

“Sirius Black loved you with so much that his ritual circle in Azkaban still resonates with it,” Thanatos murmured. “And that love is in me. I embraced it, accepted it for my own because….” He sighed and trailed off. “Such creatures as me weren’t created to love, Harry. We aren’t meant for it.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. It’s why you gave me the Hallows—so I could be connected to you in the only way that is truly yours.”

“Yes,” Thanatos admitted. “Do you resent me for it?”

“Never,” Harry promised. “I swear it, Dad. I couldn’t. Perhaps no one will understand it, but I don’t care. You’re the only parent I’ve ever truly known despite having had three fucking die for me. I just…I feel like I’ve given up enough for Britain. I don’t want to give you up, too.”

“I’d never leave you given a choice,” his father murmured, then stood. “Well, I do tend to wander far and wide to avoid even catching a glimpse of you having sex.”

Harry laughed.

“But I’m never so far away that I won’t know when you need me,” he said and took a deep breath. “You should ask for better accommodations.”

“These are fine,” Harry protested.

“If Ragnok knew who you really were, he’d never presume to stick you in a single room in regular guest quarters,” Thanatos muttered. “This is no better than a Muggle hotel.”

It was hell and gone better than any hotel room, but Harry just shook his head.

“I mean it.”

“It’s secure, and I’ll be able to actually sleep here without worrying about Dumbledore or any of his crap,” Harry said. “And that’s priceless. Besides, I don’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else coming in internationally. If Hiro Ito can sleep in a room in the guest barracks of this bank, then so can I.”

Thanatos shot him a look. “Hiro Ito knows his place in this world, Harry. Don’t ever think otherwise. If he knew specifically who and what you are, he’d take a knee for you. Keep that in mind as things progress in this situation.”

Harry flushed and averted his gaze.

“Is it so discomforting being my son?” Thanatos questioned.

“No, sir, of course not,” Harry denied immediately. “It’s just not something that comes up in polite company.” His father laughed. “Hi, I’m Harry Potter, son of the God of Death, at your service. Would you like some tea?”

“Eh, it could be worse.”

“I hesitate to think what you would assume worse than yourself,” Harry admitted, more amused than he wanted to be.

“Sirius Black could’ve treated with Hades,” Thanatos said with a shrug. “We were all there, you know. The moment he started drawing that ritual circle, it caught the attention of everyone on the celestial plane. We just waited for him to make his choice. Fate required it of us, and I was fascinated to be chosen.”

“I’m glad he chose you,” Harry said. “As long as the others aren’t unduly insulted by that.”

His father laughed.

“And even if they are,” Harry admitted with a shrug, because at the end of the day he was a product of his raising.

“Sleep well, little godling of mine,” Thanatos murmured. “Wear your armor tomorrow. No need to make it easy for anyone to stab you in the back.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

Draco took a seat beside Neville Longbottom and got a little nod that felt like a mixture of courtesy and acknowledgment. Longbottom had that way about him. Hermione Granger entered the room holding two paper cups that looked like they’d come from the ministry café and passed one to her fiancé before sitting down.

“Good morning, Draco,” she said quietly and took a deep breath. “Dumbledore is out in the lobby trying to throw his weight around, but no one appears all that impressed with the display. The international guests look either bored or furious. There appears to be no in between. I had no idea how badly received Dumbledore is amongst them.”

“He knows he’s not allowed to attend this meeting,” Longbottom muttered. “The conditions were made very clear.”

“Well, Dumbledore’s never thought the rules applied to him,” Draco said and checked his watch even as Pansy entered.

She shrugged out of her coat, draped it over the same chair he’d used, and took the coffee he offered her. “I think they’re going to let him talk to Potter. It promises to be a verbal bloodbath of the first order. I don’t think they’ve been in the same room in ten years.”

“Where did you get coffee?” Longbottom questioned.

“Muggle shop just outside of the alley,” Draco said. “The tea at the ministry is weak as fuck this early in the morning.”

“Agreed, but we were running late,” Hermione said and sighed at her tea.

“Don’t blame me,” Neville warned.

“It’s your fault,” she muttered and shot him a look.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You got in the shower with me,” he retorted.

Draco exchanged a look with Pansy.

“Totally your fault, Hermione,” Pansy said with a laugh.

“Definitely,” Draco muttered and exhaled slowly. “Do you think he’ll actually talk to us at all today?”

“He did agree to participate in the project,” Neville said. “Shacklebolt wasn’t very forthcoming regarding the details, though.”

“No, neither was Croaker,” Draco admitted.

Longbottom was an auror, and Granger worked as a researcher in the Department of Innovation in the ministry while he and Pansy worked in the Department of Ministries. They’d never been asked to work together before in any real way, though he’d passed information to Longbottom a few times when their casework had gotten intermingled.

The door opened, and Master Hiro Ito entered. Draco had never met the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, but he’d heard enough to be concerned that he was in Britain personally instead of having sent an operative to monitor the situation for him. He stood, and the others quickly followed suit.

“Good morning, my name is Hiro Ito,” the older man said quietly. “Master Potter is here.” He pulled the door shut behind him. “Dumbledore is currently in the lobby of the bank having an episode because he’s not been allowed to speak with Master Potter. Before I take you to the conference room, I’d like to speak frankly with all four of you.”

“We’re listening, sir,” Draco said quietly.

“Master Potter is only here because he wants to be. There isn’t a mortal being on this planet that could force it. I expect you all to treat that decision with the utmost respect, because if he comes to think there is nothing worth saving in this country—he will turn his back on the whole thing. There is nothing any of us can do to prevent it. Our only choice will be to blockade the corrupted magic, evacuate the ones that can be cleansed, and leave the rest to die in it.”

“Would he?” Hermione Granger questioned. “Turn his back on all of us? Just like that?”

“Yes, because he knows something most of the people in Britain refuse to accept—he owes you nothing. He never did. Dumbledore is mostly to blame for that expectation, but those in your generation aren’t blameless in that perception.”

Draco nodded. He’d certainly had expectations as a child and had been extremely disappointed when they hadn’t been met.

“This country broke his heart when he was fifteen months old,” Ito said quietly. “And such a wound does not heal as fast or as well as we’d like to pretend it does.”

“We’ll do our best not to add to his burden, sir,” Draco said quietly. “Could you tell us why we were chosen?”

Ito raised an eyebrow. “I chose Miss Granger personally based on her research on the corruptive magic. Kingsley Shacklebolt chose Mr. Longbottom because he needed an asset in your generation that he could trust, and he knows that the man will have his future wife’s back in the days to come. Croaker chose Miss Parkinson because of her work in magical theory.” He paused and focused entirely on Draco. “And Master Potter chose you. He offered no explanation as to why, and none of us asked.”

Ito gave them all a nod and left the room, pulling the door shut quietly.

“Wow,” Pansy said.

Draco exhaled slowly. “Potter has probably said thirty words to me his whole damn life.” He frowned and crossed his arms when they all stared at him. “And he still hasn’t answered the only question I ever asked him.”

Pansy laughed.

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.

“He answered a question I asked once,” Hermione said suddenly, then frowned. “Just once.”

“What was it?”

“He had a book I wanted when we were in the library. I asked him if he was finished with it.” Hermione huffed. “He said no and walked away.”

Neville snorted.

“Shut up,” she said and nudged him.

“It’s just I can picture it—you looking wild-haired and frustrated while he looked completely unbothered by absolutely everything and everyone,” Neville said and wrapped an arm around her. “Did you ever get the book?”

“Yes, he dropped it on my desk in Charms class two days later. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a library book, but his personal copy,” Hermione said. “I read it as quickly as I could and returned it.”

The door opened, and a dverger female motioned them to follow. Draco glanced toward Neville as they walked, and the other man nodded. They put Pansy and Hermione between them as they walked. He knew neither would appreciate the sentiment or the chivalry, but he’d been raised well. His mother took pride in that.

They were led into a conference room—Croaker, Shacklebolt, and Ito were seated. Albus Dumbledore was standing near the unlit fireplace, looking like he expected to be in charge. Draco wondered how the man had gotten past the requirements to be in the meeting.

A door near the back of the room opened, and Harry Potter entered. Draco exhaled slowly, and Pansy nudged him a little because the decade between them hadn’t done a damn thing but improve Potter’s looks. He was dressed in charcoal grey with a body-length suit coat that was favored in international circles. He honestly looked like a wet dream. Draco figured he might die before this was all said and done.

The dverger king entered shortly after Potter and the door shut with a distinct snap. The guards in the room shifted, attention focusing on their king as they made overt security adjustments.

The Horde didn’t trust Albus Dumbledore, Draco realized and shared a look with Longbottom that had the man putting a gentle but firm hand on Hermione. He pulled his witch closer, and Draco shifted so he could put Pansy on his left. She responded by briefly touching his arm, confirming that she understood just how fast things could get violent in the room they were in.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore began.

“Mind yourself, wizard,” Ragnok said as he sat down at the head of the table.

Dumbledore paused and cleared his throat. “Master Potter, if we could speak in private?”

“No.” Potter checked his watch. “You were given ten minutes, Mr. Dumbledore, and I won’t allow you a second more. I was explicit in my terms regarding my participation in this project, and I haven’t changed my mind. There is nothing you could do or say that would change my mind. It’s honestly more time than I ever planned to give you—as I explained to you over a decade ago.”

Dumbledore flushed. “It was my hope that further education and experience would’ve resolved your behavioral issues.”

Potter raised one black eyebrow at him. “Tell me what you want immediately or get out of my face.”

“Good lord,” Pansy whispered. “I briefly forgot that I’m a lesbian.”

Potter’s gaze flicked briefly in her direction just briefly and a small smile drifted over his mouth before he returned his attention to Dumbledore. “Now.”

“Your parents would be appalled by your lack of respect,” Dumbledore retorted.

“It’s too bad we can’t ask them,” Potter returned evenly. “Maybe if you’d bothered to do your duty to magic, they wouldn’t have been murdered, and I wouldn’t have been raised in a house with a pair of abusive and disgusting Muggles who hated me for breathing.”

The air in the room stilled, and magic shifted around Potter in a way that Draco had never experienced in his life. The movement was so weighted that his vision blurred briefly and Dumbledore, for his part, actually staggered back several steps.

“Tell me,” Potter demanded.

“Tom made magical objects—to tether him to this plane. Your project won’t be successful without my input regarding those objects and that process,” Dumbledore said after a long silence.

“Oh, you mean the horcruxes?” Potter questioned, and Granger exhaled loudly in shock. “If you had anything of genuine value to offer to this discussion, Mr. Dumbledore, you’d know that every single horcrux that still existed on this planet was destroyed in 1981. There will never be another made—not by Tom Riddle or anyone else.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Dumbledore protested.

“I know it, for a fact,” Potter said evenly.

“How do you know about the horcruxes at all?” Dumbledore questioned. “I’ve not told anyone else.”

Potter stared at him, green eyes vivid and bright with magic. “Is that all you have? Do you have any idea where Riddle’s wraith is right now?”

“No, none. I’ve searched when I can,” Dumbledore said quietly. “He’s looking for a way to return. His horcruxes are keeping him here, which means they haven’t been destroyed.”

“You called them tethers,” Potter said. “Is that what you think they are?”

“Of course it’s what they are,” Dumbledore said and waved a hand. “He split his mortal soul multiple times so he could live forever.”

Potter’s eyes widened, then the man did something that Draco honestly believed damn near impossible: he laughed.

Dumbledore huffed in outrage. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, young man.”

Potter raised a hand. “Peace, old man.” He shook his head and turned to one of the dverger. “Could I trouble someone for coffee? I take it black.”

“Of course, Master Potter,” the dverger said and knocked a fist twice against the door he was standing in front of. “We’ll have a service delivered shortly.”

“My thanks, please let the staff in the kitchen know that I’ll come to them to create an account for charges before the business day ends.” He unbuttoned his coat, revealing a gleaming red dragonhide waistcoat that matched the lining of the coat both in color and material.

Potter had worn armor to the meeting.

“Oh, surely the ministry could handle any fees associated with your stay, Master Potter,” Kingsley Shacklebolt interjected.

“No, but thank you, Minister,” Potter said shortly. “I don’t create debts with anyone or anything. It would be detrimental to everyone involved.” He focused on Dumbledore then. “The human soul is immortal, Mr. Dumbledore, and cannot be torn asunder as you’ve been led to believe. He did, however, maim his soul for eternity and has been removed from the soul cycle. This is his last mortal life.

“A horcrux is soul magic—the darkest kind of soul magic because it requires the murder of another magical person. The ritual magic involved uses the soul of the victim to create a barrier, not a tether.

“Riddle murdered people to build a wall between himself and his physical death—but he made several ridiculous assumptions about the effectiveness of such a thing. You cannot defy the God of Death—no magic exists that would facilitate it, and that includes a horcrux. He tried to hide from Thanatos, and he failed.”

Dumbledore stared. “You speak from a learned place that I don’t understand, and I can’t deny the truth in your words, despite what I personally believe to be true.”

“I know.”

“You’re not the same as you were,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You haven’t been the same since….”

“Three is a very magical number,” Potter said, and Dumbledore paled. “All three of my mortal parents died for me—sacrificed themselves in my defense.”

“What did they do?” the elderly wizard questioned. “What did they accomplish with such a deliberate sacrifice?”

“I’d ask you what you’d do for love, but you and I both know you’re incapable of it,” Potter said. “Go back to Hogwarts, Mr. Dumbledore, and stay out of my magical business. It isn’t and never has been any concern of yours.”

“The prophecy—”

“Isn’t about you,” Potter interrupted, tone sharp and final. “Tell me goodbye and go away, or I will leave this country and never look back. This conversation is over.”

Dumbledore stared, eyes dark and furious. “Goodbye, Master Potter.”

Draco let his shoulders relax as Dumbledore left. The silence that followed was a strange sort of neutral. Potter sat down at the table on Ragnok’s right, across from Hiro Ito, and motioned to the empty seats.

“Let’s sit,” he said quietly.

Draco slid into a chair beside Potter even as Longbottom placed himself on the opposite side of the table near the end in a move that was pure threat assessment. He appreciated it since it put Hermione and Pansy between them.

The coffee was delivered in an ornate service that was probably used to serve their own king. It was startling, but Potter poured coffee for himself and focused on Ito with no indication that he was surprised by the refined presentation.

“Did you get my note, Hiro?”

Ito raised an eyebrow. “I did.”

“Still mad?” Potter questioned as the door opened and a man their age entered.

The man sat down next to Director Shacklebolt without a word and pulled a journal from a dimensional store.

“No, but I can’t say the same for the entire War Mages division, which has been tasked with redesigning the wards.”

“A proper set of defensive wards would’ve yielded to an emergency exit,” Potter said. “The ICW building is warded like a prison, which is lazy, lacks imagination, and frankly hurts my feelings.”

Ito smiled briefly. “I’ll let them know.”

“I would hope so,” Potter muttered and focused on his coffee. “Everyone, this is Master Lucas Pierce, observing for the World Court of Magic. Master Pierce, this is Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy.”

Pierce’s gaze drifted from one face to another before settling on him with a small incline of his head. “Well met.” He shifted his journal in front of him and focused on Potter. “I’ve confirmed with Director Banner that the blockade magic is ready to deploy and will be under your direct authority within the next sixteen hours. Justice Bertrand wants updates regarding the research, potential solutions, and anything in between when appropriate. Are there any matters you’d rather not be officially reported since these reports will be public record within the next decade?”

“I’d prefer no speculation regarding my magical power or abilities. The prophecy, once revealed, will be declared an Official Secret of the Horde by King Ragnok. It’s for the best, really, as it would only encourage more stupidity by various criminals and organizations all over the planet. The next dumb bastard who tries to AK me is getting ripped limb from limb.” He paused. “Definitely put that last part in your first report.”

“Forewarning hurts nothing,” Master Pierce agreed with a shrug.

Hermione Granger turned to Pierce then. “I’m glad you’re here. I have a question, and you’re the first American I’ve set eyes on in ages.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“What is it with you lot and getting half-sacrificed?” she asked.

Pierce grinned, and she flushed. “Employees of the World Court, the ICW, and the Magical Protectorate wear warded medallions that will activate an emergency beacon in the event they’re placed in mortal danger. As it would happen, the opening words of a sacrificial ritual trigger the ward, which calls in reinforcements. The time between beacon activation and rescue is about half a ritual sacrifice.”

She stared for a moment. “And the American part?”

“They don’t know how to mind their own business,” Potter said dryly, and Pierce made a face at him. “And they’ve never met a single weird situation they won’t stick their whole foot in. A demon could crawl out of the floor right now, and while the rest of us would certainly seek some sort of defensive position, Master Pierce would probably be more interested in an introduction.”

Pierce opened his mouth to protest, then huffed. “It was one time.”

“It was one time too many,” Ito muttered and shook his head. “Fucking Americans.”

 

 

Chapter 2

He’d been left alone with them, and Harry really didn’t know what to do with his peers from Britain. They had a very specific perception of him that he’d worked his arse off to create, and it would probably make genuine collaboration difficult. Unfortunately, he needed them as they were entrenched in the corruptive magic of Britain in a way that he wasn’t. The older generations were too far gone to be useful and were perhaps beyond saving. He didn’t know for certain.

Lucas had left the room last, with a tight nod in his direction that probably didn’t look out of place in their circumstances. Harry poured himself some more coffee and exhaled slowly as he stared at it. The rich, dark liquid was probably one of his favorite things on Earth, but what he really wanted was an herbal. He pulled a case from his interior jacket pocket, then paused.

“Do you ladies mind?” he asked, gaze flicking between them.

Hermione Granger shook her head. “No, not at all, Master Potter.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Are those from the Horde? They’re the best ones.”

He proffered the case, and she immediately took one. He retrieved one for himself, put the case away, and lit his own as he stood. “Being in Britain is stressful as hell, if I’m honest.”

“Clearly,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t know how to help with that. Frankly, I never have.”

“It is what it is,” Harry said and flicked a bit of magic at the fireplace to light the fire. “These rooms are always a bit cold.” He glanced toward Pansy and Hermione. “You’ll want to layer. I’ve always found it so odd that practically everything made specifically for witches to wear is thin to the point of ridiculous.”

“We’re expected to wear multiple layers,” Hermione said. “Often three or four depending on the outfit. My last gown for a formal event had four layers, not including the petticoats the seamstress assured me I needed.”

“Oh,” Harry made a face. “Witches abroad have a more modern approach.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the chair Ito had been sitting in.

“Why me?” Draco questioned. “Master Ito told me that you chose me.”

Harry stared for a moment, more fascinated than ever, by the one wizard in all of Britain he’d gone out of his way to avoid since they were eleven years old. “Because you are the lightest wizard of our generation. There are no exceptions to that—I’ve studied every single wizard between the ages of twenty-five and forty in the country. In the end, it won’t be me who heals the damage done in Britain. If it can be done, it will be done by you.”

Draco stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “My father was a serial killer.”

“He did…some good work for the world, actually.” He laughed when they all stared at him, with what could only be horror. “Did you ever research his victims?”

“I…no.” Draco flushed. “The shame of that situation has always been overwhelming.”

“Lucius Malfoy hunted and killed some of the darkest sons of bitches to ever live on this planet,” Harry said quietly and sat back down as he took a long drag from his herbal. He blew out a little smoke dragon, and Pansy responded by providing it a few loops to fly through. “Though it’d probably be no comfort at all to you, when he was finally caught, he claimed he did it to protect you and your mother. Perhaps, he suspected even then what, or more importantly, who you are.”

“Who is he?” Pansy questioned.

“It’s not my place to reveal such a thing in this conversation,” Harry said roughly but focused on Draco entirely. “But I’ll tell you in private if you genuinely want to know.” He paused. “And be certain, because it’s going to change everything you think you know about yourself.”

Draco blinked and exhaled slowly. “Still, my father was a serial killer.” He waved a hand. “No one is going to buy I’m the lightest wizard our age in this country.”

“Who gives a fuck what the sheeple in this country actually think?” Harry questioned. “That’s the real problem, you know, with our generation. You’re all genuinely invested in the fucked up opinions of the arseholes who allowed and even nurtured the corruption that is eating the fabric of magic on this cursed island.”

“You clearly never cared,” Neville said dryly.

“Yes, well,” he said with a shrug. “It’s never been to my benefit, and I learned from an early age that protecting myself required a specific set of behavioral issues.”

“Fuck that old bastard,” Pansy muttered and inhaled smoke. “This herbal is perfection. Is it a custom blend? I’ve never commissioned one. I should.”

“You should—if you visit the dverger Master Tabaquero here in Britain, he can tailor one to suit you specifically. They cost a bit more, but honestly it’s worth it. I buy from the one in Rome; he was trained in Cuba and is genuinely a master of his craft. Plus, he builds in smoke-eating charms, a courtesy charm so it doesn’t impact others, and an automatic ash banishment.”

She stared at him for a moment, then turned to Draco. “If we’d known letting him smoke would make him chatty, we could’ve circulated a petition.”

Draco took the herbal from her, sat back in his chair, and inhaled the smoke slowly, then blew out a dragon of his own. “He’s both.”

“What?” Potter questioned.

“You told Dumbledore you didn’t have time for liars or fools when you were eleven years old,” Draco said. “I asked you which one he was, and you just looked at me like I was silly before walking away.” He waved the herbal and took another draw off of it before Pansy stole it back. “He’s both.”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Why did you really isolate yourself at Hogwarts?” Draco asked.

“Does it matter?” Harry questioned. “After all this time?”

“Yes,” Neville interjected. “It matters.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Would you agree that Albus Dumbledore wants to control me in practically every single way possible?”

“Yes,” Draco said when the others shifted around them in discomfort. “To the point of obsession.”

“If you wanted to control a child whom you believed had absolutely no one to care for him, what would you do?”

Draco’s eyes darkened, and a cold fury settled over his face like a blanket. “Such a child would crave the companionship of close friends. He’d drown himself in such relationships given a chance. I’d figure out who and what meant the most to him and I’d exploit the hell out of it to get him to do exactly what I wanted at all times.” His jaw tightened, and he averted his gaze. “For fuck’s sake, Potter.”

“You were afraid he’d leverage us against you,” Neville said quietly.

“I know he would’ve,” Harry said. “I tried to refuse to come to Hogwarts, and he sent me a letter, obliquely threatening my Muggle relatives. He controlled the wards on their home and said he’d have no need to do such a thing if I was going to ignore my magical heritage. Then he provided me with a list of at-large dark wizards who wanted to kill me specifically.”

“I suppose he didn’t expect you to react the way you did,” Draco said.

“No, because I came straight to this bank and had my hateful Muggle family moved to Australia overnight. Then I enrolled at Hogwarts, not because he wanted it, but because he made himself my enemy and I wanted to know everything I possibly could about him. Albus Dumbledore is never going to get anything he wants from me willingly.” He paused. “Ever.” He stood and stretched. “The dverger have set up a workspace for us. Once we get started on the research and ritual circle construction, all four of you will need to stay in the bank for several reasons—chief among them security. Currently, it’s the cleanest place in Britain, magically, and that’s going to matter a lot.”

“Is that why Hedwig had that war ward? Because you were afraid Dumbledore would hurt her to punish you?” Hermione Granger questioned. “Seriously?”

Harry smiled then and sighed. “She has a war ward because the day after I returned from Diagon Alley with her, she picked a fight with an eagle owl. I freaked out when she was injured, rushed her to the bank, and had a complete fit in King Ragnok’s office about my poor, sweet owl having what turned out to be three broken feathers.”

“So…they responded to your…freak out by putting a war ward on her,” Draco said slowly. “Who are you, Potter? Really?”

“That’s information you’ll have to work for,” Harry said and picked up his suit jacket, which he slid on.

“You’re wearing armor in the bank,” Hermione said. “Should we…I mean, are there security issues?” Neville took her hand as they stood.

“I’m a war mage with the Magical Protectorate,” Harry said. “The only time I’m not wearing armor is when I’m actually naked, and even then I’ve a runic ward that covers my entire body that shelters my magic. Unfortunately, even that isn’t enough to keep the corruption in Britain at bay completely. Though I am wearing more than normal, as I don’t usually add the lining to my jacket unless I’m on a specific sort of mission.”

“Runic wards are blood magic,” Draco said. “Who could’ve had the power to create a full-body one in this age?”

“Sirius Black created it the day he adopted me in magic and blood,” Harry said. “And it’s grown with me this whole time. It’s like I’m wrapped up in his magic.”

“And love,” Neville said and cleared his throat. “Do you know what he did in the ritual circle?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have any part in the corruption?” Hermione questioned, eyes dark and serious. “I’m not blaming him, but…did it happen as a side effect?”

“No, the corruption in Britain began the first time Tom Riddle created a horcrux in 1943. The ritual he used was incomplete and misaligned from his genuine purpose. He couldn’t have known, as those kinds of rituals have an inherent magical sort of drift that creates pockets of ill-considered intent.” He motioned toward the door. “I’ve been creating a timeline for the corruption, and I can show you now if you’d like.”

He led them down the hall and through a ward in the area of the bank that Ragnok had set aside for them. “Your rooms are here—they’re all the same, so just pick what you like and claim the lock system with a push of your magic. I’m there,” he pointed toward a door. “Master Ito is there, and Master Pierce has chosen the room on either side of mine. That leaves four rooms, as I didn’t want to make assumptions regarding your living arrangements.”

“Oh, they’re all the way up to shower sharing,” Pansy said wryly, and Hermione laughed.

“That will leave us a space we can use for an additional office, if needed,” Harry said and opened the double doors leading into the workroom. “The ritual space is through here as well, behind that stone door. It’s currently being constructed by a dverger rune master that I’ve not met. He was cleansed ritually and sealed in the space forty-eight hours ago to work.” He paused. “He’s not imprisoned or anything; they’ve just closed the space so he can work without concern from outside influence.”

Draco walked across the room to stand in front of one of the whiteboards. He stared, shoulders tight.

“Sixty-four years,” he murmured. “Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine that magic is fragile.”

“Everything is fragile in the right circumstances,” Harry said and took off his coat once more. He hung it on a hanger on an open wardrobe near the back of the room.

Reluctantly, he joined Malfoy at the board. He knew he had to get used to having the man close.

“Exact dates are uncertain, but based on the damage done and the periods of time when it seemed to surge. There were two surges in 1943—the second one was very personal to him and coincided with the murders of the Gaunt family in Little Hangleton.” He motioned toward the map he had on the wall opposite them. “After we seal the team with oaths, I’ll tell you more about what I know and what I suspect but can’t prove about that situation.”

“Let’s do the seal now,” Hermione Granger interjected, and everyone turned to face her. “You obviously need it to be able to trust us on any level. I don’t blame you, Master Potter, but we can’t begin to be of genuine help to you and this situation until you have whatever level of comfort you’ll allow yourself.”

Harry stared for a moment. “Call me Harry.” He paused. “I always thought you were going to be a beautiful and compelling woman. I’m glad to see it, despite your circumstances, that has proven true.”

Her eyes widened, and she twisted her engagement ring.

“I’m gay,” Harry assured her, and Hermione laughed a little, then huffed. “The most fun I had at Hogwarts was watching Pansy turn down every single wizard that came near her. She acted like she was allergic to dick.”

“I am,” Pansy said quickly, and they all laughed. “And yes, let’s take the oaths now.”

“I’m just telling you all this because I approved of all of your placements on this team—and specifically asked that any witch chosen wouldn’t be in a place where Dumbledore might try to leverage a marriage on me.” He glanced between them. “Of course, you’re both brilliant and gorgeous, so it would be a hard choice.”

“Right?” Neville questioned. “I’d like to review the oath and take it now—provided it’s reasonable.”

“I’m rarely reasonable,” Harry confessed. “I just wasn’t raised to be.”

All four of them stared at him, so he shrugged.

“But I didn’t create this oath—it is a standard magical promise around a mutual purpose. They’re used, amongst the dverger, to protect intellectual property rights and various other craft secrets. All of their craft guilds are built on the same oath system. It’s very intelligent magic, and I expressed gratitude to the king already that he would allow us the use of it.” He paused. “It would be well-received if you all did the same in writing, politely, without the use of bigoted language.”

“Bigoted?” Hermione questioned, her eyes wide with shock. “I would never.”

Harry stared for a moment. “Well, plenty of people in Britain call the dverger goblins, which is a vicious slur. It’s like calling them vermin.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked toward Neville for support even as her eyes went wet with tears. “I’ve…no one’s ever said that to me. I thought they were…interchangeable. Neville?”

“My gran taught me to use the dverger,” he admitted. “But she never explicitly said that the word goblin was a slur. I just followed her lead. As far as I know, you’re in good standing with the Horde, Hermione. You wouldn’t be in this room if you weren’t.”

“I don’t think…I’m trying to remember if I’ve used it in the bank. I’ve seen it written in various documents at the ministry. Those wretched bastards. Nev, I’m gonna…have a complete fit the first chance I get! I should be able to trust the professors at Hogwarts not to teach me ignorance.”

Pansy winced. “I don’t know if I’ve made mistakes with it because I was taught that they were interchangeable, too.” She turned to Harry. “What does the word dverger mean?”

“Dwarf,” Harry said. “Because that’s what they are—dwarves or dwarrow depending on the generation. Older generations within the Horde prefer dwarves, while those under 500 lean toward dwarrow for males and dwarrowdam for females when they’re discussing gender. Regardless, it would be well received if you included a blanket apology for what you were taught in your thank you note to the king.”

“Of course,” Draco murmured. “I’ve never made that mistake. The one time I used the word, I was at home, and my mother was furious that I even knew it. She ended her associations with the Nott family over it because she didn’t want Theo teaching me any more inappropriate ideas or opinions.” He paused. “She worked very hard to separate herself from every single part of my father’s political and social agenda so she could protect me from what he did. Public perception became a weapon for her very quickly.”

“Oh, one more thing, due to the ritual nature of the space, we have a communal bath.” He paused when all four took on the same most British expression he’d ever seen in his life. “There are shower stalls and private toilets, but there’s only one large room. If that’s a problem for anyone….”

“Nah,” Neville said. “I look great naked. I don’t care who looks, and there will be rituals, right? Cleansing ones are done naked. We might as well get very comfortable with whatever everyone’s got going on.”

Draco laughed.

“There will be rituals,” Harry admitted. “Some of us might be naked.” He paused. “I look great, too.”

“I just bet you do,” Draco muttered, and Harry couldn’t help but grin at him.

“We’re not evenly matched,” Hermione pointed out. “We’d need a third witch to create two circles of three, right?”

Harry inclined his head in agreement. “Your third will be High Priestess Lenore Feyborn, the queen of the dverger. I’ll be introducing her tomorrow. You’ll need to take all due care with that meeting as she’s…peerless on this planet. Neither of you has experience in ritual magic, so it was decided that she would lead you and teach you.”

“I’m so excited I might die,” Hermione blurted out, and Pansy huffed a little in what looked like shock.

“Unless you’d prefer a human teacher,” Harry said as he focused on Pansy.

“No,” Pansy said. “It’s an immense fucking honor. I’m so chuffed I could puff up like a snidget and be used for a quidditch game.”

“Let’s get the oaths settled then,” Harry said. “And if the restrictions are off-putting, we can try to adjust them, but I can’t allow the integrity of the actual project to be compromised.”

Twenty-five minutes later he watched each of them take the oaths and sign binding contracts with a dverger named Tyr Warhide overseeing the process. He’d met Master Warhide here and there over the years, as the dwarf normally worked in Paris and that’s where Harry did most of his business with the bank.

Pansy, Hermione and Neville all left to retrieve whatever they might need to stay in the bank. Draco lingered and followed Harry back to the work room.

“You don’t need anything from your flat?”

“I packed a bag last night on the off chance seclusion would be required,” Draco admitted. “It’s in my dimensional store.” He shed his robe and put it on the rack with Harry’s jacket. “What did you mean by who I am? You mean a past soul cycle? Was I someone infamous in a former life? And if so, how do you know?”

“There are certain individuals in this world who have a special relationship with Death,” Harry said. “I’m one of them.”

Draco stared for a moment. “Are you a necromancer?”

“In the strictest use of the word, yes,” Harry admitted. “But I’ve never engaged in the darker parts of necromancy. My relationship with Death is quite intimate, Draco. So be sure you really want to know something before you ask.”

“Is that why Dumbledore had to accept your statements regarding the horcruxes as truth? It felt like an immense weight was pressing down on him.”

“My apologies, but when my magic does that, I have little control over how it impacts others. The weight of truth can be quite daunting, and I don’t lie.”

“Ever?” Draco questioned.

“Not ever,” Harry said. “I haven’t ever told an explicit lie—I’d go so far as to say I’m actually incapable of it due to my magical circumstances. I can refuse to answer a question, obviously, but the truth will come out of my mouth no matter my own intent if I’m inclined or forced to answer a question. I can be ambiguous and confusing, which is always worth doing. It’s why I can’t work undercover in my position with the Magical Protectorate. We tested it exclusively during my orientation.”

Draco nodded and took a deep breath. “Do you hate us?”

“Us being our peers or us being everyone in Britain?”

“Both,” Draco said. “I feel like I should know that before we begin all of this.”

“I absolutely loathe Albus Dumbledore, and I could raze this whole fucking country given the right motivation,” Harry said. “But, no, I don’t hate everyone. I don’t have any negative feelings for anyone we went to school with. There are some that I outright pity, and I have to think, if they knew, they’d prefer hatred.”

“And you really did ignore us all the vast majority of the time to prevent Dumbledore from gaining any sort of leverage over you,” Draco said quietly.

“Yes.” Harry watched Draco absorb that information and take it on as an absolute truth.

“I fucking hate him, too,” Draco said. “I feel like…he took something from me, and I don’t even know what it was.” He cleared his throat. “I’m kind of tired. I’ve never signed a magical contract before. Is it normal to be tired?”

“Very normal,” Harry assured. “You should rest. Your room is secure, and so is the suite—you’ve never been safer, honestly, than you are right now from the taint destroying this country.”

“It’s an unexpected gift,” Draco admitted. “I’ve tried to leave the country, you know. I never go far before I feel like I need to return.”

“Magic is a responsibility,” Harry said. “We are empowered by the Goddess of Magic, and the will of Hekate can’t be ignored. It’s really the only reason I’m here. She wants me to meet a prophecy concerning Riddle and me. I have to try, and she’d accept failure. She won’t accept an outright refusal with no demonstrated effort with any sort of grace. And no matter what anyone thinks, I’m not arrogant enough to do such a thing.”

“I don’t think you’re arrogant,” Draco said quietly. “I think that you carry the burden of truth heavier than anyone else ever has, and it’s made your soul weary. I really hope, Harry, that you’ve got a sweet and soft place in your life to find some measure of solace in.”

Harry stared, shocked and strangely hurt, as Draco took a deep breath, then left the work room with a quick nod. He retreated to his own private space because he didn’t want to see any of them at the moment. His father appeared the moment the security activated and just pulled him into a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” Thanatos murmured against his hair. “He didn’t mean to cause harm.”

“I know,” Harry said hoarsely and curled his fingers into the material of his dad’s robes. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I should be stronger than this—none of this should get to me.”

“Ah, lad,” Thanatos murmured against his hair. “The magical matters of Fate are moving around you—they always will. It’s time for you to accept that Draco Malfoy’s destiny is woven into the very fabric of your magic. You’ve known it since you met him.”

Harry shook his head. “He wouldn’t be safe.”

“You can’t hide from loss or grief,” Thanatos chided. “You know that better than most.”

“He’ll…age, grow old and die,” Harry said quietly. “And I won’t.”

His father stepped back slightly and cupped his face with one hand. “I made you immortal to protect you while you were at Hogwarts, Harry. It was a stop-gap so I could prevent your soul from leaving your body completely if you took another Killing Curse. I could…take it back.”

“I can’t forsake your magical adoption of me,” Harry said roughly. “It would be fucking profane, and it’d probably stain my soul for eternity.”

Thanatos took a deep breath. “Your body is susceptible to a physical death—extreme violence would end you just as easily as it would anyone else.”

“But it would take a lot,” Harry said, and Thanatos nodded.

“I could make you age with a partner,” his father murmured. “At least physically—it would be ultimately very shallow, and you’d certainly know it to be a façade. It would be a very difficult circumstance for you to be in.”

“I already live with that,” Harry pointed out. “All of my aging after the adoption has been done at your prodding. Aging was required to gain my independence. Faking it for a partner would be awful, and we agreed to stop here because it was taxing for you, Dad.”

“There are ways,” Thanatos said. “A soul binding would allow you to share your grace with a spouse.”

Harry made a face at him and walked away. “Yeah, and whenever my next life happens, I might bring back soulmate magic.”

Thanatos laughed.

“It’s not funny, Dad, and I’m already writing my formal protest for my future self in my head.” Harry straightened his tie after a glance in the mirror. “To have a real relationship with anyone, I would need to be…I’d have to tell him everything. The thought of that is kind of nauseating.”

“Why?”

“As it turns out, I’m a lot,” Harry muttered, and Thanatos laughed. “Eventually I’m going to have to explain why I’m not aging to the world at large. Most will assume the use of a bloodstone. Flamel is well-known enough that no one questions the fact that the magic works, and most won’t ask because such magic makes people fundamentally uncomfortable. But there are others who will definitely get in my business.”

“I can manifest one,” his father said. “And you could start drinking from it, and when someone asks if you’re using one, you can say yes honestly. It would be as real as any other on the planet, and a partner could drink from it as well. They could walk your path as long as they wished. Precious few would ask any further questions about it, and I can make them forget your answers if you’re forced to admit something you’d rather not.”

“Didn’t you agree not to fuck with people’s heads?”

“No, and I never will. You’re my son, and I’ll do whatever I can to protect you,” Thanatos muttered and slouched down the chair by the door. “I had a convo with the mortals. All three of them still refuse to enter the soul cycle at this point—your mother insists she won’t until you’ve made a family for yourself.”

Harry huffed. “You go tell her I’m not going to be blackmailed.”

“Do it yourself,” Thanatos muttered. “I’m not arguing with your mother. If I’d known adopting you would give me not one but three spouses I don’t get to fuck—I might have thought twice. That’s another thing, Lily thinks you fuck around too much. Sirius and James believe the exact opposite.” He paused. “So do I. Getting your dick wet should be a hobby at this point in your life.”

Harry laughed. “Shut up. You shouldn’t say shit like that to your own child.”

“Turns out the God of Death is pants at parenting,” Thanatos admitted. “Who knew?”

“Everyone who watched you get picked over them by Sirius Black,” Harry retorted, and his father grinned. “I can just imagine the number of what the fucks that got muttered across the entire celestial plane.”

Thanatos huffed a little and stood. “I have to go. Some dumb bastard is entreating Styx so he can ask her to hide a body. If she kills another human trying to worship her with a murder victim, I’ll have to file a fucking forty-foot parchment about it.”

Harry grimaced even as his father disappeared with a faint pop. The number of people on the planet who tried to give their murder victims to various gods and goddesses associated with Death was lowkey appalling.

“Absolutely no one would put up with this shit,” Harry muttered and checked his watch.

He sat down at the small desk and wrote a note to the bank’s concierge office about setting up his account since he fully planned to take advantage of the fully staffed kitchen during his stay. He sent it through the internal messaging system and got a response in just a few minutes with instructions to go to an office at the front of the bank. Fortunately, it wasn’t in a public area, as he had no intention of appearing in the lobby or on Diagon Alley, if he could help it.

He put his jacket back on and buttoned it quickly. The suit was a new purchase, and he loved it. It was the first full-body one he’d bought, but it wouldn’t be the last. The trip to the office was quick enough and he sighed when he found Ragnok and Rhys Sharprock together waiting for him.

“Surely setting up a billing arrangement doesn’t require the king of the Horde and the director of this bank,” Harry said dryly, and they both shrugged. “Did your spouses forbid you from coming home or something equally demoralizing that has caused you both to hide in this office?”

“I’m just checking in,” Ragnok said. “And I needed to ask you a question. Master Potter, it’s not my intention to pry into your business, but you’ve had an unexpected and very powerful visitor come and go from this bank twice with no care at all for our wards or security measures. You swore you’d never do the Horde harm unless we started it.”

Harry laughed.

“And I trust that oath,” Ragnok continued with a smile. “So, who the hell is visiting you, and how are they ignoring our very powerful wards?”

Harry sat down and picked up the parchment that Rhys offered. It was a standard agreement regarding purchases in the bank being billed to his vault during his stay. He signed and passed it back.

“Before I answer this question, I’d like to say, for the record, that I’ve never practiced any sort of dark magic.”

“I know,” Ragnok said simply. “If you had, I’d see it on your magical aura. You’re a shade of grey, because you’ve killed with magic, but you don’t bear the mark of a dark wizard. Your ethical code might as well be written straight into your magic, and frankly it’s always confounded us. It’s the kind of ancestral magic that you shouldn’t have even with the Potter and Black families attached to you. Neither family is old enough, magically, for that kind of legacy.”

Harry shrugged. “Please remember that you asked.”

“Fuck,” Rhys muttered.

“Thanatos, the God of Death, became my guardian when I was fifteen months old,” Harry said. “I am now his son through blood and magic. He did the adoption ritual before I went to Hogwarts to protect me from Albus Dumbledore.”

“Sirius Black gave his son to Thanatos to raise,” Ragnok said. “That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Yes, pretty much exactly that,” Harry said, and they both stared at him. “He was embodied due to the third sacrifice my mortal parents made for me. I’m connected to him both through the adoption and through the Deathly Hallows because the day I became his ward, I also became the Spectre.”

Ragnok stared for a long moment, then turned to Rhys. “Remind me to never ask this wizard another question as long as I live unless I have no choice.”

“I will,” Rhys assured.

“As a result of this extraordinary situation, he believes himself welcome wherever I go, and will come and go as he pleases—as gods are wont to do. I can ask him not to, but frankly he’d probably just tell me to fuck off.”

Ragnok nodded slowly, then turned to Rhys. “We put the fucking Master of Death in a single room with a shared bathing facility.”

“We put the son of Thanatos in a moderately appointed magical research and ritual space with shared amenities. They don’t even have a dining area,” Rhys retorted. “He also didn’t tell us we were committing a series of etiquette-flavored atrocities. We should be offended as fuck.”

They both turned to stare at him.

“I don’t need or want the speculation that would come with that kind of treatment from the Horde,” Harry said. “The area is fine, and as long as the ritual space is on point, I don’t care about anything else. We’re here to do a job, not have a vacation.” He raised a hand when they both started to protest. “Please.”

Rhys huffed a little. “We noted that Longbottom and Granger are going to share. We’ll rearrange the space to provide more appropriate accommodations.”

“That sounds fine,” Harry said. “Now that you are aware of my circumstances, my father might show up to talk to you. Just so you know.”

“Lenore’s going to have my hide,” Ragnok muttered. “I’m not supposed to talk to any version of Death.”

“Well, they’re all him, for the record,” Harry said, and they both stared. “There aren’t dozens of versions of Death running around the celestial plane. That would be bizarrely chaotic in a way that would certainly fracture reality. He manifests just as an individual needs him to, no matter the religion or culture involved. That’s true for all of them. Right now, he’s somewhere in Crete preventing Styx from destroying some guy for trying to offer her a murder victim as tribute.”

“That guy probably has it coming,” Ragnok muttered.

“Oh, certainly, but you’d not believe the parchment work involved in a god or goddess killing a mortal for what is essentially, to them, rude behavior.”

Chapter 3

“Our room got bigger between us claiming it and returning with our stuff,” Neville reported. “Nicer, too. All the furniture was replaced.”

“It happened while I was in the shower last night,” Draco reported. “Plus, the extra room has been turned into a common area with a fully stocked kitchen and dining room. I’m not sure if the ministry is going to approve the extra expense of it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said as he entered the work room with a mug of what smelled like coffee. “The contract terms with the ministry for your amenities have already been signed, and payment was made. Anything that happens after that is a courtesy. Thanks is appropriate—offering more money would be considered rude. If a dverger thinks they are owed something—they won’t hesitate to ask for it.”

He sat down in a chair at the small round table they were gathered at and pulled out a slim, green leather-bound journal, and dropped an expensive-looking Muggle pen on top of it. Harry was dressed far more casually than they were, in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the last Quidditch World Cup. He was also wearing his glasses when he hadn’t been the day before. Though the round, foolishly iconic frames had been replaced by a rectangular shape that suited him.

“Do you know why the changes were made?” Hermione questioned as she got out her own journal and a quill.

“Yes, but I’d rather not discuss it,” Harry said frankly. “It’s a gesture of respect and nothing more than that.” He focused on the timeline. “Let’s talk about the murder of Myrtle Warren in June of 1943. It was generally believed, at the time, that she’d been killed by an unauthorized pet in Hogwarts. Eventually, it was revealed that the creature in question couldn’t have killed her in the manner she was killed.”

“And how was she killed?” Draco questioned as he glanced over the timeline.

“Tom Riddle murdered her to create his first horcrux. His chosen method was a basilisk’s stare. He performed the horcrux ritual in the bathroom where she lay dead in Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore was already a teacher there,” Pansy said. “As magically sensitive as he’s purported to be, how did he miss an actual ritual being conducted on the school grounds? The headmaster would’ve surely noticed it, too.”

“Dippet was reportedly out of the school the entire month of June of that year due to an undisclosed illness,” Harry said and opened his journal. “Dumbledore allowed Rubeus Hagrid to be blamed for the death because he had an acromantula in the school at the time. Tom Riddle was the head boy. I’ve gathered enough information on that time period to know, for a fact, that Dumbledore knew Tom Riddle was very dark, even at the age of sixteen.

“Horace Slughorn was already the head of house for Slytherin in 1943,” Draco said. “He’s always favored powerful, well-connected children.”

Harry nodded. “We know that many believed Tom Riddle to be a direct heir to Salazar Slytherin.” He waved a hand. “When, in fact, both Neville and I are more closely related to the line of Peverell than Tom Riddle.”

“True enough,” Neville admitted. “Our ancestors didn’t branch out enough.”

“Slughorn wouldn’t have cared,” Draco pointed out. “You know how he was when we were in school, Harry. He found his inability to cultivate you beyond frustrating.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Harry assured. “I spent most of seventh year speculating on how much effort I’d have to put into the whole thing to make him have a mental breakdown. Fortunately for him, I’ve never had any interest in driving anyone absolutely insane.” He paused. “Though it’s been a side effect once or twice.”

“Personally, I think Dumbledore was a nutcase before we ever started Hogwarts,” Neville said. “Should we be waiting for Master Pierce to join us?”

“He won’t be participating materially and will file reports to the World Court based on what I give him,” Harry said. “It’s the best way to make sure certain things and situations don’t end up in the public domain. I don’t want anything published concerning Riddle’s use of horcrux magic for worldwide consumption.”

“I have three sources on horcrux magic,” Hermione said quietly. “All of them describe the magical product of a horcrux ritual as a soul tether or fragment. You seemed very certain that was inaccurate.”

“I am certain.”

“How?” Hermione questioned.

“Because the God of Death told me what a horcrux was many years ago,” Harry said plainly, and her mouth dropped open. “He presents himself as Thanatos to me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Neville said. “I wish I could doubt you on that.”

Draco wondered if Harry would tell the team about the whole truth business and the inability to lie, but said nothing when Potter just shrugged. “Do you want to go to Hogwarts and speak with Myrtle?”

“No, of course, not,” Harry said and grimaced. “It’s obscene that she’s been allowed to linger as she has in a spectral manifestation. It’s just another indication of how lax magical regulation is in this country. No civilized country would allow such a thing. Myrtle Warren should’ve been laid to rest properly decades ago. Instead, she’s allowed to wallow in the misery that followed her from life right into death.”

“She avoided you at Hogwarts,” Hermione said and flushed when they all focused on her. “Overtly. She used to make us watch out for you when she left her bathroom.”

Harry merely nodded. “She knew, just like all the other ghosts in school did, that given half a chance I would make her cross over.”

“And you could’ve done that, even as a child,” Pansy murmured.

“Absolutely, but I wouldn’t have done it then,” Harry said. “But I’m going to do it before I leave this country this time because I never intend to come back once this situation is resolved. I won’t allow that little girl to spend hundreds of years lingering in a bathroom as a ghost. I plan, actually, to excise every single ghost in this country on my way out.” He flicked his hand.

“And how will you accomplish that?” Neville questioned, clearly more curious than disbelieving.

“The same way I got rid of the dementors,” Harry said evenly, and Draco’s stomach lurched. “The moment I found out those things existed, I insisted on their worldwide removal. I drew a ritual circle, took a knee, and asked Lady Magic very nicely to take them. She did.”

“The dementors all disappeared in 1985,” Draco said quietly. “You petitioned Hekate before you went to Hogwarts?”

“I called her Katie for the first seven years of my life because I couldn’t pronounce Hekate,” Harry said wryly. “Auntie Katie, to be specific.”

“I really wish you were messing with us,” Draco muttered. “Your magical education began very young. Why haven’t you excised the ghosts in this country already?”

“They can’t leave this plane while they’re so tainted with corrupted magic,” Harry said. “If they did, they’d never be allowed to return to the soul cycle as all magical creatures are intended to, if they did. It would be a crime against magic if that were to happen and Hekate would be…profoundly upset by it.”

“Can I ask a question about your mastery work?” Hermione asked, hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Did you pursue an international mastery to gain the title of master for political reasons?”

“No, but I can see why some do and why you probably should,” Harry said. “Honestly, making a blood purist call me ‘master’ isn’t going to ever get old.” She laughed. “I tested for both of my masteries on the international level because Armand Deering asked me to, and he was in the midst of recruiting me to the Magical Protectorate.”

“Who taught you magic before Hogwarts?” Pansy questioned.

Harry exhaled sharply. “It might seem odd to say, but that’s a very personal matter. I wasn’t taught anything I would be taught at Hogwarts because it would’ve just caused me to stand out even more at any school I ended up attending. But I was practicing ritual magic—mostly for cleansing and communion by the time I was six years old. Frankly, Britain is filthy and not in a fun way.”

“Did that early education shape your education after Hogwarts?” Neville asked.

“No, my purpose in this life has always shaped my education,” Harry said and glanced briefly at Draco before speaking. “And that purpose was facilitated by the sacrifice of Sirius Black.” He stood with his coffee and walked to the map. “We’re going to have to create runic magic sinks to place at the site of each corruption—so we can bleed the country.” He paused at the startled noises that none of them kept to themselves. “It’s going to require the evacuation of Hogwarts; it will be best done in the summer while the students are already at home. We might have to clear out as far as Hogsmeade to prevent magical injury. It depends on how invested the corruption is in those that live there.”

“And if it can’t be done?” Draco asked because he wasn’t at all convinced that he could do it.

“Then we’ll blockade the magic on the island and remove everyone that can be cleansed. Those that can’t will have to remain here, as we can’t afford to risk the rest of the world. Then after they’re all dead, we’ll work on repairs.”

“Because we’re fueling the corruption,” Draco said quietly. “Just by existing here and using magic, we’re feeding what Riddle left behind.”

“Yes.”

“We have to get rid of him first, I would assume,” Hermione said. “Something that Dumbledore hasn’t managed in decades.”

“Don’t get wrapped around the axle about that, Hermione,” Harry said as he walked to a whiteboard and flipped it. “Dumbledore has never tried. He’s foolishly devoted to the art of prophecy and has a very literal view of how they should be interpreted and adhered to.”

Draco stared at the words on the whiteboard.

Death sees his enemies—chained only by the most ancient of laws. A hand has been chosen and the Hallows have been reunited. The Spectre walks the Earth, and the dark lord knows not what war he has courted.

“What is that?” Draco questioned.

“It’s the prophecy sitting in the DOM with my name on it,” Harry said. “It’s something that Dumbledore should probably never know.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Because Death took not one, but two Deathly Hallows from Headmaster Dumbledore, and he’s been searching for them ever since. He wants, desperately, to master Death himself. It’s why he fought and defeated Grindelwald. Grindelwald was carrying the Elder Wand.” Harry pulled out a wand made of rosewood and placed it on the table. “The day he comes to know for certain who the current master is, he will invest himself in murdering them.”

“You,” Draco said. “He’ll be seeking to murder you so he can master Death.”

“But it won’t happen because he doesn’t understand what the Hallows are and what they do.”

“What do they do?” Draco asked.

“They manage the ebb and flow of death magic on Earth. No one could stand as the master of the God of Death, Draco. It would be foolish to even try, but Dumbledore has no respect for the celestial plane and precious little fear of the gods that dwell there. Because ultimately he is a very arrogant man, who believes himself above the rest of us both morally and magically. His persona as the leader of the light has no genuine foundation, and we can bank on that.”

“So, character assassination is also on our agenda,” Pansy said with a nod, and Hermione made a face at her. “We can’t let people lobby for him if he starts to work against us, Hermione. Right now, he’s focused on controlling Harry, like he has been since 1981, but that’s going to shift eventually.”

“He did defeat Grindelwald,” Draco pointed out.

“He was also, actively and often, fucking Grindelwald during that time,” Harry said dryly, and Granger set her tea down with a thunk.

She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Let’s start with Rita Skeeter at the Daily Prophet and work our way toward Lavender Brown at Witch Weekly. Skeeter will lean toward political assassination as that is her bread and butter. We’ll feed Lavender Dumbledore’s tragic boner origin story a week after Rita drops whatever we give her about Grindelwald.”

Harry shared a look with Draco. “I never could figure out how she ended up in Gryffindor.”

“No, me neither,” Draco admitted. “Though most everyone thought she should’ve been sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Ravenclaw was full of bitches, and Slytherin was full of assholes, and the Hufflepuffs were annoyingly loud on the train, so I told the Sorting Hat that I wanted to go to Gryffindor.”

Draco looked around the table and was gratified to find everyone else staring at Hermione in shock.

“You’re saying you sorted into Gryffindor by default,” Neville said in amusement. “That explains so much.”

Hermione looked up and pinned him with a look. “We have a couch in our very nicely decorated room in this bank.”

“Pax, love,” Neville said and settled back with his tea.

“You are the Master of Death,” Draco said quietly, and Harry focused on him intently. “Which equals domain over death magic on the planet. Is this well-known in international circles?”

“No,” Harry said. “But I wouldn’t deny it no matter who asked because it would be a profane in a way I’d rather not speak to at this moment. It is a legacy built on sacrifice, blood, and duty. And it has been deemed the responsibility of my soul for eternity.”

“Is this life the first time?”

“I don’t know—perhaps I’m not meant to know. I may not know why the role comes to me in the future; I will just know on a fundamental level that it is my duty and I have no choice in it.”

“And if you had a choice?” he asked.

“You might as well ask me if I’d choose to stop breathing, Draco,” Harry said. “The duty of it is in my blood and bones.” He turned and focused on the prophecy. “But Dumbledore is uniquely dangerous to me, and he was even more of a threat to me in my childhood. I’ve always done everything I can to protect myself because of the sacrifices made for me. When you’ve had someone give their lifeblood for you, it changes you in ways that are insurmountable. Maybe we aren’t meant to go unchanged by such a thing, no matter if we have magic or not.”

“Do you want to go to Hogwarts personally?” Draco questioned. “Because I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It would be a terrible idea,” Harry agreed. “Dumbledore would certainly use it as an excuse to try to have a very manipulative conversation with me, and that would probably end in bloodshed.” He paused. “His blood.”

“Yeah, we get that,” Neville said wryly, and the others laughed. “But we could use you as a distraction so the rest of us could go to the school and handle whatever magic needs to be done there. He’ll take any opportunity to sit down in a room with you, even if he has to come back to the bank.”

“We can create a distraction because the team at Hogwarts will need time to plant the rune stone and activate it. The castle’s wards will absorb and protect it.”

“Are you certain of that?” Pansy questioned.

“Yes,” Harry said. “There are other elements in play that will ensure it. Hogwarts doesn’t want to be a source of corruption, and she’s been upset about it for decades. She already dedicates almost all of her resources to protecting the children that live within her. The magic of the castle is sentient, after thousands of years, and if not for Dumbledore’s interference, she would certainly have become sapient within the next hundred years.”

“Is it too late to help her? Save her?” Hermione questioned. “I realize that being at Hogwarts was a very stressful experience for you, Harry, but she’s a home of sorts to the rest of us.”

“I don’t have negative feelings toward the school or even the teachers,” Harry said. “I’m sure they all think otherwise, but I can’t make them think differently about the seven years I spent giving them a façade of cooperation in order to protect them from Dumbledore’s manipulation. Because he’d have used any of them in a terrible fashion if he’d thought it would help him get what he wanted.”

“What’s his end goal?” Neville asked. “Does he even have one?”

“Fame—the eternal sort,” Harry admitted. “He wants to be a legend and likes it when people speculate that he’s Merlinus Ambrosius reborn.”

Draco took a deep breath as his magic shifted inside of him in a way he’d never experienced before. There was something about the way he’d said Merlin’s full name that resonated in his magic in a way that was both alarming and relieving at the same time. It was like he was being seen for the very first time. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, and Draco just shook his head.

“He isn’t, right?” Pansy questioned.

“No, Albus Dumbledore is very ordinary on the scales of eternity,” Harry assured. “Most magicals are, and that’s as it should be. The stability of our world depends on it. Agents of change are very rare for a reason. Magic is very fragile in the circumstances we are in. Imagine how much worse it would be if Dumbledore had the power he pretends to have.”

“Is it really pretense?”

“He’s not weak by any stretch of imagination, but a genuinely powerful wizard wouldn’t need to drape himself in positions of authority gained with social currency and manufactured hostility. He made Grindelwald what he was. He allowed Riddle to grow into this thing we have to deal with. He’s sitting over there in Scotland in a perpetual state of fury that he never got the chance to turn me into his next fame-engine.” Harry waved a hand. “He’ll die that way.”

Hermione leaned forward. “Do you know when people will die? I’ve not really read anything about the Master of Death. The Hallows are barely discussed in history books and often treated more like a myth than a fact.”

Harry stared for a moment, then leaned forward. “Only if I intend to personally kill them.”

She huffed as the others laughed. “Be serious.”

“Okay,” he said. “No, I don’t know the future, but I’m intimately wrapped up in the matters of destiny in such a way that I can see the paths people will walk, for good and bad. I rarely, if ever, interfere in the choices people make because I believe strongly in free will. Also, directly getting in Fate’s business is poorly received from many different directions.

“Sometimes I can look at a person and see their past spread out behind them like an ocean. Not everyone, but there are individuals who bring balance to magic just by being born to a mortal body. Light, dark, and everything in between—magic requires balance to exist as it should. Though some people take dark to mean they can fuck about being an evil bastard, that’s when an organization like the Magical Protectorate takes its stand in the defense of Hekate herself.

“Some people have a problem with our mandate, but that’s because they don’t understand who’d stand in her defense if we suddenly stopped.” He paused. “I much prefer that Zirnitra linger at his wife’s side than come down here and destroy people who don’t respect the gift they’ve been given. He drags feral magic around him like a plague, and frankly that’s the last thing we need.”

“Have you met him?” Draco questioned.

“Not in this lifetime,” Harry said and shrugged. “That I’m aware of. Zirnitra could appear at will, anywhere, anytime, and never reveal who he actually is. There have been large magical disturbances all over the world throughout time that indicate a powerful physical manifestation. Those events could’ve been him, or they could’ve been the work of a different celestial making themselves known for a special purpose. Or just because someone really pissed them off.”

“Let’s work not to piss any of them off,” Pansy said and waved a hand at the prophecy. “That’s not the first about you. There was another one; it went dark in 1981—no exact date known because it went unwitnessed.”

“I’d say, with some certainty, that it became defunct shortly after Sirius Black sacrificed himself. Due to either his direct action or in the midst of Riddle throwing his tantrum, which drove all of his marked followers insane. That event alone could’ve removed people from the equation that were required for the prophecy to play out. Even when there is only a single name on a prophecy record, many people could be involved in it coming true.”

“Including this current one?”

“While I would not personally outright defy Fate, free will exists,” Harry said. “And in the case of that prophecy, any intentional failure on my part could destroy it outright. There’s a certain elasticity to the matters of destiny so that ultimately an event can happen despite various factors. But breaks happen, and when they do, the results are always a focal point for various factions.”

“You’re devout,” Draco said quietly, and Potter’s gaze settled on him, certain and intent. “I’d have never thought.”

“I took a knee for Hekate at the age of five,” Harry said, and they all just stared at him. “I don’t regret it. There’s an immense amount of comfort to be found in the embrace of the Goddess of Magic.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on areas outside of Hogwarts for now.”

“Okay.” Draco focused on the list and noted that there was one location outside of Britain. “When was the horcrux magic in Albania contained?” Potter had merely checked it off the list with no notes.

“I did it four years ago,” Harry said. “It was done at the behest of the Albanian government through the Protectorate. It was, in fact, my entry exam into the Magical Protectorate.” He paused. “Standing barearsed in a forest in the middle of Albania and conducting a ritual on the fly apparently impressed Armand Deering enough that I skipped the interview process.”

“But you think I should do it in Britain?”

“I do,” Harry admitted. “Politically and socially it’s the best thing you can do for the children the Death Eaters left behind.” His gaze flicked toward Pansy then settled back on Draco. “A magical atonement that would be very well received. Besides, I don’t have the purity of purpose to take on the cleansing of this whole damn island in a single event.”

“And I do?” Draco huffed when Pansy laughed. “You’re twice as powerful as Longbottom and me combined.”

“It’s not about power,” Harry said. “If it were, Hiro Ito could’ve come here long before now and handled it in a matter of hours. It’s about sacrifice, a genuine desire to save this country from itself, and love. It’ll ultimately be an act of love. There are people in this country who won’t be able to leave it if we have to blockade.” He paused. “You must know your mother is one of them. Between your father and the corruption Riddle created, she’s too damaged to be treated.”

Draco swallowed hard. “Potter.”

“You could stay with her, if it comes down to it. But I would assume she’d never agree to that. I’ll certainly give everything I can to this endeavor, but my mother has been dead twenty-six years, and there is no one in this country I can claim within my family magic.”

“Family magic,” Draco murmured. “That’s the root of the spread?”

“It’s what Riddle corrupted with his foul magic and the dark mark itself,” Harry said. “The horcruxes just ended up being the most relevant vector. Also, at the end of the day, it doesn’t need to be widely discussed across the whole planet that family magic can be intruded upon in such a fashion. It would cause an immense amount of damage socially and politically.”

Draco nodded.

“Great,” Harry said and focused on Neville and Hermione. “So, the rune master is finished with our ritual room. How do you two feel about consecrating the whole thing with magical communion?”

They both stared for a moment, and Hermione sighed.

“What if we weren’t here?” Hermione questioned.

Harry shrugged. “I’d hire a consecration team. We’d need a male and female to do it since we’re doing two circles of three, and I can’t see asking High Priestess Lenore to handle that with King Ragnok.” He paused. “I mean…you just don’t ask the queen of an entire species to engage in ritual sex. Not even in her husband’s bank.”

“We can do it,” Neville said. “Don’t mind her. She just hates to fuck on the floor.”

“That’s what cushioning charms are for, you barbarian,” Harry muttered as he picked up his coffee, and Neville laughed.

Chapter 4

Harry walked around the edge of the ritual circle with bare feet. Hermione and Neville had done their part the night before and sealed the circle. It had been a very good decision to ask, he decided, as he brushed his toes against one shining rune. A check of his watch revealed it to be just four in the morning, and their agreed-upon working hours didn’t begin until six am. The ritual room was divided into two work spaces—the circle and a potions lab. Fortunately, Draco was a master of the art, and they wouldn’t have to farm that out.

“You’re up early.”

Harry glanced toward the open door and found Lucas standing there. “You moved out of the work suite.”

“Ito and I were given a flat to share just a hall over, so they’d have room to rearrange and expand the space for the team,” Lucas said. “I reviewed the oath contracts—everything is in order there.”

“Yeah,” Harry said and focused his attention back on the rune work on the floor. “How are the politics?”

“Weird,” Lucas admitted and stepped into the room, then pulled the door shut behind him. “The isolationism in this country makes it hard to get a good read on people because it’s created a deep well of irrational thought and behavior. Dumbledore might be the source, or it might be rooted in the pure-blood bigotry that has lingered here for generations. They all seem to exist in a state of denial that borders on absurd.”

Harry nodded. “Is Ito awake?”

“We had breakfast together,” Lucas said. “He’s currently in the midst of plotting some casual revenge. I didn’t get the specifics.”

“At his age, he probably has a long and varied list of enemies,” Harry muttered and returned his attention to the circle. He certainly planned to.

“Will it serve?”

“The circle? Yes, the work is superior as always.”

“You’re wearing your glasses.”

“Yeah, I forgot to order my corrective potion,” Harry said. “I’ve commissioned some from a potions master in the bank.”

“You forgot?”

Harry winced. “I didn’t want to come here at all, so I just sort of ignored it until I had no choice, then packed in a rush. At any rate, I’ll pick up the potions later in the day. I’ve ordered enough for six months—which is the maximum shelf life. It’s fine. My glasses have my current prescription.”

“Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal,” Lucas murmured. “I mean, if it were anyone else, but I know you think the glasses are an immense liability in the field, Harry. But you didn’t stop in Rome to get some brewed before coming here?”

“I didn’t know that I was completely out until I unpacked my potions kit when I got here so I could take a cleansing draught,” Harry said roughly. “Which means I used my last vision corrective a month ago and didn’t notice. I recognize it for what it is, Lucas. Clearly, the stress of this situation has been building for a while, and I’ve been avoiding it.” He paused. “In my defense, I got assigned an American partner, and said partner managed to get himself half-sacrificed by some dumb bastards in Bulgaria of all places.”

“One day you’re going to have to forgive Bulgaria for producing Viktor Krum,” Lucas said.

Harry huffed. “He cheated at the Quidditch World Cup, got caught, and I lost 500 galleons in what should’ve been a sure bet. I’m going to hold a grudge for ages, and I take great comfort in the fact that I’m not alone. That arsehole ruined my whole weekend, Lucas.”

Lucas grinned.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered.

“Did you want me to go find you a corrective to take now?” Lucas questioned.

“No, I’ve already commissioned the work, and it would be insulting not to wait when I already agreed to the timeframe,” Harry said. “But thanks.” He paused. “I have a spell I can use, if required.”

“That shit hurts,” Lucas muttered. “A lot.”

“Only slightly worse than contact implants, which I’ve had once and never will again. They hurt on application and removal, which is just sadism. The person who invented them should be put on trial for it.” He paused. “International charges.”

“Or we could let each country file their own criminal case,” Lucas said, and Harry laughed. “And they could be on trial for the next century.” He checked his watch. “I’m observing a Wizengamot session this morning. Anything you want me to keep an eye on? Ito is attending with me.”

“Well, you should probably make sure he doesn’t curse anyone when you aren’t looking because he’s intolerant of stupid, and this country is full of dumb motherfuckers.” He waved a hand. “Or, stay out of his way. Either option would be a valid choice.”

“Joining him isn’t an option?”

“No,” Harry said and shot him a look. “I’d rather not have to bail you out of Azkaban, and yes, the DMLE is that dumb. They regularly assume that the rules regarding war mages don’t actually apply to them.”

“Eh,” Lucas said. “Otto would come get me.”

Harry just shook his head, and his partner left with a wave. If his American got put in Azkaban, he’d never live that shite down. Disgruntled, he refocused his attention on the runes he was testing and didn’t look up when the door opened again.

“Something wrong?”

He looked up and found Draco standing in the doorway of the ritual room, dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas. Harry stared for a moment, unaccountably even more attracted to the man. He looked soft, approachable, and perhaps even a little decadent as he stood there, bare toes curling against the magic-warmed stone floor.

“No. My sleep schedule is a little off due to some casework I was doing before I came to Britain,” Harry said and returned his attention to the ritual circle. “Hermione and Neville created a good seal. Do you….” He trailed off with a frown.

“What?”

“Sometimes the magic of Britain appears to be searching for something—or maybe someone. I don’t know who is missing that should be here for certain,” Harry paused. “I also can’t even be certain if the missing influence is good or bad. There were a lot of losses before and after Riddle was disembodied, and the death magic around us was impacted by it.”

“What does it mean for you to be the Master of Death?” Draco questioned. “Why did Sirius Black’s actions cause it?”

“It was part of the pact he made,” Harry said. “To protect me because he worried that I wouldn’t be safe where I was. He wasn’t wrong to have been worried. If my Muggle relatives had been free to act as they wish, I’d have died of neglect or abuse before I was old enough to attend Hogwarts.”

“I don’t understand how Dumbledore can be the way he is,” Draco confessed. “He clearly sees something of value in you—something he’s always wanted to control and, yet, he made no effort to protect you during the years when it would’ve endeared him to you.”

“He doesn’t understand love,” Harry said quietly and glanced just briefly toward Draco as he spoke. “He doesn’t even genuinely believe in it, no matter what he might say. Albus Dumbledore is callous beyond the telling of it—perhaps his own upbringing is the reason, or he was just born a heartless bastard. I don’t know, and I can’t often make myself care enough to ponder it.”

“How many lives have I lived?” Draco questioned.

Harry stopped moving and turned to face him as Draco pulled the door to the room shut and the privacy protocols automatically engaged. “What?”

“You know, right?”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I know. I pretty much always know when I speak with someone. Sometimes the specifics are murky, but the number of times is evident in their magical aura. Thus, I often avoid speaking to people at all.”

“So, how many times?”

“This is your third life,” Harry said quietly.

“Yours, too,” Draco speculated.

“What makes you say that?” Because it was an intuitive leap he wished that Draco hadn’t made.

“It seems like that’s how it works,” Draco said and took a deep breath. “Between us.”

“Draco.”

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Since the day I saw you for the first time, there’s been this missing thing that I couldn’t figure out. I was content as a child, despite my father’s crimes, and I didn’t expect it to be any different at Hogwarts. My mother had feathered my nest, as it were, to ensure that I would have loyal friends at school.

“Then you happened.” Draco exhaled slowly. “And I’ve not been content since. I’m not blaming you exactly. It’s just there is something between the two of us, and I figure you know exactly what it is. I don’t know if I have the right to know. It’s probably Dumbledore’s fault you haven’t already told me. Maybe you don’t want to ever tell me, and that is the strangest, most hurtful part of it. I feel like there was a time when you told me everything.” He rubbed his head in frustration and motioned toward him. “You’re wearing your glasses. Do you need a corrective potion?”

“I commissioned some from the guild here in the bank—you’ll have enough work to do keeping the team relatively clean magically.” Harry backed up a little and leaned on the wall. “Ask me.”

“What was my name the first time we met?” Draco asked.

“Merlinus Ambrosius,” Harry said.

“And you were Arthur Pendragon.”

Harry winced and nodded even as he averted his gaze. “Yeah, though I’d never want anyone else to know it.”

“Then you were Godric Gryffindor,” Draco speculated, and Harry sighed. “I wasn’t Salazar Slytherin.”

“No, you weren’t,” Harry agreed.

“Rowena Ravenclaw?” Draco questioned.

“No, her younger sister—Esmeralda Ravenclaw. Information about her is a little obscure, but she did marry Godric.”

Draco nodded. “I’ve had dreams about things that were clearly and distinctly female experiences. I told my mother about them, and she asked me if I thought I was transgender. I spent two months with a mind healer before she was convinced I told the truth when I denied it.”

“What would she have done if you’d said yes?”

“She would’ve paid for the best possible options regarding a full transition,” Draco said dryly. “My mother supports the fuck out of me, Harry.” He waved both hands in frustration. “And now here we are again.”

“Here we are,” Harry agreed. “Again.”

“Soulmate magic is dead,” Draco said.

“Yeah, it is.” He looked up and focused on him. “But it wasn’t dead…in our before.”

“You….” Draco rubbed his sternum with trembling fingers. “Is this how it is for others? I don’t know how something that should be wonderful hurts so much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry murmured. “Do you want to forget that you know?”

“No, and fuck you for asking,” Draco snapped, and Harry laughed, but the sound felt hollow in his chest.

“And it hurts emotionally because soulmate magic might be dead, but our magic recognizes that something is missing, and it tries to correct it.” He paused. “And no, it doesn’t hurt like this for others. It hurts you, Draco, because Merlin deeply influenced the ebb and flow of soulmate magic all across the world for over a thousand years. It spread through him, was nurtured by him like a child, and became a unique force of love in the magic of the world that cannot be replaced.”

“How do I fix it?”

“In this life? I don’t know for certain,” Harry admitted. “I don’t even know why it’s broken, but it happened sometime between your death as Merlin and your rebirth as Esmeralda.”

Draco walked across the room, slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a wild animal until they were mere inches apart. “Does it hurt you, too?”

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” Harry admitted. “But I’ve learned to mitigate it—mostly by avoiding you.”

“Very pragmatic,” Draco said flatly. “Fuck you for that, too.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you for not answering this question in front of the others. Does anyone else know?”

“No one human,” he said, and Draco’s eyes widened briefly. “I understand how stressful and cruel the expectations of others can be, Draco. I’d never create a circumstance that would put you in that position.”

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t natural,” Draco said, and Harry nodded his agreement. “You’ve not asked…someone not human?”

“The information is obscured,” Harry said. “Nothing and no one knows every single thing, and there are deep pockets of magic all over this world that are beyond the view of all but one.”

“Hekate.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed and cleared his throat. “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean?” Draco questioned.

“I don’t have a soft, sweet place,” Harry murmured. “I never have. There is comfort in my life, of course, in ways that might be difficult for you to understand or accept.”

Draco stared at him with dark, damp eyes for a long moment, then he just moved right into Harry’s space like he belonged there. Hands slid into his hair even as their mouths met. He responded because he denied himself all the time, but he wasn’t going to deny Draco anymore. He let his hands fall to the other man’s hips and rested on the wall as they settled there—chest to chest. His fingers slipped against silk, and he shuddered against the want snaking down his back.

Desire had rarely felt like a luxury, but no other word properly described the way he felt to finally have Draco so close. He never wanted it to end because there would be a price paid. Harry pulled Draco closer, as the air heated between them. The other man’s magic was pressing against his body in a way that was familiar and so amazing that he could barely breathe for it.

Elemental. Draco was an elemental mage, and Harry didn’t know how he’d never noticed before. Hands curled into his shirt, and he couldn’t help but respond; warm silk slipped through his fingers as he slid one hand under Draco’s pajama top and touched his skin for the first time.

“You want me,” Draco murmured as they parted just enough to do little more than share air.

“For years,” Harry admitted as he opened his eyes and exhaled slowly when a flash of hurt drifted over Draco’s face.

“You don’t hesitate to put down your enemies, Harry,” Draco said. “It’s clear to the whole fucking world, so why don’t you act against Dumbledore? What power does he have over you, even now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I’ve certainly done all I can to remove every single method he has of controlling me.” He cleared his throat and slipped away. “My life is hard, and my job is vicious.”

“Don’t try it,” Draco warned.

“It’s true,” Harry said huffily.

Draco caught his hand and pulled him in. “I said, don’t.” He glared. “Stop rejecting me, Harry. It’s ruining my self-esteem.”

“A tactical nuke couldn’t put a dent in your self-esteem,” Harry retorted. “You don’t know enough about my life to make a choice like this, Draco.”

“What could be worse than what you’ve already revealed?” Draco questioned. “And none of what you’ve told us is really all that bad.”

“You don’t think being the Master of Death is a problem?”

“It’s certainly a unique…job. Hobby? Do you even get paid?”

Harry laughed. “Shut up.”

“And the prophecy is basically a footnote. Riddle can’t resurrect himself because of the destroyed horcruxes and even if he could—every genuine follower he had is dead. The ones running around right now thinking they want a dark lord to follow are just fucking idiots.”

“A footnote?”

“What else could it possibly be?” Draco questioned. “Who the fuck stands a chance against Death’s Hand? So, what am I missing?”

Harry’s gaze dropped to their hands, and he swallowed hard. “I’m not just Death’s Hand, Draco.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’m his son.”

Draco’s fingers tightened against his, and his eyes widened in shock. “Son.”

“Adopted in blood and magic before I started Hogwarts,” Harry said and took a deep breath. “I’ve not physically aged naturally since I was adopted. He used his power and magic to force physical maturation to match my emotional development until it seemed like a reasonable place to stop.”

“You’re a demigod,” Draco said, and his eyes dampened with unshed tears. “Why is Albus Dumbledore still alive?”

“Because Thanatos has a code and Dumbledore has been skirting the edge of his judgment for decades,” Harry said.

Draco nodded. “Merlin made the first bloodstone in Europe.”

“What?”

“The philosopher’s stone that Hiro Ito carries—it came from South America, right? But there are others. Flamel used Merlin’s work to make his own.” Draco frowned and glanced toward the potions’ bench in the back of the room. “I keep my private lab in a dimensional trunk space. I brought it with me and set it up in my room for personal brewing. I’ll start researching tonight.”

“Researching what exactly?”

“A bloodstone made with my own hands and magic will be tailored specifically to me and will work best,” Draco said quietly. “Because I’m certainly not going to let you fuck about having an immortal life on this planet without me. It’s not…it’s not what we agreed to!”

Harry stared, for a moment, as a very old oath buried deep in his magic shifted inside of him for the first time in several thousand years. “I don’t remember what we agreed to.”

“I don’t either,” Draco said hotly. “I just know I didn’t agree to anything that idiotic.”

“We aren’t bound by oaths we made in previous lives,” Harry said and got glared at for his trouble. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Draco muttered and released his hand. “You are so infuriating. I bet you always have been.” He pointed at him, then threw up both hands as he started to pace. “I wonder what I did to deserve this.”

Harry laughed a little before he could help himself. “I’m sure I’ve always had…some decent qualities to fall back on.”

“I soulmated with the king of Avalon,” Draco retorted. “You’re a downgrade, Potter. That’s what you are.”

“Wow.” Harry shook his head even as he smiled. “Why are you like this?”

“Why are you? Do I blame Dumbledore?”

Harry shrugged. “I always do. It’s my only consistent hobby.” He paused, then frowned. “Wait. You think a demigod is a downgrade from a king? Are you being fucking serious right now?”

“I don’t even get head jewelry out of your current situation,” Draco muttered, then he grabbed Harry’s hand and all but dragged him out of the ritual room, across the common space in the suite and straight into his bedroom.

Harry let himself be backed up all the way to the bed, grateful he’d remembered to straighten up after he’d gotten up, then weirdly offended with himself for being concerned about it. Draco settled on his lap like he belonged and cupped the back of his head with one hand, gaze so intent and serious that silence seemed the only safe response.

“I need you to stop sacrificing what you want so the rest of the world can be comfortable with the fact that you exist,” Draco said quietly, and Harry inhaled sharply. “I mean it. I don’t know if you’ve done this every single fucking time we’ve lived, but it’s going to stop this time around.”

“Maybe I don’t know how to stop.”

“Maybe you’ve never even tried,” Draco responded evenly. “You deserve to live, Harry. The sacrifices that were made for you were done out of an immense amount of love and faith. You need to trust them and stop questioning their choices.”

“They were so young,” Harry said. “They barely had time to be adults before they were dying for me. It’s awful and unfair that they were all driven to it by a society that deserves nothing from me, but expects everything. I really don’t hate the people here in Britain, but I loathe their small-minded and narrow lives. They let their fear lead them, and it is as corruptive as the actual stain that is rotting the magic they depend on to live.”

“I think Dumbledore should know exactly who you are,” Draco said quietly. “Maybe not the adoption part, definitely the Master of Death part.”

“Why?”

“Because it will make him so fucking furious that he’ll act against you, then your father can kill the shite out of him.”

“I told you he’d have a refreshing point of view,” Thanatos said dryly, and Harry sighed as Draco squeaked a little, then scrambled off his lap.

“Your timing is obscene.”

Thanatos grinned and shrugged as he leaned on the wall near the door.

Draco exhaled slowly as he stared at Thanatos. “That explains so much.”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“It’s him—his magic makes everything around you heavy when you’re…worked up.”

“It’s the shroud,” Thanatos said. “Which we’ve shared since I adopted him. He carries the cloak of invisibility, of course, but it’s just the physical manifestation of death’s shroud that I’ve worn since I accepted my role as the god of death.” He stared for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I put a little gift on the work table in your private potions lab, because you’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“A bloodstone made with your own hands will work better for you,” Thanatos said. “You’ll find that the creation process will be very easy and the method will make itself available when you’re ready.”

“Dad.”

Thanatos merely raised an eyebrow at him, shrugged, then disappeared with a smoky sweep of curling magic.

“You call him dad,” Draco said. “You call the God of Death dad?”

Harry stared for a moment and shrugged. “What else should I call him? He raised me, taught me, and sheltered me with his magic just as James Potter or Sirius Black would’ve done, if they could’ve.” He cleared his throat and stood up. “You should go think about all of this before you make any choices or decisions that would be difficult to walk back.”

Draco made a face at him. “I’m going to go get dressed and stare at all the toxic materials that your father just gave me.”

“I’m serious. You really need to think about it.”

“What I’m going to do is start making a research plan for the bloodstone and brood about your dragonshite behavior in private like a proper Englishman,” Draco said and pointed at him. “You have twenty-four hours to get your head out of your arse, Potter. I mean it.”

Harry huffed a little as Draco left his room. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, caught the lingering taste of Draco on his skin, and groaned in frustration.

“Fuck my life,” he muttered.

* * * * *

Harry shared a look with Razel as they were led into the conference room. High Priestess Lenore Feyborn was standing by the fire; her husband was seated at the table. The rest of the research team followed him into the room.

Lenore raised an eyebrow at him, eyes assessing, then she slowly nodded. “How is Hedwig?”

“Nesting at home,” Harry said. “She flew off a few months ago and came back with a mate. I’m tolerating him the best I can since he’s certainly made himself at home in my owlery like he was invited.”

Lenore’s green eyes sparkled with amusement and magic. “His name?”

Harry made a face. “Baxter.”

“Then he’s most certainly at home then,” she said in amusement. “You’ll be sure to bring her chicks to the Rome branch for warding and training when the time comes.” She inclined her head at the team. “Introduce me, Master Potter, then go find some work to do.”

“Of course, Master Feyborn.” He turned to Hermione. “This is Hermione Granger; she has masteries in transfiguration and magical theory. And Pansy Parkinson, who has a mastery in magical theory and is pursuing another in spellcraft. They are eager to be at your mercy. Hermione, Pansy, please meet High Priestess Lenore Feyborn, queen of the Horde. She will evaluate you both for ritual work, and if the magic between the three of you won’t serve our ritual needs, she’ll pick another dverger dam for the practical work.”

Lenore stared for a moment and nodded. “Come, ladies, we’ve a full schedule today, and I’ve prepared a reading list that I’ll want you both to invest yourselves in over the next week.”

Harry exchanged a look with Neville as they were motioned toward the table where Ragnok was seated with Hiro Ito and Lucas. He pulled out his journal as he sat and exhaled slowly when Draco tucked right into the chair on his left, like it was just the place he intended to claim permanently.

“Has something happened?” Harry questioned.

“Dumbledore showed his ass in the Wizengamot session this morning,” Lucas said dryly, then winced at the appalled looks he earned for himself.

“He means he acted very inappropriately,” Harry said, and Neville sighed with what looked like a life-changing amount of relief. “Speculation on the purpose?”

“He’s made it clear that he should have a supervisory role in your project,” Ito said. “And at the bare minimum, observation with full access to all research and rituals conducted. He was told by the WCM and the ICW that we would not expect you to accept his authority before you came here, Master Potter. He seems to think he can bully you into allowing expanded access to both you and the project if he puts you on the spot in the Wizengamot.”

Harry frowned. “Is that so?”

“Yes, and while it would be amusing beyond the telling of it, for me, Chief Justice Bertrand would prefer that you not personally start an International Brouhaha.” He paused. “But if you intend to, he wants to know so he can come here immediately and watch it happen in person, as no pensieve memory would be satisfying enough.”

“When it happens, be assured, that I had no desire to start an International Brouhaha,” Harry said and made a face with everyone laughed. “No matter the setting or location, I’m never going to give Dumbledore the power or influence he wants over me. If he thinks I won’t tell him off in public, then he’s simply delusional.”

“That’s good because he contacted Director Banner and requested that you both attend the afternoon Wizengamot session so he could explain in public how important he is to your success,” Lucas said dryly, and Draco laughed a little.

Harry took out his herbal case and tapped it gently on the table before he focused on Ito. “You’ll want to let Chief Justice Bertrand know things might get unfortunate in this country sooner rather than later.”

 

 

Chapter 5

Harry stayed where he was at the table as everyone left. Ragnok’s subtle dismissal of the entire meeting had been done very smoothly. The doors shut and privacy locks engaged.

“Something amiss?”

Ragnok pulled a small carved wood box from his dimensional store and slid it across the table. Harry put a hand on the box to still its journey across the glossy wood surface, and magic shimmered around it.

“I don’t accept gifts, Master Windrider, as a rule.”

“I’m aware, and it’s not a gift,” Ragnok said. “It’s a security measure. I’d rather not have the God of Death come down on this country like a plague, and we both know very well he could.” He paused. “And would.”

Harry opened it and found a shining mithril bracelet resting on a bed of crushed velvet. “This is a sentient ward.”

The magic of the device was light and so clean that it was kind of startling. Sentient wards were intuitive, and they adapted to the person who wore them. They were designed to see threats coming and respond with as much force as required to end a threat. It required a lot of power and personal fortitude to create one. Harry had seen just four in all the years he’d lived abroad. Hiro Ito wore one, but he’d never allowed anyone to study it or touch it at all.

“Yes.”

“It’s illegal as fuck in Britain, as you know,” Harry said.

Ragnok shrugged. “Only because British magicals don’t have the power, ability, or knowledge to create and manage such a thing. I’m not so diminished. Lenore and I discussed this at length, Master Potter, and I would be grateful if you wore it. There may come a point when the Horde’s seat of power is moved out of Britain, and we are preparing for that. But, for now, this bank is built on top of the foundational magic of my species. It’s where we began when we came to this world, where we started anew after the forced migration from our home dimension.”

Harry took a deep breath. He’d never heard a single dverger speak so casually about their migration from their original dimension, which had taken place thousands of years before he’d been born the first time.

“My father would never endanger your species or your collective magic given a choice,” Harry said quietly.

“He’s a father,” Ragnok said. “And it’s for the first time ever in his existence, as far as we’ve been able to discern. I’d do a great deal of horrific damage in the defense of my son’s life, and I wouldn’t feel guilty afterward.”

Harry stared for a moment, then pulled his dimensional store off this wrist and placed it on the table. Once he touched the ward, it would start to bond with his magic. “You created this personally?”

His father was lingering in the room, pleased with the gesture that wasn’t necessarily needed, but neither of them considered it to be an insult.

“The sentience is mine if that is what you’re asking,” Ragnok said. “Razel wears one made by his mother, and we considered that route, only briefly, for you. Lenore is very protective by her very nature, but she also is intolerant of threats, and the ward my son wears has killed two people for transgressions that could’ve been mitigated in less permanent ways.” He cleared his throat. “Her ward is the reason my son is widowed.”

Harry stared for a moment. “The ward he wears killed his bonded husband?”

“Yes, for domestic violence,” Ragnok said roughly. “The blow no more than landed before Yawl was dropping dead of a heart attack. It is not well known, of course, that the ward caused the death.” He waved a hand. “And Razel has another bloody year of mourning to go through before he can be free of the situation without any social ramifications. I was perfectly willing to explain what actually happened, but he wanted to keep the whole thing private.”

“Some people get exactly what they deserve, even if a divorce would’ve been faster,” Harry said. “Now I regret the flower arrangement I sent.”

Ragnok grinned. “It was appreciated regardless. Razel loves peace lilies. He kept that arrangement since it came planted rather than cut.”

“I never buy cut lilies,” Harry admitted and flushed when Ragnok merely nodded.

Harry focused on the bracelets, then nodded. “Okay.” He picked up the sentient ward; the device felt like the purest thing he’d ever known, and placed it on top of his dimensional store. The two melded together with a shimmer of magic. “If someone ever comes to question it, I won’t reveal who made it.” He put the dimensional store back on his wrist, and it disappeared.

“Since you don’t accept gifts and refuse to keep a debt on the books, you can donate an appropriate amount of magic to the wardstone at your leisure,” Ragnok said, and Harry nodded his agreement. “I do agree, you know.”

“Agree with what?”

“It’s not a good idea for the Master of Death to owe someone a significant debt,” Ragnok said quietly. “And I appreciate the care by which you live, Master Potter.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know how long he will be embodied?”

“The sacrifice of all three of my mortal parents is feeding his embodiment,” Harry said. “And they will continue to embody him as long as they remain outside of the soul cycle. We’ve both told them that it would be fine if they allowed themselves to be reincarnated, but they’re being stubborn about it. They currently have no true form of their own and exist as spiritual manifestations on the celestial plane.”

“That bothers you.”

“They have each other, and they assure me that’s enough, but it doesn’t seem fair. I’d have never asked for an eternity of sacrifice of any of them.” He took a deep breath. “At the end of the day, the decision is his, and I support whatever path he wants to take.”

“As you should,” Ragnok said. “Being the son of any god can’t be easy, but you wear it well.” He paused. “Though I do wonder what you were like before the adoption.”

“I am a product of my raising,” Harry said dryly, and Ragnok stared for a moment, then laughed.

“I just bet.”

* * * *

“You think you’re going alone?” Draco questioned.

“I think,” Harry began, and Neville sighed. “That anyone on the team could be used against me in some fashion or another. Right now, both of you are free and clear of manipulative magic, and the corruption has been dampened due to the length of time you’ve spent in the bank’s wards.” He paused when they both made faces at him. “And I won’t be alone. Director Banner will be there along with Hiro Ito. Though Dumbledore would never acknowledge this, they’re both more powerful than he is.”

“Where is your partner?” Draco questioned. “You don’t work solo for the Protectorate, right?”

Harry hesitated and exhaled slowly. “He’s close by, but we’re both working under direct orders regarding his identity. These are standing orders, as it’s not generally a good idea for people to be associated with me in criminal circles. My first partner with the Protectorate was kidnapped four times in the first year. He eventually demanded that Director Deering make a different choice for us both and suggested that my official working partner not be listed by name in any publicly available document. Though, honestly, most employees of the Protectorate aren’t known by name.”

“Because you work in hoods and code names, like Unspeakable field assets,” Draco said.

“Yes, there are times when we work in hoods, and I’m sure that Director Banner will bring at least one pair of War Mages with him. They will be hooded,” Harry explained, and they both nodded. He focused on Draco. “I told you that my job is hard, Draco,” he said. “And I meant that in every single possible way that could be meant.”

Draco stared for a moment, gray eyes dark and intent. “Very well.”

Neville cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll just go write a report for the DMLE about the project without revealing a single thing they actually want to know.”

Harry hummed. “That reminds me. I’ve made a list of things you can include that won’t matter, won’t satisfy, but will look like you tried.” He pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his journal, which he handed to Neville. “Any questions can be avoided by citing the contract we all signed regarding the project.”

“Thanks,” Neville said. “Creating an official document full of dragonshite is one of my favorite things to do.”

“Weirdo,” Draco muttered, and Neville just laughed as he left them alone in the kitchen.

Draco went to the counter and activated the kettle with a flash of magic. Harry watched the operation as he knew that most magicals in Britain actually avoided appliances that were made in the Muggle world and adapted for magical use. It was clear that Draco had no issues using the kettle.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Harry confessed.

“I know,” Draco said and poured coffee for himself, put a distressing amount of sugar and cream in it before settling down in a chair near the fireplace in the room.

Harry followed him. “You aren’t going to give me any sort of direction.”

Draco stared at him over the rim of his cup and raised one eyebrow. “Is that what you need from me?”

He stared for a moment and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, honestly. My go-to solution to emotionally dangerous situations is to avoid them at all costs.”

“Emotionally dangerous,” Draco repeated, and his gaze narrowed. “I see.”

“Do you?” Harry waved both hands in frustration. “Because I don’t.”

“I see that, too,” Draco muttered. “Go tell Dumbledore off in the most vicious way you can, then come back so we can actually do some work. We need to hire the Horde to capture Riddle’s wraith, so finding him is a priority. They have superior methods for wraith and inferi capture.”

“Yeah, it was discussed in advance as an option. He’s in Britain at this point since he was run out of Albania.” Harry smoothed one hand down the front of the overcoat of the War Mages uniform he’d put on, and activated the armor built into the lining. “Don’t worry about this. Dumbledore can only piss in the wind at this point.”

“Piss in the wind,” Draco repeated. “You’ve spent an inappropriate amount of time with vulgar Americans. Director Banner should probably reconsider his hiring practices.”

Harry shrugged. “I think the US just sends us the most reckless ones they have on tap for their own protection.”

“Right.” Draco grimaced. “Something to consider, I suppose.”

* * * *

The Wizengamot was strangely quiet. Granted, Harry had no experience with the room, or its occupants, as he’d never attended a single session. But still, he’d certainly attended various large, public meetings all over the world and none of them had been so subdued. He didn’t know if it was because of him or Dumbledore, who was sitting on a high platform at a very ornate desk above the body.

“That’s pretentious as fuck,” Harry muttered, and Director Banner hummed his agreement.

They were seated at a table, center to the room across from Dumbledore, on the floor. Harry wondered if he was meant to be intimidated by the positioning. There was a man standing at a podium off to the left of them, staring at Harry like he was trying to figure out a puzzle of some sort. He only half-listened as the session was called to order, as the details didn’t matter at all to him.

“Mr. Potter,” the man at the podium began. “We’re here today to discuss your work on the magical corruption left behind by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when you vanquished him in 1981. The people of Britain are gratified that you’ve finally agreed to do your duty regarding this issue.”

Director Banner exhaled sharply but said nothing.

“I didn’t get your name,” Harry said. “Was it said?”

The man flushed. “Yes, I’m Daedalus Diggle, and I’m here representing the ministry in this inquiry. I’m the Director of Legal Affairs.”

Harry stared for a moment. “Let us be clear: is it your position that I incurred a personal debt to this country in 1981 when I survived my own attempted murder at fifteen months old?”

Somehow, the room got even quieter.

“I….” Diggle took a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what exactly did you mean?”

“As you know, there is a prophecy….”

Harry held up a hand. “You have no idea what that prophecy says, Mr. Diggle. In fact, there are only two people in this room who know the specific wording, and I’m one of them.”

“How could you know the contents? You’ve never agreed to view it,” Mr. Diggle said, wide-eyed with shock.

“You do realize, Mr. Diggle, that the ICW receives copies of every single documented prophecy from associated and member countries?” Harry paused. “Right? I viewed that foolish little prophecy over a decade ago in Rome. It has absolutely nothing to do with the magical corruption currently eating this country. At best, it might be considered a ramification of it.”

He turned to stare at Dumbledore. “Why are you hiding behind this bureaucrat, Dumbledore? I made it clear before I returned to this country that I wanted as little to do with you as possible. There is absolutely nothing you could say or do that will change that. I only came here because the ministry agreed that I wouldn’t have to interact with you on a daily basis. Frankly, I’d prefer to never set eyes on you again as long as I live.”

Dumbledore stared at him, eyes dark and furious. “You are a very disrespectful young man.”

“You are a very corrupt old man,” Harry retorted. “You are also morally bankrupt, Dumbledore, and it’s genuinely disgusting to be in the same room with you. It always has been. I could hardly stand to attend Hogwarts for a full seven years, and count my last day in that school as one of the more relieving experiences of my life.”

“You need my help to resolve this situation.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry said evenly. “You’ve done nothing for decades, and it’s best for everyone involved if you continue to do nothing.” He paused. “Frankly, you’ve done precious little ever to the benefit of this country unless you count that time you stopped blowing Grindelwald long enough to stop his dumbarse plot to take over the world.”

“Merlin’s nutsack,” Banner muttered beside him and exhaled slowly.

“But, let’s be honest, you didn’t do that for Britain. You did that because he was carrying the Elder Wand and you wanted it.”

Dumbledore’s face slowly whitened, and his aura flared. “How…dare you speak to me that way!”

“What are you going to do about it?” Harry asked curiously. “I only ask because Chief Justice Bertrand had to delay his portkey and he should be arriving in about five minutes. If you’re going to declare a blood feud or something equally amusing, he’d be very irritated to miss it.”

“I don’t have the Elder Wand,” Dumbledore said flatly.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” Harry said and slouched back in his chair. “It removed itself from your dubious care on November 3, 1981, roughly five minutes after my innocent, and illegally incarcerated, godfather sacrificed himself on a filthy floor in a cell in Azkaban.”

The silence in the room shifted from disquieting into something else entirely. Harry made a face and turned to his boss. “Is that what a deafening quiet sounds like?”

“Yes,” Director Banner said.

“What could you possibly know about your godfather’s sacrifice?” Mr. Diggle questioned, clearly horrified and shocked.

“I know he gave his life to protect me—the final of three sacrifices to ensure that I would be safe in this world without my parents because he came to understand there was no one left he could trust with my life.” He paused. “Well, no one mortal, at any rate.” He paused. “And he succeeded.”

“He could’ve trusted me!” Dumbledore shouted. “Instead, he did whatever he did and destroyed the lives of hundreds—caused murders all over the world with his selfish choices. It drove all of the Death Eaters insane!”

“Well, practically none of that is true,” Harry said evenly. “The fact that he was in Azkaban proved beyond any doubt that he couldn’t trust you. He didn’t drive Tom Riddle’s marked followers insane; Riddle did that himself in what amounted to a temper tantrum. He pitched a genuine fit, you see, in a forest in Albania. The whole area has been quarantined since it happened. Also, you and I both know that not all of Riddle’s followers were given the Dark Mark. There are reports that indicate that he marked less than fifty percent of idiots who bought into his stupid ideology in this country. And if those people went crazy, too, neither Tom Riddle nor I was to blame.”

“Your disdain for the people of Britain is disconcerting,” Mr. Diggle interjected.

“Then do better,” Harry said plainly, and the older man stared at him with shock. “You get what you earn from me, and my baseline is indifference.” He returned his attention to Dumbledore, who was staring at him like he often had at Hogwarts. “I will not agree to your participation or observation of the project.”

“Why?”

“Because Tom Riddle has been corrupting this country for decades,  and every single magical person over the age of fifty in Britain is too vested in the stain to be helpful in any way—no matter what you might think. I know you like to pretend that alchemy ward you built for yourself is protecting your magic, but all it’s doing is hiding the damage.” He waved a hand. “At least you had the decency not to sell your so-called solution to others. That’s the least offensive thing I know about you.”

“I insist on oversight,” Dumbledore said firmly.

“No.”

“You have no choice!”

“I can leave this country, facilitate the migration of those who can leave safely, invest myself in activating the magical blockade that has already been constructed around this country, and watch from afar while you all rot away in your own generational filth. Then, when you’re all dead, I can come back and clean up whatever mess is left.”

“We deserve better from you!”

“If you wanted a wizard who would love this country, who would sacrifice for you and your so-called greater good, then you should’ve made sure I wasn’t forced to live with a pair of abusive Muggles who hated me for existing,” Harry said and relaxed back in his seat. “So, decide—again. Because this conversation was had several times before I agreed to come back here, and my agreement was dependent on you keeping your distance from me whenever possible.” He grimaced. “Also, I’m tired of telling you repeatedly that I want nothing to do with you. I’ve been doing it since I was eleven years old.”

“Director Banner, I insist you order Mr. Potter to allow oversight and observation regarding his project by the Wizengamot,” Dumbledore said.

“No.”

“No? Do you think you’re above the law?” Dumbledore demanded.

“First, and foremost, I am above the laws in this country,” Banner said dryly, and a smattering of laughter drifted through the audience. “Second, despite what you might think, you aren’t the law in Britain. Third, I answer to the World Court of Magic. And finally, Master Potter is not here as an employee of the Magical Protectorate. He is here as a private citizen because if he were here under my direction, the migration would be in process, and the blockade would already be in place. I don’t happen to think this situation is worth his time.

“Master Potter is a very successful and powerful field asset for the Magical Protectorate, and his magic would be better spent on situations that impact the entire world because that’s our job. He shouldn’t have to waste his time on this backward country, and I told him so. Fortunately, for you, he takes his duty as a magical person seriously. He’s offering the best option first, but the second option will work just as well, and the rest of the world will be satisfied with the results.”

Thaddeus Banner leaned forward. “Did you want me to take over this project as the Director of the Magical Protectorate?”

Dumbledore stared, aura flaring in a manner that probably intimidated people who couldn’t see the falseness of it, and shook his head. “Your lack of loyalty to your own country is appalling, Director Banner.”

“You aren’t the country either,” Banner said evenly. “Your ego precedes you by a kilometer, Dumbledore, and that’s always been a problem.”

Dumbledore’s gaze drifted back to Harry, and something shifted between them. He saw the curiosity and an old obsession surface as they sat staring at each other. “What happened to the Elder Wand, Master Potter?”

“What makes you think I know?” Harry questioned.

“It’s obvious that you speak of the Deathly Hallows from a very learned place,” Dumbledore said. “And frankly, no matter your behavior, I’ve never known you to tell a single lie. It’s always been unfortunate that your seemingly innate honesty is utterly incompatible with common courtesy.”

“Perhaps it comes down to a matter of trust and worthiness,” Harry said evenly. “Objects of great power have been known throughout the history of our species to remove themselves from the custody of those who do not deserve them.”

“Tell me what I want to know!”

“It doesn’t matter where the Elder Wand is, Dumbledore, because you have no hope of ever owning it again.”

“You can’t possibly know that!”

Harry drew his wand and put it down on the table in front of him. “Then take it.”

The room grew quiet. Dumbledore’s gaze dropped to the wand. “That’s not….”

“You know it is,” Harry interjected. “You carried it for decades, and the appearance of a thing in the magical world is subject to change even if the power of it is not.”

Dumbledore’s wand snapped into his hand. “Accio!” The spell hit the Elder Wand where it sat on the table, and nothing happened. He cast the spell twice more to no avail. “What have you done to it?”

“The matters of such things are clearly none of your concern, Chief Warlock Dumbledore,” Director Banner said as he stood.

Harry picked up his wand and holstered it, aware that he’d trod upon a boundary with his boss that he hadn’t known existed until it was too late.

“I have the right—”

“No,” Director Banner interjected. “You have no legal or moral right whatsoever to question any employee of mine, and I’ve reached my limit with this process. Master Potter’s magical business is beyond your purview in every way possible. It, clearly, always has been. You got his parents killed with your foolish and manipulative behavior and nearly allowed him to be murdered as an infant when you promised to protect the Potter family. If you were a wizard worthy of the skin and bones that made you—you would’ve done as you promised or died trying.

“At the end of the day, whatever events that were put into play because of Sirius Black’s sacrifice in Azkaban are entirely your fault. If you’d done even half of your duty to magic, we wouldn’t be standing here today having this stupid conversation.”

Harry followed Banner out of the Wizengamot chamber, straight to a floo, and through it back to the bank. He exhaled slowly as his boss stalked toward an unused conference room, motioned him inside, and shut the door with a sharp little snap.

“You just outed yourself as the fucking Master of Death to the entire planet.”

Harry shrugged. “Speculation has existed for decades, since it became known that the Hallows were likely reunited.”

Banner turned to look at him with a frown. “Had you bothered to ask me, I would’ve told you that I would prefer it not be revealed at all.”

“Sir.” Harry took a deep breath. “With all due respect, there’s only one person who could tell me to keep my mouth shut about my nature, and you aren’t the one.”

“Your nature?”

“I can’t be separated from it,” Harry said quietly. “I’ve been the Master of Death since the night Sirius Black died. I will be the Master of Death for the rest of my existence, a decision that was made amongst those who make such decisions. Moreover, I’ve always found it impossible to deny it if I’m asked directly. I can ignore the question, but I can’t say no.”

“Can you say why?” Banner questioned.

“It would be blasphemy,” Harry admitted, and Banner’s eyes widened. “Is it too much? Is that why you haven’t asked? Armand figured you just liked the mystery of it.”

“Are you asking me if you’re too much?” Banner raised an eyebrow as he focused on Harry. “Because you’re not. Maybe I did like the mystery of it and the speculation, but I don’t want you to think I viewed you as a source of personal entertainment.”

“I understand the desire to speculate on a point of interest,” Harry said with a shrug. “And I interest far more people than I wish I did.”

“Your baseline is indifference,” a voice interjected.

Harry turned and found Chief Justice Bertrand standing in the doorway of the conference room. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Louis Bertrand stared for a moment and shook his head. “Fucking Master of Death, eh? Just like that—on a day like today? You just swung right out of the fucking reaper closet without even a by your leave.”

“Who exactly do you think I should’ve sought permission from?” Harry questioned and raised an eyebrow when Bertrand glared at him. “Professionally, I owe you both a certain standard of behavior that I acknowledge. I’ve signed contracts, taken oaths, and agreed to undertake a job for the Magical Protectorate. But there is but one individual on this planet that can determine how I handle the duties of being the Master of Death Magic.”

Bertrand shut the door and the privacy protocol activated. “And just who would that be?”

“Me.” Thanatos appeared at the end of the conference table and tossed his booted feet up on the glossy surface. He focused on Banner even as both men took seats. “Do either of you need an introduction?”

“No, I don’t believe we do, my Lord,” Banner said quietly after a shared look with Louis Bertrand, who had gone pale.

Harry just leaned on the wall next to the fireplace and frowned at his boot.

“Harry.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” he said as he focused on his father.

“I know.” Thanatos stared for a moment. “But in this particular instance, I’m merely providing these two men in your life with a reference point they can focus on in the future when you do something that you must do that they will have to deal with. Because they both need to understand that I’m the final authority in your life and you literally can’t defy me.”

Banner just nodded then frowned. “Can anyone?”

“Free will exists for mortals, but there are prices to be paid,” Thanatos said. “Tom Riddle will never live again for his transgressions against his own soul. He’s not the first, of course, but he is the last. I won’t allow horcrux magic to ever work again on this world.” He paused. “Though there was an immense discussion about it, as the Lady is not often inclined toward limiting the free will of her children.” He stared for a moment, then stood. “Be careful with my boy, gentlemen, or a severe price will be paid.”

He disappeared with a flash of magic, and Harry sighed.

“I know I should file some kind of something about this,” Bertrand muttered. “I just don’t know what.”

Banner laughed.

“I’d like to be dismissed,” Harry said, and they both grimaced at him. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Go do it then,” Banner said warily. “For fuck’s sake.”

Harry left before Bertrand could protest because he could see it brewing all over the Frenchman’s face. He trotted down the hall and slowed as he approached the first of four checkpoints between him and the space where the team was housed. A few moments after leaving them behind, he entered the workspace.

All four of them looked up and focused on him with the same exact expression on their faces. It made him question how closely they were all related.

“Blowing Grindelwald,” Draco said and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, totally. I already told you they were fuck buddies. I’ve not checked, but they probably still are,” Harry said and slouched down on the chair across from Draco.

“There is so much wrong with everything you just said,” Hermione said and glared at the parchment she was writing on. “Like I needed that mental image.”

“How did you know for certain that he couldn’t summon the wand?” Draco questioned.

“Because it’s mine,” Harry said. “And it can’t be taken from me—not even defeat. It won’t work for anyone else.” He paused. “All three Hallows will leave this world when I die, and when I’m reborn they will return to me.” He watched Draco absorb that information and slowly nod. “It is the nature of such things going forward because of Riddle’s corruption.”

Post 2