Seven years later
It was a rainy and dreary night. Harry stood in the shadows beneath a leaking canopy, shoulders hunched against the cold and hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his Auror issued coat. Clouds of breath formed in front of his mouth at a regular interval, a steady drip, drip overhead overlaying the rain hitting the asphalt.
A few feet next to him Hopkins shifted his weight again, cursing the icy weather before he rummaged through a pocket beneath his cloak, checking the communication coin for the eleventh time. Harry didn't react, instead, he continued to observe the backdoor to the derelict warehouse on the opposite side to the abandoned building they were using as shelter from the grisly weather. It was known to regularly house black markets where people could acquire various magical items as well as creatures and illegal potions. During the downtimes, it was housing all kinds of filth living on the streets. Someone who could be a homeless muggle or wizard - there wasn't much telling them apart in these kinds of places - lingered around the chain-link-fence near the metal door for a while. He didn't check his surroundings very thoroughly before slipping inside. But even if he had looked over his shoulder and stared past the stack of worn car tires, a strategically placed pallet and loosely strewn bricks, he wouldn't have spotted Hopinks and Harry.
Their wards hid them from sight, rendering even a desillusionment charm moot. At least as long as they didn't move too much and refrained from using excessive magic.
"How many hours more do they want us to stand here?" Hopkins complained, "We'll never find out whether Macnair is in there if they don't let us go in!"
Harry exhaled for a long moment. Then he spoke. "Even though the chance is slim - very slim, everything regarding marked Death Eaters has to be cleared by the higher-ups." His voice sounded monotonous even to himself. He cleared his throat and forced himself to sound a bit more chipper. "But I wouldn't mind them speeding it up either. I'm freezing my arse off here."
Hopkins snorted. "Not only you, mate... D'you reckon I'll get away with another warming charm? The wards seem to hold up so far..." Harry drowned out Hopkins's rambling, humming on occasion to keep up appearances. Mentally he was going through tomorrow's plans. He was due to visit Hermione and Ron again.
He could snow in at ten am, maybe push it further away to eleven. He would make small-talk for about fifteen minutes, maybe talk a bit about the fruitless stake-out. Yeah, that could work. He might be able to fill half an hour with it. Then tea. Meanwhile, he would listen to Hermione telling him about the kids. He would ask some questions, laugh and smile, and then Ron would relay a tale from his work with George, maybe elaborate on a new invention. Harry stretched his jaw in anticipation of the strain his cheeks would have to endure.
Something popped.
Maybe he'd be able to leave around twelve if he made up an excuse.
As soon as the thought had materialized, Harry rejected the notion.
He'd made a promise to himself. No skipping out. Else he would only end up on the shitty sofa of his flat, drunk once again and just as apathetic as he felt among people. It had become predictable, his routine, if he didn't force himself to keep one up by his choosing. And getting drunk in the privacy of his own walls was the more preferable option to picking someone up at a pub. Not that it really gave some substance to his drab life, but currently he had a good streak going with the tabloids, which seemed to please Andromeda. It had been a few weeks since the press had dissected his 'hedonistic lifestyle' on the front page, including some blurry picture of him making out with some odd witch or wizard in a back alley. And Andromeda was easier to be around if she was pleased.
He'd have to remember to visit Teddy on Saturday.
Harry felt his own warming charm fade, making way for the cold creeping up through his sleeves and neck. A stronger gust of wind caused some raindrops to mist up and a spray went right into his collar. Harry shook his wand from his sleeve and with a swift motion, he renewed the warming charm before returning the wand to its holster. Warmth spread pleasantly from his lower back to every extremity although it didn't quite reach his feet.
Harry stared at the closed door of the warehouse. Only two of the six street lamps he could make out actually worked.
A cigarette would be nice. But he'd quit that too. For Teddy. It was what a good godfather would do. A perfect role model.
He sighed. He'd hoped this stake-out might bring some excitement. Apart from the first few months of hunting down the remaining Death Eaters after the Battle of Hogwarts, nothing had quite managed to scratch that itch of his that had him seeking out any kind of stimulation that would make him break through the fog surrounding his existence.
Curse-to-kill had been common following the time after the battle. Harry himself had felled Travers and Rowle and some others, earning him a reputation and odd looks from his friends. But after two years they'd rounded up the majority of them. There'd followed an even stricter ban of dark magic and with it, Harry had fallen back into this trance-like state - present in life yet not quite there.
Walden Macnair was one of the last Death Eaters who hadn't been captured or found dead yet. The lead - as faint and non-promising it may be - had sparked something within Harry. A long-forgotten thing, dare he even to call it interest. Either way, this had been a welcome change from the months of paperwork and small offences they'd been dealing with for seeming ages.
Though the hours spent in the cold and rainy night, doing nothing but observing had caused the spark to fizzle out into nothingness. The only thing keeping Harry here was a faint sense of obligation.
"Shit-" Hopkins' curse pulled Harry out of his thoughts and he turned his head. The former Hufflepuff was fumbling the communication coin that had apparently grown hot - thanks Hermione for adopting the idea to the Auror corps - and hurried to read it - "Shit. We're clear."
Smoothly Harry shook the wand from his sleeve and Hopkins fell into the same practised stance. He cancelled the wards and then they were already crossing the street in the pouring rain. They paused in front of the metal backdoor, gesturing back and forth before Hopkins swiftly opened the door and Harry quickly slipped inside, checking the perimeter. A haggard man in a filthy brown coat jumped up from where he'd been sitting in a cheap plastic chair, immediately shooting a spell at him. Harry dodged to the side on instinct and he moved his wand in the same motion, casting a silent spell. His aim hit true and the lookout sank to the filthy floor, knocked out by Harry's stunner.
Once Hopkins had caught up to Harry they continued on. Dust whirled up beneath their feet as they snuck through the warehouse. The scent of piss and alcohol was permeating the air as they walked past a few wizards leaning against a wall. Harry gestured for them to leave and they quickly complied as they were not too keen on being confronted by the Aurors. Soon they left behind the hallway lined with busted windows and at one point they passed through an invisible wall of wards, muffling the noise to this point. They followed the sounds and went through an open double door that led to a space that had evidently been repurposed into a marketplace. Self-made booths were spread out over the floor, creatures screeched in their cages and the air smelled like a mix of incense, owl droppings, potions and sweat. The gathered crowd could give Mundungus a run for his money.
They were spotted almost immediately. The sound of a unique whistle cut through the noise and then cracks upon cracks could be heard as the people who were able to hastily disapparated. "Merlins-" Hopkins cursed and then he was cutting through the scattering of people still present. Harry followed his line of sight and there he was. Macnair. He was older, his hair streaked with white and a thick woollen cloak was wrapped around his skeletal body. He'd turned when Hopkins had started running at him.
The fool announced his presence, following the Auror protocol to a t as he tried to arrest the wizard. He'd almost reached the Death Eater. While the other people still scattered and disapparated - all the while grabbing what they could - Macnair's arm whipped up like a snake and a nasty looking curse exploded from his wand. Some bystanders were blasted back while Hopkins barely managed to throw up a shield that shattered on impact. Harry himself crouched behind a stack of boxes just as the floor exploded in a follow-up spell, debris raining down upon them. The creatures still locked into their cages grew agitated and their screeches added to the ever-growing crescendo.
Soon spellfire crackled through the air and Harry cast and ducked and cast in that order. Dust hung in the air, obscuring the view. Even though Hopkins had taken some hits during the first explosion of rubble, he was quick on his feet. Still, Macnair held himself dangerously well, casting curses, transfiguration the ground and vanishing cages. His rapid spellfire left little openings to actually leave cover to get some hits of their own in.
Apparently, Macnair didn't waste his time by insulting Harry like so many before him and instead focused more on actually killing them. Harry could see why he hadn't been captured yet.
Wooden boxes turned into dust and Harry dove behind a pillar. He'd grazed Macnair with a cutting spell but only just. His eyes fell upon Hopkins who was taking cover behind a relatively small cage that seemed to hold a young Acromantula and for a brief moment, he and Harry shared a look. Then there was a crack and only a small distortion of air told of the spell that hit Wayne straight-on. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a silhouette disappear but his attention was all on Hopkins who'd sunk to the floor with a wheeze. Harry could only stare as something dark and shiny slowly soaked through the front of Hopkins's uniform. Eerily familiar to his sixth year when Malfoy had been cut into by his own curse in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
The Sectum Sempra.
Harry hadn't seen the curse since the Battle. He only heard his own blood rush through his ears, drowning out the noises of his surroundings. As if pulled in by a black hole, Harry stumbled towards Hopkins, wand lowered and simply staring.
Everything else was forgotten when he looked upon the dying man.
Hopkins was choking and coughing, a vicious wound running right over his upper torso and a more shallow one over his throat. His blood slowly seeped into the space between the rotting floorboards. Harry crouched down next to the other Auror but otherwise did nothing. Hopkins' hand clenched rapidly and his arm twitched up for a moment. Blood had already soaked through his sleeve. Pleading blue eyes searched for Harry, who simply stared back. Harry saw the life force leaving Hopkins' eyes. Perhaps he should do something. He had to do something. But Harry felt adrift. Because for the first time in years, the chains keeping him in place seemed to loosen and he could breathe while Hopkins was choking on his own blood.
Crack.
The hairs on Harry's neck stood up. The smell of sweat, dirt and stale liquor wafted right into his nose. "Maybe this time it'll stick," a voice croaked right behind him not without a trace of dry humour. Hopkins' face took on a deathly complexion when for the briefest of seconds, it was illuminated by a green light.
Harry didn't feel it when the spell hit him. Instead, the strangest sensation of someone touching his cheeks replaced the expected pain. Invisible hands cupped his face, so gentle as if Harry was a long-lost lover. He exhaled for the last time, his breath drawn out by someone other than himself.
Harry's eyelids didn't close as the world faded away.
Harryyy...
When Harry came to, he knew exactly where he was. A long, familiar room, the high glass ceiling and the empty train tracks. Everything so white. And a figure looming over him.
"Welcome back..."
"Hello Death," Harry greeted after he'd slowly sat up. The being looked just the same as he remembered it. White-eyes, pale skin and the darker-than-black hair flowing around his head like the mockery of a halo. An almost perfect copy of Harry at seventeen. Perhaps on instinct, Harry raised a hand to his own face to check whether he still had his beard. After confirming, he pushed himself from the ground and stood up.
"Harryyyyy...." the creature said. It was grinning widely, showing its sharp white teeth. It moved out of the way when Harry walked a few steps and took in his surroundings.
"It hasn't changed," he stated eventually, his eyes returning to Death, who didn't comment. Harry felt a strange kind of tranquillity. His mind hadn't felt this clear in years.
When he began to wander around Death followed him silently.
"I can't go back, can I?" Harry asked after a while. Their surroundings didn't change much. The place seemed to repeat itself in an endless loop. It was almost ironic how much it resembled the monotony of his life during the last seven years.
"Do you want to?" Death asked instead of answering.
Harry kept quiet. He knew the answer to this question, knew that there were only two things of which he could choose. Seven years of staying in limbo. A gift of Death. Seven years he was granted to make up his mind, to pick an answer to the question that was still unanswered. "I could choose to go on," Harry said after some time.
Death paused. "But there is something you want more than that, don't you?"
"What do you mean by that?" Harry demanded to know, somewhat fed up with the cryptic words Death was throwing into his direction. It was Dumbledore all over again.
"A second chance," Death said. Harry stopped in front of a bench and turned to look at the being.
"A second chance at what?"
"Life."
Harry laughed bitterly. "Because that worked out so great the first time?"
Death tilted its head. It smirked. "You've changed," it stated.
"Life does that to you," Harry said and his mind felt clearer than ever, "Or should I say the last seven years. You might have thought you would do me a favour by granting me more time, but all it did was prolong this state of not belonging anywhere. I never really left this place, did I? Stuck between two places, everywhere and nowhere... Not quite dead and not alive either," Harry spat.
"I know how you feel," Death said after a moment, grinning.
"Oh, do you," Harry retorted snappishly. He stopped and pierced Death with a look. The creature's grin just widened as it leaned in, face hovering inappropriately close to Harry's.
"Bored," it rasped.
Harry's jaw dropped.
"Moving on doesn't sound as appealing anymore, does it?"
Harry stared at the creature in silence. It was right. He had always imagined he would be reunited with his mother and father and everyone else whom he'd lost. But now the thought didn't possess the same allure it had in past days. It was almost like he had developed a disinterest in the notion. He looked at the tracks next to the train station and they were just as empty as they had been the first time.
"You asked me once, to bring your loved ones back. I cannot simply bring back the dead. But if you were my Massster - I could bring you back to the dead."
Harry turned the thought over in his head. "Does that mean Fred, Remus... They would be alive?" The creature only grinned. But then Harry scoffed. "Of what use is this, if the outcome is the same..."
"Who said the outcome has to be the same," Death said. "You feel bored. You don't have to be."
Harry stayed silent for a long moment. "Alright," he said quietly, "Do it."
Death grinned. "As you wish, Master..."
When his surroundings faded away, Harry was under the faint impression that Death was laughing.