Harry couldn't recall how the flight to London had gone the first time around, but if the weather had been the same, he'd have to have almost frozen to death. Still, he mostly enjoyed the feeling of flying, cold wind tugging on his clothes as they made their way through the night. Not a word could be heard because of it. Moody had to shout for everyone to understand his commands to change directions every so often. Faint starlight illuminated the clouds but more eye-catching than that were the small lights on the ground. Unknowing Muggles sitting in their own houses, unaware of the group of Wizards flying overhead. But eventually, they rose to a height where clouds blocked their view and the last traces of civilisation gave way to the night.
This was the perfect opportunity to ask Death some questions. Its snake form was still wound tightly around his torso and neck and so Harry gave it a try. "Death?" he asked in parseltongue. Even if somebody should be listening in, they would only hear a strange hissing almost identical to the wind.
"Masssster ..."
Harry felt the snake beneath his shirt dissolve into nothing and then there was a presence next to him, which couldn't be described by words. Harry felt like he could hear the air shift and the wind itself seemed to grow quiet in face of the entity at large. He swallowed hard and for the first time, he really thought about the fact that it was Death who'd brought him here.
He suddenly felt incredibly small. He'd wanted to ask what had happened to his mind, his memories. But his words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't find it in himself to speak out loud. With wide eyes Harry blinked into the darkness, unseeing but feeling what lurked there. His heart was fluttering like a bird in a cage, beating like wings against his ribs. His cold hands tightened around his broomstick.
As if it had heard his panicked thoughts, the overwhelming presence reduced itself to a faint whisper. Harry flinched when he felt the echo of a touch on his skin, but then it pulled back till there was only a slight breeze playing with his hair. A tingle went down his spine and a wave of comfort engulfed him. Harry exhaled shakily.
"Don't be afraid..." the inhuman voice whispered, words barely distinguishable from the wind tearing on Harry's cloak. It sounded as small as Harry had felt mere moments ago.
"I'm okay," Harry said. "I'm okay. I'm sorry." He didn't know why he felt the need to apologize.
After a moment had passed, Death spoke up again. "Ask," it said, "What you wanted to ask."
"Alright," Harry said. He swallowed. "I just... In one moment I know, feel and think as if I am twenty-four; I remember my whole training as an Auror, my life after the war - the life during the war... but in the next second, I feel like a spooked fifteen-year-old who never lived past this day and fears Voldemort attacking any moment. A part of me is certain that I haven't been in Little Whinging for years and yet I know that I was staying in my room for the last few days and that Aunt Petunia pushed a tomato soup through the cat flap of my door just this noon."
"I pulled your soul into your younger body. Your recent memories are linked strongly to this time, more than your older self. But the lines between your personalities will blur with time. It will sort itself out. For now, you might have to deal with a somewhat split mind."
"But wouldn't my older personality simply cease to exist as soon as I change what will happen in the future? I mean, I can't know things that never happened, right?"
"Two souls have merged, two souls of different times. You were remade by coming here into someone new. A clean slate. Everything that you are now is bound to me. And Death is beyond time."
It took a moment for Harry to let that sink in.
"Is this also the reason for me feeling so disconnected from everyone else? Remus, Tonks, Moody - I remember what I feel for them, what I should feel, but in the end... It's more of an echo that remains."
"Your memories dictate your emotions, but you have shed your old skin. You died the night you chose to accept the title as the Master of Death. And if you command Death, you are Death, become Death. And Death doesn't judge."
Harry faintly remembered an evening in his third year in Hogwarts after Trewlaney had predicted his soon-to-come death. Hermione had immediately begun reading about the different meanings of Death. Back then it hadn't really reassured him, but she'd told him that Death usually also meant change, transformation and the need to start over. Perhaps she wasn't all that wrong then. He asked himself how much more Death knew than him.
"I don't know what will be. You are changing but you are human still," Death whispered. "I only know that we are bound. I influence you just as you influence me."
And for the first time, Harry got the faint sensation of a feeling that he didn't quite recognize as solely his. It was electric and tingly, like the fluttering of his stomach as it pulsed through him.
It took a moment till Harry knew what it was.
Excitement.
After that Harry lost himself in his thoughts. Eventually, he was pulled out of the depth of his mind when someone pointed out a spiderweb of lights shining in the distance. They had reached London.
At this point, Harry didn't even try to wonder why he was still able to see the dirty old building that was Grimmauld Place No. 12. He looked upon it with wonder in his eyes and at the same time dismissed the sight as familiar.
Only when Moody gave him a small piece of paper, Harry realized that he shouldn't have been able to see the house yet and thus he quickly averted his gaze. He knew what kind of words would be written on the paper, but before his eyes could flicker over the parchment, Death's voice pulled him out of it. The creature had materialized under his cloak as a snake as soon as they had landed. And now only the slight distortion of the words told Harry that it was parseltongue that he was hearing.
"If you look at the words, you are bound by its magic. It's your choice but you will be able to enter anyway." Harry felt its smugness more than he could hear it. "Nothing can hide from Death."
"I know a story that would beg to differ," Harry muttered under his breath, oddly amused by the childish emotion the creature displayed.
But when he turned his attention back to the piece of parchment, he knew that Death was right. He could sense the magic around the paper. It was harder to detect than the auras surrounding the people next to him, but it was there.
After a moment of contemplation, Harry settled on the opinion that evading a magical contract sounded like the wiser thing to do. So Harry quickly looked down to appear like he was reading the words written in Dumbledore's narrow handwriting, but instead, he inspected a dry weed that had fought its way through a crack in the concrete. After a few seconds, he raised his head and looked at the black door with the snake handle again. Harry let his mouth drop open dramatically and faked a surprised gasp.
"Come on," Remus said after Moody had burned the paper and he touched the door with the tip of his wand. The rattling and clicking of locks could be heard behind the door. The sound was familiar and new at the same time.
They entered quickly and Remus reminded them to stay quiet. Tonks was carrying Harry's broom and Elphias Doge his suitcase so Harry was free to step through the door without a hindrance.
As soon as he had entered, Harry inspected the long dark entrance hall.
With every spotted piece of furniture, every crack in the wall which his brain categorized as a new sight, old memories resurfaced.
His older self had lived in this house till he reached his twenties and the press hype had died down a bit.
Living here hadn't even been so bad once he'd learned how to deal with Mrs Black and Kreacher had started to clean out the building. But only when he'd moved into a flat in London, Harry had realized how much the house had drained his energy. A certain heaviness had taken hold of him, a weight that he couldn't explain.
Split memories or not... Just like Remus had surprised him, the sight of Grimmauld place made a similar impression.
And it had Harry staring in awe.
Of course, there was the rotten smell, the dust and the cobwebs, which hung from the high ceiling. But the longer he looked at the walls, the more he sensed what was woven into the space between the bricks.
Fascinated Harry touched the wall closest to him.
He could feel the magic pulsing behind the mouldy wallpaper, almost like a hidden heart. There were wards over wards threaded into the masonry. Old, like the blood they were made to protect. Ancestor after ancestor having added what they knew. Some weaker some stronger and yet they supported each other like the roots of a tree.
The longer Harry focused, the more he could distinguish the different parts of it. The knowledge of his older self and the detection spells he'd once run in a now non-existent future aided him in making an educated guess as to how to categorize the differing sensations.
The most noticeable spells pulsed heavily with magic. Powerful and bright they were the first layer of defence, but they felt like they didn't really fit. Recent in their age, too light and too close to the surface to be cast by someone connected to the house of Black. These protections weren't deeply rooted like the others, although they were strong.
Dumbledore, Harry guessed.
Apart from the headmaster's protection, there were other light spells woven into the magical tapestry, but the most dormant and thus probably oldest magic of the house was dark. Some wards felt like tar. Similar to a swamp, they would consume everything that would dare to cross through. There were some that were sharp like blades and others that were only there to hide. Harry noticed the fidelius charm. It was a sensation similar to a thin veil coating the building, running through the outer walls.
And while the old wards were still there - combined even more powerful than the headmaster's protection - they felt weakened.
Dark and promising they may have called out once, but now it was tainted and foul, black and hungry, devouring everything it could reach. It was impressive that the magic was still intact despite its weakened state and considering its age.
Harry got so distracted that he didn't even notice Moody till the man tapped his head with his wand to lift the desillusionement charm. He flinched violently which earned him an amused snort from Mad-Eye.
Some of the portraits shot him curious glances and they whispered about a newcomer.
Hasty steps could be heard from the other end of the entrance hall and Mrs Weasley appeared in the door that led down to the kitchen. "Oh Harry, it's nice to see you!" she whispered and tried to pull him into one of her bone-crushing hugs. Death hissed threateningly. Harry couldn't say that he was disappointed when she pulled back immediately.
"Oh, you've got a new pet, Harry?" Mrs Weasley looked like she didn't know whether she should immediately throw the snake out of the house or smile at it for Harry's sake. She seemed to decide on the latter but it turned out looking more like a pained grimace.
Eventually, she settled on a topic that was safe and on which she knew exactly what to say. "You are so skinny," she fussed and patted Harry's cheek, "You need to eat more, but I'm afraid that you'll have to wait a bit till dinner is ready." Turning to the group of wizards behind Harry, she added, "He's just arrived. The meeting has started."
And while the others started to whisper, Dumbledores name like a prayer upon their lips, Harry used the moment of distraction to quietly slip out of Mrs Weasley's reach. While the younger part of him - whose last human contact had been the hugs he had received from Hermione and Ron at the beginning of summer - didn't really mind her fussing, his older self was less than impressed with her overbearing nature. Despite her probably meaning well.
Soon, the hushed conversations around Harry had his own thoughts wander to the famous headmaster.
This time it was his younger self that won out, his resentment of the man like an open wound, his emotions as vibrant as the memories of picking up newspapers from trashcans to find at least some kind of information on what was going on. His older self had long forgiven Dumbledore for his faults or at least hadn't cared enough to truly linger on his resentment bar chatting with Aberforth on occasion. But being thrown back into the hot kettle - so to say - changed things.
Harry wasn't in the mood for being a pawn in the headmasters game. Dumbledore might have had his reasons to keep some things to himself but Harry wasn't naive. He wouldn't blindly trust the headmaster, not like a part of him still wanted to, despite the echo of anger sticking to his thoughts like glue.
Dumbledore was just a man. And he had his faults. He was just like Slughorn in a way. Both collected people, but unlike Slughorn, Dumbledore didn't focus on the famous and influential ones, he focused on the outcasts. He was the one to forgive them and to offer them protection, a second chance, demanding nothing more than their loyalty. And who was there to deny the great Dumbledore something - being a spy in Voldemort's ranks, persuading giants to choose the right side or infiltrating the werewolves - after all, he had been the one to help when no one else was there.
Dumbledore himself might be of the opinion that he was doing good, but some may have fared better without his influence. Harry snorted. Wasn't he the best example of this?
Dumbledore had sent him towards his death solely for the greater good. But what good had it done to Harry? Of course, no one could've anticipated that collecting the hallows would actually turn out in his favour. But that aside...
Sure, his death had saved people. But Voldemort wasn't the only murderer out there and of what use would Harrys death have been to him, personally? None. None at all.
If Voldemort had been just a tad saner and Harry a bit more selfish, the chance of coming to an agreement that would've benefited them both - and in turn causing Harry to live an objectively happier life - would've been considerably larger.
Harry didn't doubt that it had hurt Dumbledore greatly to send him towards his death, but that hadn't stopped him from going through with it.
Knowing that the headmaster probably already suspected the Horcrux in Harry and thus considered his death, he would try to rely on the man as little as possible. Besides, getting to play on Voldemorts side for a bit sounded like way more fun. And if he insisted on killing Harry, well, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Seven to be exact.
Harry was pulled from his thoughts when the people around him slowly started to move towards the door at the end of the entrance hall. Knowing that he wouldn't be allowed at the order meeting anyway, Harry turned around and asked Mrs Weasley where Ron and Hermione were.
"Of course," Mrs Weasley nodded, "Come on dear, I'll show you."
Harry followed Mrs Weasley upstairs, the cut-off heads of the former house-elves throwing eerie shadows on the wall. "There look, the right door is yours. I really have to go now, but Ron and Hermione will explain everything. I'll call you when dinner's ready." Then she turned around and quickly walked downstairs.
"Masterrrr...." Death hissed, causing Harry to pause, his hand hovering mid-air on its way to open the door
"Death?" Harry replied.
"You wanted to know about the Horcrux..."
"And, is it still there?"
"Yes, but I can remove it if you want."
"You can remove it anytime?" Harry asked, his mind already weighing the opportunities this factor would grant him. On the one hand, he would be able to spy on Voldemort if he wanted too and being a Horcrux was certainly a unique kind of leverage but on the other hand... He didn't want to be this vulnerable. What if Voldemort used legilimency on him? Or Dumbledore...
"You alongside your mindscape have begun to change since you accepted to become my master, thus making what you're fearing more difficult as time goes on. But right now you are still vulnerable," Death answered the unspoken question. "Though I can reap it whenever you ask me to."
Harry hummed thoughtfully. "In that case, I'll keep it. For now. If it turns into a nuisance we'll deal with it."
With that he turned the doorknob - it was formed like a snake - and opened the door.