Chapter Text
Dance had transformed in the most unexpected of ways among humans. It was more or less the same between other creatures, but humans had moved far from its original purpose. The first ones to leap rhythmically around their fires and offer him still-bleeding meat would scarcely recognize what these highly restrained and choregraphed figurines were doing. So flamboyant yet dull. They should all be exceedingly grateful that his Master had come to liven up their world. He circled, unseen, around the dancers who were.
Abraxas Malfoy and Viola Malfoy. The curse on their line had been unknowingly broken during Harry’s coma. In his desperation from heartbreak after heartbreak, the young heir had prayed to the elder god Cernunnos, a deity his line had once been faithful and devoted to before coming to this land. Deities were quite unforgiving of treachery. Abraxas had gone against his family, defied his very name to ask for forgiveness. To promise offerings on the sacred days in exchange for the easing of his pain. Cernunnos had accepted and drawn him to his healer. Allowed his family to bloom once more.
Erlik Avery and the vampire now known as Nero. Death quite liked this chosen name. Twirling rather more slowly than the other dancers, his darklings turned at his approach, heads dipping in respect. What good children. He reached out with both hands to touch the flowers pinned to each of their robes. The petals dried and hardened immediately, as if pressed between the pages of a book. He knew they would understand this gesture, this blessing of their union. Their faces rose sharply. The vampire’s dark gaze softened. He stilled in his dance and inclined his head once more. The necromancer laughed, a quiet and warm thing full of breath. Death stepped back and back again into the river of time, curious.
The reckoning of human months and years was lost to him in this state, but in a short number forward, the death-touched ones before him are at a beach. Nero is taking shelter from the lethal sun under a large pavilion set out on the sand. Erlik Avery is walking along the shore, plucking shells and sea creatures from the sand to carry back and show to Nero while Harry and his new husband chase each other through the shallow water. They’re lobbing great handfuls of wet earth back and forth like snowballs because one of them destroyed the other’s sand structure. The necromancer blushes as he affixes a starfish to Nero’s umbral hair, and Harry can be heard loudly exclaiming that he’d be finding sand in his crevices for weeks.
A longer stretch of days or years, and this pair is at the center of a gathering of kindred. Vampires and necromancers alike, adorned in what was traditionally considered to be appropriate dress for dark rituals. This was a Becoming. His Master was attempting to blend into the group nearest the beaming couple, but this was impossible. Every dark being present must feel Harry’s deathly light, as they had difficulty keeping their eyes from straying to him. Their bodies swayed minutely towards his in a way that would be predatory in other conditions.
Harry kept his warm smile on Nero and his necromancer, soon to be his bonded. Such rituals are always closed to those who are not kindred, so Tom Riddle must be waiting for his soul at home. Or, more likely, outside of wherever this was. That serpent was irritatingly affixed to his Master’s side as often as he could get away with. The greatest of the Avery line fell into Nero’s embrace and arose with gleaming new fangs. He chose his name then, and Harry wept beautifully. Death stepped back into the river, and returned to the wedding he was neglecting, satisfied.
Harry Potter, his chosen Master. He had probably sensed Death’s presence the moment he arrived. Harry looked away from his dance partner when he drew nearer, looked directly at the space where he stood, invisibly but identically, except for the eyes. He knew his friend believed he did this to unnerve, and he allowed this because he believed he knew what reaction the truth would provoke. Deities are powerful by nature, impervious to most harm, and utterly sure of their place in the world. Their divine right to exist. Death had never needed to be strong, nor had he needed a form that was more than shadows and voice. Then, Harry Potter. He was the most thoroughly breakable being that had ever caught Death’s attention.
He’d waded through the depths of Harry’s life and watched with fascination. Fate and foes had seized this lonely soul and thrown it into fire. They had struck him with great losses like hammer blows and worn him down day by day with a relentless procession of neglect and abuse. Yet he did not break. He did not disappear. He was forged; made strong and deadly as any sword. The love and acceptance Death was embraced by when Harry joined him in that forest had pierced him through. Impervious to most harm – but not to Harry Potter. He remembered then what love is, and he knew too what strength is. Death took a form for the first time because he wished, with an ardent, human desperation, to embrace in turn. Death took the form of his Master because he was the strongest being he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.
“Thank you for your gift.” Harry whispered as they continued to dance. He was oddly giddy about the frequency at which Tom Riddle was being stepped on.
“Is he here?” The fool inquired, looking about as if he could see Death without his allowance.
“Yes, he brought our other guests for the handfasting.”
“Ah… I thank you as well. It meant a great deal to us both. I am in your debt twice now.”
“Tom, I don’t think he’s keeping score.”
He was - and at his count, the snake was in his debt thrice. Still, he supposed it was basically decent of the man to acknowledge this. He leaned in to brush a kiss across his Master’s brow and graciously allowed them the rest of their celebration without distraction. He returned to the veil and glanced through the scenes from years to come that he had long since plucked from the river like smooth stones.
The celebrations for the newly elected Minister for Magic, Ignatius Tuft. There was a public one at the Ministry and a private one at the manor Harry now lived in. More young wizards and even a few witches attended to receive a Mark from Tom Riddle, now altered. The new marking depicted the snake emerging from the skull to wrap around a lightning bolt. Harry scowled, but several of Riddle’s older followers requested that theirs be updated as well. The affair was amusingly interrupted by Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, who returned from the hospital with two babes born that day. Harry apparated past the other guests to get to his godsons, growling ferally at any who tried to take them from his arms. Viola Malfoy raised a glass of wine at him from afar as she rested.
A bill signing. Harry and his puppet master had achieved one of their greatest victories to date: the passing of laws that granted all magical creatures and beings the same protections that witches and wizards had. They did not yet have the same rights, but nor could they be hunted down for what they were, as werewolves and vampires were often subject to. Nor could they be abused and enslaved, as house elves were. They could choose which family to serve, if any, but did not have to accept pay if offered. If a family was not offering pay and the elf did not object, no law was broken. A compromise that Harry seemed happy enough with. Their own house elves were present at the signing, and accepted their first pay from their masters, sobbing loudly. The one in Yellow squeaked out through her tears that she would be able to get a Christmas gift for Harry. Riddle had the contented look of a man who was happy that his lover was happy.
Holiday celebrations. Christmas? They drink and celebrate the completion of a Dragon Pox prevention potion, and his Master is nervously bouncing one foot as he sips mulled wine. The Weasley family arrives, looking at the finely dressed guests around them and smoothing down their own humble clothing. Harry treats them like royalty. They have to refuse third slices of cranberry apple tart that his Master is trying to press on them. He sends the rest of it home with the family, and the matriarch kisses his cheeks before they depart. Harry’s possessive barnacle sneaks behind him to wrap arms around his prize, but one of the pale haired twin Malfoys hurtles into the back of his knees at top speed and sends the tall man flying. He thinks it is Draco. Death loops the moment and watches several times, snickering.
There are many more moments that he flips through, like pages in a book, watching the future unfold in leaps of days, decades, centuries. He sighs in acceptance at how clearly Harry is still in love with Tom Riddle, even hundreds of years forward. Well, what can one - even one such as he - do about soulmates? He supposes… he’ll “play nice” with the man who would have died as Lord Voldemort. They dance now, through the rise and fall of empires. Through great advancements and tragic world conflicts. Temples are eventually built to both of them, and Harry’s snake is too pleased for him to bear. Tom insists that if Harry destroys them, it will only convince more mortals that they are to be feared and worshipped. He offers up his own heart instead, urging Harry to eat it from his hand. Their ancient vampire companions take this far too literally and tell them to find a bedroom for such activities. They do.