Chapter Text
Wild Card
Chapter One: Remade
“What are we supposed to do with that?!”
Death gave the gathered Immortals - including their own counterpart for the universe chosen by the Veil - a look, even if it was Fate of the main dragel universe who actually spoke the words.
They had called the Immortals together when they noted that their chosen Master of Death had in turn chosen to dare the Veil to find his lost godfather. The Veil was a simple tool, which merely made it more powerful. As their Harry had stepped into it with the intention of following his blood-bound godfather, and had been judged as unobjectionable, the Veil in turn had moved him along to the universe where his godfather had been sent.
Which…was a problem for Death.
They knew how the Immortals of the chosen universe could be.
They would not have their Harry abused or toyed with, not after everything their Harry had done to win their freedom and autonomy back from the grasping hands of Fate’s chosen.
Death would not so easily relinquish their claim to their own, even if it would cause problems, let alone to an unworthy patron.
Hence: the meeting, as Death would, as ever, abide by the laws of the multiverse, but not before ensuring that their chosen would be, if not cared for, at least not further troubled by divine machinations.
“Of for the love of-” Liberty bit off whatever she would’ve said next, contenting herself with a dark glower for her fellow Immortal. She was young, compared to some of the others, but no less fierce or powerful for it.
The same could not be said about the Divinity from another universe that had called them to this in-between space to handle the second issue within the a relatively slight span of time of dimensional travel between their own universe and that Liberty and her fellow Immortals had gained dominion over.
Their universe was far more piecemeal and divided up. A place where new Immortals could still be made. The universe that their new traveler called home was not the same.
There fewer Divinities with far larger reach - even and unto calling an audience and retaining a portion of control over their own until they chose to relinquish it to a new portion of the multiverse - were in charge of keeping the universal fabric intact and their worlds spinning.
Fate may be bold (and idiotic) enough to tempt a Divinity of such reach to wrath, but Liberty was not.
“He’s not an orphaned kneazle dropped on our doorstep, Fate.” Magic scolded, picking up where Liberty left off. “He’s one who has been touched by each of our domains over the course of his life, albeit some of us more than others. Like his predecessors, it remains with us to decide who will take the position of his patron now that he is to pass into our universe.”
“He carries the Hallows.” Lady Death, as compared to Death-Death, nearly growled. “I can sense them on him.”
“Yes.” Death agreed. That was why it was him who had called for them rather than their versions of Magic or Fate. Uniting the Hallows had made Hari Potter intrinsically their own, in a way that none other could dispute. Though the same might not be true of the new universe, given that those Hallows had yet to be united by a sole holder. “He is my Master of Death.”
“That makes him immortal.” Chaos pointed out with unholy glee, bouncing on their toes. “Whether An Immortal,” and therefore one of them, “or an immortal being, as the Master of Death he can be nothing else.”
“Does he have a counterpart, like the last one?” Magic asked, blinking shimmering, ever-changing eyes. One might think they’d already know the answer, except for the sheer numbers of magical people and beings that populated their universe. It would be like asking a version of Life to name one soul in all of living creation, if on a smaller scale.
“Yes.” Several of the others said in unison, pin-pointing those who had a claim on their version of this foreign Master of Death.
“Well, that complicates things.” Liberty noted, as one of the few present who had no claim to their native version of the Master of Death at their feet - who seemed to be paying rapt attention to the goings-on over his head, even as he kept silent in an attempt to diminish the active notice paid to him. “As the last one had no claimant upon him other than Magic and Death.”
“They didn’t have the Hallows, either.” Fate rubbed one hand over their face, exasperated at the complications that a single soul could create. And the migraine from the visions of the future that were bombarding them. “Those are paradoxical items. Only one set can exist in any universe at a given time without causing a cataclysm.”
The aforementioned Master of Death - though he was very confused about that and had no idea beyond a vague inkling what the powers above him were discussing - felt a tingle of apprehension course down his spine.
Well…fuck.
That didn’t sound good.
Hari James Potter, Lord Potter-Black of Wizarding Great Britain, stepped out of the Veil and onto a stone floor in an ink-black room with a relieved shudder.
He hadn’t believed that the Veil would kill him.
Not really.
He wasn’t suicidal - the opposite in fact. He wanted to live. He wanted to live so fucking much that he was willing to leave behind everything and potentially, - if the incorporeal whatsists of the Veil didn’t dump him out into the right universe - every one he’d ever known behind.
The world he’d been born into had been little more than a yoke around his neck and shackles binding him heart, and mind, and even in soul since he’d been fifteen months old.
He would never be free there, never allowed to live - really live - the way he wanted to if he stayed.
So he left.
Took a chance on the goblins of Gringotts telling the truth that the Veil wasn’t just an executioner’s tool that the Ministry couldn’t understand after literal centuries of study, but that it was rather a doorway. That it led elsewhere. When they’d told him that Sirius was only dead per technicality and legal precedent, it had made all the difference when it came to his future plans.
He’d been broken, and enraged, and grieving - and then all at once he’d had a purpose.
Learning about the bindings that Dumbledore had layered over him to keep him dumb, Light, and controllable had merely been the icing on the cake.
That the Veil, in his case, had led to a meeting of powers because he’d become the Master of Death by kicking Dumbledore’s ass in a duel and (stupidly, but, anyway) picking up a ring?
That had been a genuine surprise.
Finding out firsthand that even Immortals had squabbles and foibles was less so.
Regardless, it had been a relief when a decision was made, even with the consequences for him on a fundamental level. It didn’t really matter to him, at the time, who won the right to be his patron in his new world. Nothing did, not really. Not compared to the drive to find Sirius and start building a new life.
One that now required him being remade.
Either into an Immortal himself, or into a functionally-immortal creature, it had been his choice, which he appreciated about the Immortal who’d claimed him as their own.
In the end, it was decided that as the other Immortals already had a claim of one sort or another on the “native version” of him - which better believe he’d be looking into that as soon as possible once he found Sirius, nobody deserved to deal with the sort of shit that he’d survived alone - only Liberty and Chaos had a real right to being Hari’s patron.
Liberty had won the argument in the end, though Chaos hadn’t fought it too much after seeing how determined the other Immortal was given the potential for entertainment either way (at least that was Hari’s assumption), and gotten his agreement to everything else that was to come.
Part of him wondered what would’ve happened if Chaos had been more invested and he’d ended up in the other Immortal’s domain instead, but in the end it didn’t affect him so he put it out of his mind.
Liberty had made the necessary changes after getting his input on which immortal species he wouldn’t mind becoming and then sent him on his way.
(It wasn’t that hard of a choice. Fae and elves all seemed more complicated than Hari wanted to deal with. Otherwise, while other species were presented as options based on his not wanting to lose his skill as a blood mage, the idea of becoming a creature that had an innate affinity for blood magic was too tempting to pass up.)
The problem was, that the in-between they’d been in for the little divine meet-and-greet, wasn’t a physical realm. The changes Liberty had made to Hari weren’t physical in that plane. They were magical, divine, changing his very soul - but his body had to catch up.
And as soon as he fully cleared the Veil - that’s exactly what they did, sending Hari collapsing onto the stone floor with an agonized shriek of pain as what felt like molten acid seared its way through him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
His vision shimmered and faded in-and-out as he felt his vocal cords shred under the burden of his screams.
Passing out was a fucking gift.
One that he might’ve been more grateful for, if only it had managed to come a little bit sooner.
Lady Death whispered in his ear moments before the alarm on the Veil portal went blaring through Death’s Court.
Another traveler.
The third in a matter of days, with the first two coming one on top of the other, more movement from the ancient artefact than they had seen in centuries, and now it was as if the portal was determined to make up for that fact at a fast clip.
One of the duties of Lady Death’s favored was to guard the Veil, ensure that those who traveled through it were no threat to Death’s Court and wherever it happened to reside in a given moment. Currently, and for centuries, that had meant Nevarah. Who knew where it might be in the future, but for now Lady Death was… amused by dragels and the other creatures who called Nevarah home and there Death’s Court remained.
Aiden Arythmoor stared down at the newest traveler, who like the two preceding him had no sooner exited the Veil than undergone a sudden change of species, though at least in this case it was a dragel inheritance. The last two nuisances both ended up as his problem in various respects, one moreso than the other. One Reaper, one hellhound, and only one of the two kept significant hold of their memories and personality before the Veil.
It was a damn inconvenient mess, and proof positive if nothing else that Lady Death was still put out with him.
The hound who’d had the watch of the Veil had already summoned a healer, who was triaging the inheriting dragel on the floor of the Veil Chamber before moving him, so at least that was one detail that Aiden didn’t have to directly involve himself in. Small blessings. As his Lady had made it crystal clear that like with the others, Aiden wasn’t allowed to simply wash his hands of this one either.
Heaving a sigh, he turned to his youngest hound, and gave the order he’d been dreading since his Lady had given him his instructions:
“Send a message to the Cunninghams, and have Reaper Black sent for.” His tone was brusque but not unkind, then turned to the healer as they rocked back on their heels and conjured a stretcher beneath the traveler, the mobile cot rising with a flick of the healer's hand to hover at hip-height and get both of them: inheriting dragel and healer, off of the cold ground. “How are they?”
“Alive.” The healer drawled, sending the Lord Hound a sarcastic look. “Relatively healthy from prior healing. Anything more I cannot say without their consent.”
Even treating them without their consent walked a very fine line, but there were situations where action was required regardless - an inheriting dragel, no matter how they came to be within a healer’s care, was one of them.
“They should be moved to a clinic for care and observation.” They concluded.
Aiden was already shaking his head, directing the stretcher - with or without the healer - to an observation room (not cell, room, no matter how much he’d rather the former) for care.
“Travelers through the Veil have to be vetted before they can be moved from Death’s Court.” Aiden reminded them not-so-gently but he wasn’t snarling so it could’ve been worse. Even though he knew something about his current imposition, his Lady hadn’t been verbose. About anything other than that the new traveler was connected to Death’s Court - whether any of them, traveler included - liked it or not, but had a different patron. Which was nothing less than a clusterfuck in the making. “Until they’re interviewed by myself or Jascha Cunningham, they’re not going anywhere.”
“As you will, Lord Aiden.” The healer agreed reluctantly. Some of the information on even the base scans they were comfortable performing without consent due to the nature of the emergency were…concerning. It grated to keep such a patient under observation and secluded within Death’s Court, but without a royal willing to stick their claw into the situation there wasn’t much they could do about it without making an enemy of The Hound. “I will remain with them,” they decided on the spot. “Until they’re cognizant and can undergo questioning.”
“As you will, Healer Kuroe.” Aiden arched a brow at the stubborn dragel.
Well.
At least that was one problem solved.
Only a dozen or so more to go before he could wash himself clear of the newest problem his Lady dropped onto his lap.
Though at least it wasn’t a Consort as she kept threatening.
That would have been intolerable, indeed.