The Master of Death

Chapter7: Moony and Padfoot

The door behind Harry fell shut and he was surrounded by darkness. Walking up the narrow steps he mused whether he should have said all of this. But seeing Sirius again reminded him of another problem. Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't be in Askaban forever. But the Order members most likely already knew that Voldemort would try to break his followers out of Azkaban. They wouldn't be able to prevent that anyway. The portraits in the entrance hall shot Harry some looks but didn't say a thing. He was somehow thankful for their lack of comments. Harry continued to climb the creaking steps till he had reached the floor in which he shared a room with Ron.

The dementors would change sides, Harry was certain of that. Dumbledore surely suspected it, but the ministry wouldn't remove them from Azkaban. That was equal to admitting that they didn't have them under control anymore and the attack on Harry would only support this statement.

Just when Harry had stepped into the old bedroom, the door behind him slammed shut on its own and he felt Death's presence materializing behind him.

Harry sucked in a mouthful of air. In comparison to Death accompanying him as a snake, this form - whatever he had chosen - felt much more like something one would associate with Death.

A cold shiver went down Harry's spine, his limbs tingling as his presence rolled over his body like a wave.

Almost as if it was contracting again, the presence pulled back and Harry knew that Death was standing right behind him. A soft touch pulled him out of his thoughts and then there were long fingers carding through Harry's hair once again. Warmth bloomed in Harry's chest, spreading outwards down his limbs and he felt the indefinable urge to press into the touch. Instead, he forced himself to turn around.

Harry felt a blush creeping up his collar when Death didn't stop but instead pushed some dark strands of hair out of his face. It was weird, but he couldn't find it in himself to pull away. It was rather the opposite. It was as if a part within him urged him to get as close to the being as possible, needy and possessive at once. Trying to save himself from the embarrassment of going through with that notion, Harry stared at Death. "Why do you look like me?" he blurted out, the first thing that came to mind.

Death stared down at him. Apparently, the creature had really made itself a tiny bit taller. "I like this form," the creature said, "But I can change it if you want."

"Oh. Um no," Harry said, awkwardly shifting under the affection the being placed upon him, while at the same time trying not to lean into the touch too much. "You can look however you want."

"You don't have to worry about me," the creature suddenly began, "No mortal weapon can harm me. I am Death. I can't be killed."

That statement managed to return Harry to a more coherent state of mind and he became aware of the oddness of this interaction. He took a step back. Harry cleared his throat. "Well, in hindsight catching a knife so that it doesn't stab you sounds kinda silly," he said and carded a hand through his hair where he could still feel the lingering tingles of where Death had touched him.

The creature smirked widely. Harry huffed, "I guess we all learned something. If you insist, I'll let you get impaled next time," he added with a shrug. He wanted to turn away but Death's intense stare pinned him in place.

Harry felt oddly exposed. "I-" Death began after a long pause, almost hesitant - "liked it."

"What?"

Death had tilted his head, almost as if he was confused, trying to figure out how to express what it had felt. "You didn't want me to get hurt. That was ...nice."

Harry stared at the creature in front of him. Death had to be so unbelievably old and yet stumbled to express the most ordinary human feelings. It was almost as if it had never experienced thankfulness. It was oddly endearing and Harry tried to drive away, the spark of fondness that rose in his chest. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling.