After breakfast, they walked up the staircase to help the others cleaning the drawing room. Death had slipped away unnoticed and was now following Harry in his human form.
When they entered the drawing room, Ginny, Fred, George, Hermione and Mrs Weasley were already battling the Doxy's in the green curtains.
"Ah good that you are here," Mrs Weasley panted, her voice muffled by a piece of cloth that covered half her face. "Grab a spray and if you got them, throw them in one of the buckets."
It was somewhat odd to have Death follow him around, unseen by everyone but him, but soon Harry was too caught up in their chore to worry much about it.
It took at least an hour until the crowd of doxy's grew thinner and even then it was still hard work. But to Harry's delight, he didn't feel exhausted at all. Death had been right. Harry's eyes found the being, who stood a few feet to his left. An already familiar warmth bloomed in his chest when his gaze fell upon the creature, a mix of relief at seeing him and something else, he couldn't quite name. The being's attention seemed to be occupied by the Doxy's, as Death observed the black fairy-like creatures buzzing through the air before he reached out to touch one mid-flight.
It dropped to the floor as if it had been hit with a spray but Harry saw that there was no life force in the little body left. As if he'd known he'd been watched, Death turned to look at Harry, a sharp grin on his face.
Harry couldn't help but smile. At least one of them had fun. Maybe it was thanks to Death, but they had cleaned out the curtains way faster than Harry had expected.
The time passed quickly and after an incident involving Mundungs trying to hide stolen kettles in Grimmauld Place and a shouting Mrs Weasley, Harry stood in front of a showcase and curiously eyed the artefacts that were displayed.
When he had lived in Grimmauld Place, these things had all been long gone.
There were a few rusty blades, a curled in snakeskin, claws, a few silver cases with interesting warding runes on them and a crystal bottle filled with blood. Vampire, if Harry's guess was correct.
While eyeing the objects behind the glass, Harry mused whether the curses would affect him still in the same way. It was obvious that something had changed within him once he agreed to become the Master of Death and not for the first time he wondered if it had been a deal with the devil.
At this moment the door swung open and Kreacher shuffled inside. He entered the room, side-eyeing Harry for a bit, but ignoring him once his attention seemed to be caught by something else. The house-elf scuffled alongside the wall, murmuring insults and indistinguishable words. „...smells like shit and is a criminal, just like the rest of the pack blood-traitors, werewolves and their bastards. Oh poor Kreacher, if his Mistress knew..."
"Hello Kreacher," Fred snapped with a loud voice and kicked the door shut.
"Kreacher didn't see the young master," the elf said and bowed before Fred, "Filthy little bastard of a blood-traitor that he is," he hissed while facing the carpet.
"Sorry, what?" George said, "I didn't get the last part."
"Kreacher didn't say anything," the house-elf said and bowed in front of George, "...and there is his twin, strange freaks altogether," Kreacher murmured, "...and there is the mudblood, disrespectful she stands, oh when my poor Mistress only knew... and there is a new boy. Kreacher-"
"Kreacher," Harry interfered, having watched the whole scene. Kreacher's eyes widened at being addressed and something within him seemed to recognize the odd echo of a bond between them.
"This is Harry, Kreacher," Hermione began gently.
"The mudblood talks to Kreacher, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what would she say-"
"Don't call her a mudblood!" Ginny and Ron exclaimed at the same time and both very angry.
"It's okay," whispered Hermione, "He doesn't know what he-"
"Don't lie to yourself Hermione, he knows exactly what he does," Fred insisted and shot Kreacher a disgusted look.
"Is that true, is that Harry Potter?" Kreacher muttered while he was looking at Harry. "Kreacher can see the scar-"
"Kreacher," Harry cut him off in a sharp tone.
"What can Kreacher do for the young Master?" Kreacher said begrudgingly and bowed down. The others looked at Harry strangely. Not one time Kreacher had asked them if he could help them. Harry looked at the house-elf considerately. It wouldn't hurt to gain the loyalty of Kreacher. After all, he'd been the one talking to Bellatrix and Narcissa, his betrayal having at least partly attributed to Sirius' death. And Harry had to admit that he'd taken a liking to his godfather once again.
"Kreacher, I will help you finish what Regulus asked you to do," Harry promised quietly. The others gaped at him and Kreacher's eyes widened comically. They didn't understand what he was talking about, but they all saw how Kreacher suddenly threw himself on the floor and grabbed Harry's legs before the old elf started to cry.
"Kreacher, couldn't! Kreacher couldn't! Kreacher tried but-," he cried out between his sobs. Then he started to bash his head against the floor, dust whirling up from the carpet which still couldn't muffle the thuds of the elf's forehead meeting the ground.
"What- how?" Fred uttered.
"Harry make him stop!" Hermione cried, "This is barbaric."
Meanwhile, Sirius had appeared in the doorway and he stared at Harry with an odd expression, eyes wide and shaken. Harry swallowed. He didn't doubt that his godfather had heard what he said. Only when Sirius tore his gaze away, he seemed more like himself again. "Kreacher, stop that!" the man snapped. Kreacher stood up and wiped his eyes, but he glared at Sirius.
"Kreacher," Harry addressed the creature once more and the elf looked at him. "I will keep it safe until then. Tomorrow evening, alright?"
"Of course Master Harry," Kreacher said and bowed down ridiculously deep pressing his nose against the floor." Harry glanced at Sirius. He didn't know if he would approve of what he would do next, but it was probably for the best.
"I want you to pick three items you want to keep from this room, but you won't disturb us when we throw out the rest. Then you can go."
"Thank you, Master Harry," Kreacher said and he hurried through the room, seeming much livelier than a few minutes earlier. He walked back to the door, carrying two moving pictures and a signet ring. Kreacher stopped looking at Harry as if he waited for approval.
"I might need the ring," Harry said after a second. Sirius watched it all with a grim expression, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
"Of course Master," Kreacher said and brought it to Harry, who pocketed it under curious glances. Kreacher seemed happy enough that it wasn't thrown away and wanted to go, but Harry interrupted him.
"You may take another thing because you lost the ring." The house-elf almost started to cry again and he bowed down deeply and then picked a golden pocket watch. Then he walked out of the door, happy with his small treasures.
"How the hell did you manage to do that?" Ron asked him, breaking the silence.
"Turns out the portraits actually talk to you, if you are a parselmouth," Harry lied smoothly. The others seemed to take it as an explanation, but Harry looked at Sirius and he knew that his godfather didn't believe him one second.
Under Mrs Weasley's attentive eyes, they eventually continued to clean out the shelves. Nonetheless, Fred and George managed to sneak some of the artefacts out of the garbage bag. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that Sirius approached him while everyone's attention was on Mrs Weasley who had discovered the sneaky theft. "-PUT THIS BACK ON AN INSTANT, GEORGE!"
"You didn't really talk to the portraits, did you?" Sirius asked watching the contents of the showcase with the knives and the snakeskin.
"No," Harry answered and then paused for a moment, watching Ginny shiver violently when she walked past Death. Strangely everyone seemed to avoid the spot where Death stood even if they couldn't see him. "I will tell you tonight," Harry expressed quietly when he spotted Mrs Weasley, who walked over to them, her lips pressed tightly together.
"Everything in this shelf will have to go to," she demanded and gestured at the wall, "The more we get out today, the less we'll have to do tomorrow." Sirius tensed at her tone. Harry was once more reminded that Sirius had left this house to escape a demanding mother and was now treated like he didn't even have a say in this. It irked him.
"Mrs Weasley," Harry began, "Maybe Sirius wants to keep what's inside that showcase. You should probably ask him first." Harry of course knew, that Sirius had been happy to leave all of this behind, but Mrs Weasley's tone had ignited a spark of anger within the Black and Harry's had only added fuel. Curious as to what would happen next, Harry watched their exchange.
"Yes Molly, I actually just thought about keeping this... bottle," Sirius said coldly, pointing at the first thing that came into his view.
"But, that looks like ...blood," Mrs Weasley voiced, leaning closer to take a look at the dark liquid. "You really want to keep that?" Even Sirius didn't know what to answer, but Harry came to his rescue.
"It's worth at least forty galleons," he stated. Three years of Auror raids in Knockturn Alley and other gloomy corners in London had really equipped him with the most ridiculous knowledge concerning such things. Mrs Weasley stared at him and so did Sirius.
"Forty galleons..." Mrs Weasley uttered. Harry felt almost sorry for her. The Weasley's had never had much money but they'd always been nice. But since Harry had met Death his empathy wasn't really something he could rely on. He'd taken a liking to Sirius because the man was perhaps even worse off than he'd been and was experiencing something similar to the constant state of apathy Harry had lived through after the war. But Mrs Weasley... most of her actions so far had been a nuisance to him.
So Harry didn't feel guilty when he said, "Of course. Sirius just told me that the dark almost blackish tendency of the liquid and the fact that it's still red indicate that this is the blood of a vampire. Depending on the amount on the market right now, it is worth from 40 to 100 galleons." Inwardly Harry shook his head at this statement. It really must've been a miserable few years, if he still remembered the contents of the dry reports on his Auror desk. His eyes flickered over to Death almost automatically, the being that had dragged him out of this hellhole that was those empty seven years.
Meanwhile, Sirius stared at the bottle with vampire blood, a surprised look on his face, but he quickly changed his expression and looked at Harry.
"As I just wanted to tell you, Harry, before we got interrupted-" Sirius glared at Mrs Weasley, who blushed slightly - "Vampire hunts are illegal nowadays - which doesn't keep people from trying - but that should make the blood very rare at the moment. Dung could probably sell it, but I don't think, we would get the full price if we'd let him do the selling." Harry hummed in agreement, trying to hide his amusement at Sirius' bullshittery.
"What about the other stuff?" Mrs Weasley asked snappishly trying to cover up her previous embarrassment.
Sirius raised a hand to his chin, humming thoughtfully as he looked at the displayed item. "It's after all family heirloom of centuries. Maybe I should ask Andromeda if she wants some things. What do you think Harry?" he inquired.
Harry bit back a smirk.
"Well, do you mind the tapestry on the other side then?" Mrs Weasley said.
"Oh no. You can rip it down if you want," Sirius responded and Mrs Weasley turned around, "I would be surprised if they get it off the wall," Sirius muttered to Harry. Both then turned around to watch Mrs Weasley's fruitless attempts to get rid of the old family tree. Spell after spell hit the old piece of fabric but nothing appeared to harm it.
The following hours passed quickly as they cleaned the room. Death had reappeared as a snake after some time and Harry was pretty sure that he was currently napping upon his shoulders.
They had dinner and on the insistence of Mrs Weasley, they went to bed immediately. The others didn't complain. They were all tired. The day had been exhausting but Harry didn't feel in need of a rest at all.
Sirius shot him some glances but there was no chance to speak without raising suspicion.
Harry still heard Mrs Weasley's demanding voice echo through his head as he was curled up on his bed, waiting for Ron to fall asleep.
Eventually, Ron's breathing evened out, but Mrs Weasley could still be downstairs. But Harry could always catch Sirius in his room. It was better to wait a bit longer, but there was something else he could do.
With a glance at Ron's dark shape upon his bed, Harry sat up. Slowly he moved through the room, inhaling with a hiss when the floor beneath his bare feet creaked loudly. Walking over to his suitcase, he pulled out a quill and some parchment and began to write two letters. Death stood right behind him, looming over his shoulder. Both were short, barely more than a few sentences, but this was the first significant part of his plan.
Hedwig silently flew on his shoulder, when he called her. "Good girl," Harry whispered smiling and petted her moonlit wings, "Bring that to Gringotts, will you?" Harry tied the first letter to her leg and after instructing her to deliver the second letter to Flourish and Blotts and fastening it to her as well, he opened the window. With an affectionate nip of her beak, she took off. "Well," Harry said as he closed the window and around to face Death, "Now we wait."
Half an hour later, Mrs Weasley was still downstairs and Harry was in his bed once more.
"What are you going to tell him, Master?" Death asked in his hoarse voice. Harry hadn't found the will to complain when the being had settled right next to him in the bed but had mostly ignored him. But at the words, he turned to the side to look at Death's face. Mere inches were separating them now and Harry could feel his breath hitching. He hadn't realized how close the being had been. Something was buzzing under his skin, urging him to get closer, drawing him to the being.
Harry shrugged and forced himself to look away. He really didn't know at the moment. "Probably the truth." Death's gaze was fixated on him. There was surprisingly much life in his pupil-less eyes. "Would you mind if I told him about you?" Harry inquired curiously. Death grinned widely. Harry had the feeling that Death was more than happy to be able to scare somebody else for once.
"No," Death said. All of a sudden, he tilted his head, as if to hint at something.
"What?" Harry whispered, but then he stopped. The faint steps of somebody walking up the stairs could be heard. "Is that Mrs Weasley?" he whispered.
"Yes," Death replied, his unique voice drawing out the word like a gust of wind as he was lurking over Harry. The being reached out with his hand, fingers spreading out over Harry's heart. His touch meant everything and Harry gave in to the urge to press closer. His eyelids fluttered shut as he pushed his head against Death's shoulder and something within him purred at the sensation of that contact which he still denied himself for some unknown reason. "You know her magic, her soul. Feel it," Death whispered and it took everything for Harry to focus.
He exhaled, mentally reaching for the already familiar place in his mind that was no longer his own. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, feeding his magic when he nudged against the foreign presence. And then something changed. Harry was aware of every single being in and around the house. Their life was pulsing like candles in a dark room. No way he could miss them. Of course, there was Ron in his bed and Pigwidgeon on the Wardrobe, but they were in his room.
Harry couldn't exactly see past it, but he somehow just knew.
Kreacher was walking through the attic, Mrs Weasley was still coming up the stairs and Sirius was downstairs in the Kitchen. The longer Harry felt for them, the more he saw. The people who were sleeping felt different. Their life force was calmer, their breath steadier. Harry even noticed the faint glow of the spiders, which occupied each room. There were some rats in the attic and a few Doxy's seemed to have survived the cleaning. Harry could even sense the people who lived in the house next to them and some moths fluttering around the street lamps outside.
There was the magic thrumming in the walls, around the portraits, even the magical artefacts in the cellar. Harry was overwhelmed by this. He had experienced something similar when Death had shown him their bond but this had only been a tiny glimpse of what he was experiencing right now. Fascinated Harry observed the strands of magic so deeply connected to their soul and life force. A comforting warmth connecting them and every particle of their surroundings.
Harry gasped when he focused on himself.
Nothing.
There was no energy, the glow, that every other human in this house appeared to be surrounded by. There was no sign of life at all. Even the walls had more life in them than the thing that was Harry.
His head seemed suddenly so clear. In a violent motion, Harry he pulled back from the creature next to him and he scrambled to the other side of the bed with fearful eyes. An icy coldness spread through him, a conflicting mix of fear and longing to get closer to Death once more. His fear won out, but his eyes flickered over to the creature who had also sat up, mirroring his own pose and was watching Harry with a tilted head.
Harry tore his gaze away and stared at his hands, the fading magic still marking him as negative space within all the lively energy. That's what Death had meant with all of this. Harry was no longer only human.
Fuck that! Somebody, who was partly human should have at least some kind of life in him! His hands were shaking. He was dead. Had he been dead since the first time Voldemort had killed him? Or the second time...
Hysterical laughter rang in his ears. The killing curse wasn't able to harm him. Nothing was. Of course - because he was already dead! Harry sucked in raspy breaths, but no air was reaching his lungs. He panted heavily but he couldn't breathe. He was dead, a living corpse. What had Death done to him? He shouldn't even be here... Maybe he had never left the white place that looked like Kings Cross and he was still laying in the forbidden forest with Voldemort looming over him.
Harry's mouth was opening and closing like a fish on dry land he was trying to breathe.
A gentle touch on his cheek pulled him back into reality. Two hands cupped his face and Harry blinked away a few tears he hadn't noticed were there. The laughter had stopped a while ago and Harry realized that he must've been the one responsible for the sound. His eyes focused and he looked upon Death.
If Harry had thought that he was dead then Death was the same and more. A dark hole absorbing the life around them. Somehow the panic Harry had felt mere seconds ago bled away as if it had never been there. Death wasn't grinning or smiling like so often, instead, he looked at Harry with a frown.
Harry felt the bond that was connecting them more consciously than ever.
It happily swirled around them, buzzing beneath his skin and most prominently where Death's hands were touching him.
Harry's thoughts clashed in his mind, conflicting emotions blurring in his head. Something within him was changing. Nothing could've prepared him for whatever this was. Earlier this day, he'd compared this whole thing to a deal with the devil. An analogy that didn't seem too far off anymore. Death had given him so much more than anyone had ever been able too but what if it was for a price he wasn't ready to pay?
Without thinking, Harry extended his hand, whose sight had frightened him so much, barely seconds ago and mirrored Deaths motion. He drew his fingers over Deaths white skin the cheekbones and the face that was more perfect and beautiful than Harry's could ever be and just as inhuman and different as it was similar to Harry's.
Death closed his eyes and a familiar rumble echoed through the air. He was purring again. Harry smiled a conflicted smile.
He knew nothing of Death. What made the being to what it was, what its motivations were. And yet he knew that Death was his. And that he would do everything in his might to keep him.