Harry swallowed and nearly jumped out of his skin when something cold and rough slid over his jaw and tilted his head up. Death gave him a look. "Do not forget again – learn what it means to be a Necromancer. You are carrying, yes, you cannot do much, also yes, but you are not incapable of all else because of that. Do not make excuses – the next time we speak I will want to know that you have learned."
"Of course," Harry murmured softly. He nodded again to affirm his answer. "I am sorry for my negligence." He seemed to be especially negligent lately, wasn't he? Forgetting about his houses, his duties, and now this? What a wonderful job I'm doing, he thought bitterly.
"Do not reprimand yourself for it, Childe," Death sounded very close to being irritated and Harry slammed the door on his thoughts. "You were already chastised and that was all that was needed – do not make yourself feel worse about it because that will only worsen things rather than make them better."
They stepped back and touched a now green flame, the flame turning to be so bright that Harry could feel the heat despite the chill of the room.
"Ask me your questions Childe. I see that you have them and I wish to make your job easier on you."
Harry nodded slowly. "Riddle... Voldemort... is it a good thing that I'm going to him? Should he know about the babe?"
"Yes, he should," Death answered carefully. "However, you should analyze him yourself to judge when you wish to make it known to him. I cannot give you a proper time because humans are very peculiar about how they do things – especially with their young."
"Oh," Harry replied dully, trying to think through the implications of that. He would have to judge it himself and if Riddle made himself unpleasant than he wouldn't know. Harry would not allow his child to be harmed in any manner, especially with his own upbringing. If he could do something about it, then he would.
"Why did you want me as a Necromancer? Why did I receive an Inheritance?"
"Because you can change things. You have seen both sides I believe, understand that there is bad in good and good in bad and that few things are truly evil and truly good. You have been tormented and yet you have not allowed it to embitter your heart – you are a rare person, and you could change things." Death gave him a comforting look before continuing, "On the other hand, your family has always been loyal towards me and I am rather fond of them. You had it in your blood... I cannot wait for the House to become powerful again – such a joyous occasion that will be."
"What do you mean?" His curiosity was stoked, and Harry was hungry for anything about his family history.
"The Peverell family first began with Anndrïas Peverell who devoted himself to me. He chose Death as his patron, the one his family would worship and they never strayed. They were loyal and steadfast so I blessed them as my children. Of course, they married into different families and those who were right for my blessing were blessed but many of them came from the Peverell family or had their blood."
Death hummed. "They are still my favorite of my blessed and that is why I hold you to such a high bar Harry Potter... you come from a family who devoted themselves to me and I only wish for you to succeed just as successfully as them." There was a few beats of silence as Harry digested what was just said and he nodded slowly. "Now, is there anything else you would like to discuss?"
"What is the diadem? Because we can't figure it out."
"Oh, back to Riddle." Death paused and cocked their head to the side. "The diadem was a soul container though you've successfully rendered it to be just a diadem again. The locket that you're looking for is also a soul container – you'd do best to ask the elf about it."
Harry made a mental note to call Kreacher about the Locket. "What do you mean, "soul-containers"?"
"Exactly as I say – they hold a piece of his soul. I will inform you more of this at another time, or at least through another source. This conversation could be quite lengthy otherwise. Although, when you find another container, you should tell one of your friends to carry it because you are absorbing them, and I figure you would like to not have to carry more than you have to."
"How am I absorbing them?"
"Your magic understands that they are not good – they should not be in existence, so you unconsciously try to turn them into something better. You turned them into something pure." Death gave him a considering look. "It does not have a negative impact on Riddle, in fact it does the opposite. Repurposing his soul is also repairing the damage. As I said before, in our first talk, you fall into many categories for my children and your own nature is affecting your power in a way not many would think possible of one of my children." They touched his forehead, cold rough skin brushing his. "You will need a teacher to help with this, to help train you."
"Oh, um..." Harry scrambles through his mind for the name of the ghost he had met. "Antia? Will they be teaching me?"
"Oh, you already know. Very good." Death nodded, looking very pleased. Harry did his best to not feel to proud of himself. "Antia has already offered himself as your teacher and he was a competent child; you will have lessons with him and he will teach you all the you need."
"Okay."
"Very good. Now, you must go. Too long you have been speaking with me and you will drain yourself if you stay longer." Death smiled at him. "I will speak with you soon Childe."
Harry bowed his head and then watched as the shadows dissipated, returning back to their original spots. The fire extinguished itself, leaving a smouldering wick and curling smoke in the air. The temperature returned to normally, the ice disappeared and left puddled of water on the floor. He pealed off melted fat from the candles, staring tiredly at the pulsing magic going through it. It had to color but he could see the blurred streams traveling around it.
He barely remembered to cast a quick spell to reactivate the wards as he peeled his eyes open repeatedly before he feel asleep in the middle of the hallway. His limbs were heavy and he nearly fell flat on his face more than once, though he was sure he wouldn't have even had the energy to make a noise of pain had he actually fallen.
He tumbled into his room, stripped of his robe and didn't even expend any energy on his pants before landing sideways and half on his bed. Then there was nothing.
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It was an unpleasant thing to wake up and feel as though you had been massaged by a sledgehammer and a ragged piece of stone.
Harry groaned, trying to think past the heavy exhaustion that was encompassing his mind and body. He hadn't expected to be this tired when he woke up the next morning and he stifled a grown. He flopped over and sluggishly buried himself underneath the blankets, covering his eyes from the horrible light that was streaming into the room. Why now? He pleased mentally, trying to work himself of any sort of force that could make him get out of bed.
His legs protested the thought when he willed them to move but nothing happened, and Harry just laid there in acceptance of the fact. His body didn't want to move so why should he make it move?
He floated away in the heaviness and the silence only to startle so much when the door slammed open and shouts echoed in his ear. It was the twins, two loud bursts of chaos, and they were playing a trumpet. Well, playing would insinuate that they knew what they were doing – they were really just making a large racket and Harry happily imagined the trumpet twisting itself into a knot like Hagrid had done with his uncle's rifle.
There was a constipated trumpeting sound that trailed off and Harry peaked out of one eye to see George holding the trumpet and both twins gaping like a fish. Harry huffed out a laugh and buried himself back into the covers, only to groan when a body flopped over him.
"Harrikins! You haven't said hello to us and yet you favor your sleep place over us? Your most loyal subjects?" There was a faked sniffle sound. "I feel... I feel so hurt."
Harry hummed. "S'rry fir hurtin'..." he thought for words. What was supposed to go after that? "feelin's." It made some amount of sense.
"Harry, are you alright?"
"Yea," he slurred out. "Perf'ly f'ne..."
Words blurred into fogged noise and he floated through more fog, tumbling through his exhaustion. He broke out of it soon enough, or however long it had been, as he was shaken roughly, jarring him from his rest. Harry peeled his eyes open and forced himself to sit up, through he just stared at Ron while he tried to force himself into some form of functioning.
"Hey mate... you seem really tired."
"Am tired."
"You can stay in bed if you'd like - mum'll bring up your breakfast and everything."
"No... need ta study..." His words slurred even more but Harry forced himself into movement, sluggishly dragging on his clothes and giving himself a bleary look in the mirror before trudging out of the room. Ron hovered behind him as he trudged down the stairs because Harry was aware enough to move his legs but if he fell, he would just fall flat on his face and bust it up.
Everybody looked concerned once he sat down at the table and Harry paid them no mind as he choked down some breakfast, feeling marginally more awake now that he got his blood pumping. Ginny tried to speak with him but after Harry just mouthing along to her words because she was speaking too fast for his tired brain to catch the words, she just went back to eating her food.
In all honesty, Harry felt like he had the morning that he had gotten his Inheritance - so fucking tired that he could drop dead right then and there with the bone deep exhaustion that was fogging up his mind.
Instead he made his way to the Library, sat himself down at a desk in a dark corner and pulled out a single piece of parchment, an ink bottle, and a quill. Then Harry stood up again and traveled through the rows upon rows of books, huffing when he had to climb up the charmed ladder to go through the higher up books. It moved at a pace that wasn't unlike his Firebolt, leaving Harry dazed and thrilled with the rush of air blowing past him. He quickly found the books that he was searching for and flopped back on the desk.
He pried open a book, frowning as squiggles quickly turned to words and some reshaped themselves into strange sigils. He ran a hand through his hair; none of the journals had spoken about this, more about personal experiences, and Harry cursed himself for not thinking about this more.
Remembering what Death had said about soul-containers, he scribbled them down so that he remembered to research more about them. Then he paused again.
"Kreacher," he whispered, almost inaudible. There was a pop and the house-elf appeared again, dressed this time in a black shirt with the crest of the Black family on the breast, and small house-elf sized shorts that Harry had stated were far more practical for Kreacher.
"Half-Blood Heir Black calls Kreacher."
Harry nodded. "Yes... do you know anything about a locket? Maybe gold plated or...?" He trailed off as Kreacher's ears drooped and his heart began pounding. "Kreacher do you know something?"
"Kreacher shouldn't be saying - no Kreacher had a duty and Kreacher failed." To Harry's horror tears gathered in Kreacher's eyes. "Kreacher couldn't destroy it..."
"Kreacher, what happened? Maybe I can help, but you'll have to tell me what happened."
He transfigured a small splinter into a tissue quickly and handed it to Kreacher, who grasped it tightly into his hands. "Master Regulus - good, honorable Master Regulus - gave Kreacher a duty. Kreacher was to destroy the locket. Bad bad locket, from the Bad man. He be asking for Kreacher and- and Kreacher is going with him because Master Reggie said go. He make Kreacher do bad things. Then..." Kreacher wailed, blowing loudly into the tissue. Harry did his best to look as comforting as possible while trying to remind himself to be patient for the rest of the story.
"Master Reggie is realizing that the job be bad... so bad... and he took Kreacher and I was forced to show where the locket was being. Master Reggie died," Kreacher all but screeched, tears leaking down his face. "And- and he ordered Kreacher to go, take the locket and destroy it- and Kreacher is failed! I's even tried to bite it but it still not breaking!"
Harry dabbed Kreacher's face gently, humming. "I see... I think I can finish Regulus request- I'll fix the locket and take out the bad. I know what to do."
Kreacher sniffled, wiping his nose. "Half-Blood Heir Black can finish Master Reggie's task? Destroy the locket?"
"Yeah, I can fix it."
Harry twisted his wording because he wasn't going to promise anything that he couldn't do, but he would purify the locket, yes. He could use it as a bargaining tool and hopefully get Voldemort to reabsorb his soul rather than Harry absorb it. He still hadn't figured out how he was absorbing them, but he figured it didn't do anything negative.
Kreacher stares at him for a few moments, his eyes unblinking, then he pops away. Harry stares at the empty spot, a few specks of floating dust, and sighs. He'll either come back or he won't. Can house-elves perform Legilimency? After a few moments of pondering the thought, Harry decides he wouldn't like to find out.
He looks back at his notes, the steps for a basic necromatic ritual, and went back to decoding the strange sigils on the page. So far he'd gotten the sigils for cleanse, purge, and banish. Apparently, it was very much its own language with different meanings depending on the context. Harry sighed. He really had not been prepared for this much to be involved in his Inheritance - again, he wondered why he hadn't.
A wavering, "Half-Blood Heir Black," had his head shooting up from where he was writing and he looked to the side. Kreacher was grasping a gold locket tightly, emeralds forming an S shape on the front.
The red magic coursing through it was familiar and Harry smiled. "Thank you Kreacher. I will purge it and it will be good again - Regulus' final wish will be completed."
Harry pushed away the thought to copy the locket once it was clean, and mangle the copy to give to Kreacher. That would secure his loyalty most likely, because he would have the locket with the fake knowledge that the soul-container had been destroyed.
Kreacher dropped the locket into Harry's hands, his own knobby hands trembling. "Half-Blood Heir will destroy the locket?"
"Yes."
"Then Kreacher is satisfied." The older elf popped away and Harry focused on the locket in his hands. It felt a bit more volatile than the Diadem but he stroked it nonetheless, satisfied when the hostility turned more towards curiosity.
Harry feels a flicker of curiosity at the fact that it feels sentient, far more than the Diadem ever did. Perhaps it had more of a soul in it, meaning that it could feel more of the outside? Was it capable of communication?
Well, he contemplates as he stares at the locket in his hands, there's only one way to find out.
"Hello," He hisses softly, focusing on imagining a snake to get the parseltongue to come out properly. "My name is Harry."
It pulses again, much more strongly, and Harry struggles to identify the emotions coming off it. It obviously can feel more than the Diadem - that much was obvious.
"Do you think I could talk with you?"
The locket pulses in a rapid-fire way before settling into silence. Harry takes that as a vehement no. He sighs but slips the locket into his bag. Death said that Hermione or Ron would be better off holding the locket, since Harry unconsciously drained them so that there was no more soul. He wondered what that meant.
"Harry, are you in here?"
He twisted his head and blinked as Hermione came in, looking a bit nervous.
"Over here, Mia," he called.
She smiled and strode over, sitting criss-cross on the ground in front of him. "I figured something out." Harry raised a brow and nodded for her to continue. "So, you know how you need a teacher for your Lordship and all its duties? Harry, do even try to protest - we both know that somebody needs to show you the more intricate workings because each house is different. And... who better than to teach you about the Potter family than your father?"
Hermione stares at him, while Harry tries to figure out a way to say absolutely not, in the politest way possible.
"Just think about it," she says haltingly. "He was raised to take up the mantle and obviously he knows how to run it. And... wouldn't it be nice to finally speak to him and your mum? You'd get to know your parents."
Harry blinks.
Freak, rings in his ears; a frying pan swinging toward him; a dark, cold cupboard with a flickering lightbulb; a cramped stomach eating itself from wanting hunger; falling into ice and shadows and wondering if that would be the last moment he would ever be conscious.
A laugh spills from his lips, completely devoid of the turbulent emotions tumbling inside of him. His lips pull into a humorless smile.
"Yeah... no."
Author's Notes:
Okay, y'all know I'm unreliable sometimes, yes?
So... everything's changed and Riddle comes during chapter 13 or something but it's sooner rather than later so yay to that, i suppose...
*peers* thoughts about Death?
Remus is going to be in the next chapter and they're leaving to find Riddle next chapter also so we're having lot's of fun-
Love hearing everybody's thoughts!! <3
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