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It's been almost a year since the war ended.
A year since Voldemort, Tom Riddle, had been defeated for good.
A year since Harry died.
A year since Harry was labeled the Master of Death, whatever that meant.
Death wasn't really a being, it was more of a presence. A bit like Dementors, except completely different. A warm presence that was heavy with happiness and a calming light. Much like a Patronus really. It came in the visage of whatever or whoever would comfort the most. It made Harry colder, in general not personality-wise. People would shiver when they were in the room with him, getting unexplainable chills, feeling down and sleepy when around him for too long.
Grimms and Crows and Cats and Ghosts would come to him anytime he was alone. Looking for work, or guidance, or help. Grimms gathered souls from those ready to die, Crows ferried them across the paths to the veils, Cats guarded the paths. It was an ancient system he never had to think about before.
He wasn't unhappy really, just not happy either. That changed when he went to the Weasley christmas this year, he saw George, who'd been barely hanging in there. Nobody had really seen him, only those who forced themselves unto him, just like Harry, who people found unpleasant to be around.
George had shown up to the Burrow to shouts and cheers of welcome. Harry had stared at him, a writhing mass of horror in his stomach at the invisible Grimm that tagged along at his heels. George met his eyes, and smiled a smile that spoke a thousand words of goodbye and apologies that would forever go unspoken. He knew. George knew he knew.
He made it to Samhain before the Hyena Patronus showed up in front of Harry. Harry had been with Molly making dinner. Harry had stared down at Fred's Patronus with horror, his dropped pan shattered across the floor as Harry cried out, rushing for the fireplace.
Molly didn't understand, she didn't see the Patronus, because the caster was dead.
Harry floos to George's flat. The flat George moved to after Grimmauld proved to echo with the laughs of the missing third, the flat George had given him access too even though the two couldn't stand trying to continue their relationship with the constant reminder that Fred wouldn't be back.
Molly follows him through, trying to figure out what's wrong, she stops and screams and sobs at the ritual circle where George's body lay, bled dry by his own hands, deep slashes on his wrists and ankles, his eyes are closed. A Grimm sits next to him, a Hyena and a Fox Patronus stand when he enters, watching for a moment before fading away.
Harry makes it two more years before he wakes up to a Grimm sitting at the foot of the couch he slept on, amongst the bottles and boxes. Death doesn't seem sure who would comfort him best and Harry doesn't bother to get off the couch.
Death comes as a King Vulture. He's not a Patronus, a solid corporeal bird with harsh white feathers and red eyes. They stare at each other for what feels like hours. The Grimm starts whining.
Harry looks at the Grimm that has now moved to touch him, he looks back at the Vulture who's eyes now have his color. A Fox and a Hyena are here now, not Patronus either.
The Vulture flies after them, Harry can feel himself travel away with it.
He didn't bother getting off the couch.
His family finds him a week later, coming to force him to attend dinners and answer letters again.