harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

28

ok but the fact that i updated >>>

like yeah, it's short and angsty, but so is the person reading this 🤡

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

"Fuck me," Harry says, blinking owlishly, "I've seen a lot of things but a talking rabbit... I must have gone utterly mad."

"Mad?" The white rabbit echoes, inching ever so slowly into the clearing, "no, of course not, Master. You're simply seeing what you're supposed to see."

"He always does this," Verde sounds like he's on the verge of tears, "it's so cold. Tell him to fuck off." 

Right on cue, Harry feels another chill run down his spine. Hadn't he casted a heating charm just a while ago? What the fuck was going on? He should have ignored his familiars and just stayed inside. Harry momentarily imagines the warm comfort of his bed and curses his brain cells (all two of them) for getting him into his current situation. 

"Right," Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, "this is obviously just a dream. A very fucked up dream, but a dream nonetheless. All I have to do is wake up, so--"

There's the sound cracking, loud and abrupt, and Harry hurries to snap his mouth shut. He doesn't dare open his eyes, for the cracking sounds like that of breaking bones -- a sound he's all too familiar with. There are other sounds too, whispery breaths and what Harry thinks might be the shift of muscles. 

Finally, the awful noises come to an end and Harry releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. There is cold sweat on the back of his neck and it trails down his back uncomfortably. 

"Master," the rabbit... touches his cheek? Harry shivers, every nerve on high alert as he feels fiery, hot fingers slowly trace his jaw. Harry slowly peels his eyes open and his heart stutters in his ribcage, green eyes widening in fright. 

He finds a skeleton-like hand settling around his cheek, the elongated fingers reaching way past his hair, and follows it up onto a cloak so dark, it looks like it's blending into its surroundings and then, finally, onto a face made of pure, white bone. No, not quite a face... more of a mask of sorts, with the left side curving into a set of large, pointy teeth and the right curving into smooth bone. 

Sharp eyes flash golden underneath the shadows of the man's -- was it even a man? -- cranial orbit and Harry feels his cheeks turn warm in embarrassment because this isn't his fear he's feeling, it's his scars fear. Which begs the question...

"Are you Death?" Harry asks, voice weirdly high and breathy. He can hear the onslaught of his heartbeat drumming in his ears and it is loud and clear, like a dozen of drums all being played at the same time. "You are, aren't you," Harry says, a growing sense of deja vu forking its way through his muddled thoughts. 

He… remembers, but he's not sure what. Or who. Or anything, for that matter. It's like looking into a fogged up mirror, the silhouette is there, but not much else. Harry's scar suddenly burns in warning, but he ignores it in favour of squinting up at Death.

"Master…" Nimmy’s hiss is hesitant, small, "you know this being?" 

"Yeah," Harry answers, "I just…" ugh. The frustration he feels is messy, it's like all the answers are on the tip of his tongue but he just can't seem to get a grip on them. Harry squints his eyes even more at Death, emerald meets gold and a metaphorical light bulb turns on right above Harry's messy hair. 

"Oh," Harry's face morphs into one of anger, "Oh I fucking know you." 

He slaps the offending hand away from his face and instead pushes at Death's chest with all his power, "you absolutely fucking cunt, I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!"

Not the least bit surprised, Death takes a step back, letting his Master push him away. "Master–"

"No!" Harry hisses, his green eyes eerily glowing. "Shut up, shut the fuck up. I told you, didn't I? I wanted to die. I wanted to fucking die," he bangs his fist against Death's chest and all he can feel underneath the black cloak are hard, cold bones, "Why didn't you let me die?" 

"Master," Death catches Harry’s wrist between his long, skeleton fingers. He asks, "are you not happy?  

"Happy?!" Harry screeches, frustrated beyond comparison. He tries to rip his hand away from Death's cold grip, but to no avail. "About what? This? This fucking world?" There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but Harry doesn't feel sadness, he feels betrayal and anger. It doesn't matter if he's friends with Ron and Hermione again, it doesn't matter that he has allies in Slytherin now, it doesn't matter if Sirius is alive, nor does it matter that Voldermort is as close to being sane as he ever will be. Nothing matters when everything is different. So, so different.

'And yet,' a tiny, traitorous part of Harry's brain whispers, 'it is better.' 

"I was so close," Harry's voice is raw with desperation as tears trail down his red cheeks. Underneath his shoes, the grass around him starts to turn brown. "So close, all you had to do was let me die and it would be over. The pain would be over." 

All you had to do was let me die and it would be over. The pain would be over. Death pulls Harry into an embrace, mindful of his body, and casts a heating spell around them. "It's alright," Death murmurs, holding Harry carefully, like one might hold a newborn baby. He stares at the dying grass beneath them and thinks, 'truly, you are mine as I am yours.' 

"Hate me," Death soothes a hand over Harry's back to lessen his trembling and his fighting, "scream and punish me, but I will never hurt you, Master. Never." 

"You'll just disobey me,'' Harry's words are hoarse and muffled against Death's chest, his knuckles pale from clutching at black robes in sheer desperation, "and it'll hurt more, just like now, just like always." 

The truth, as Death has learned many, many times, is always more spiteful and hurtful than a comforting lie, still, Death would have preferred it, now more than ever.

Fixing their relationship will take time, Death knows this, yet he can't help but feel possessive when he holds his little master between his arms and murmurs him comforting words and promises that he will fulfill without a second thought.

When exhaustion hits Harry, Death lifts him up into his arms and carries him through the forest, his Master's head lays beneath his jaw, tucked into his neck, warm. "Is Master alright?" Verde asks, voice on edge. The snake knows he would not win in a fight and yet he looks ready for revenge.

Death takes a moment to answer. "He will be, eventually."

"Eventually," Nimmy echoes, unsatisfied with the answer. "No matter," she says, "we'll help Master all the same."

Death would not expect any less from them.

1176 words//unedited.

TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GOOOOO 💀
im already dying, someone send help i--

haha. death? having feelings for harry? 😳 i could never.

especially since there's already the horcrux thing with tabitha and the blood adoption scandal with siri haha *sweats*

i mean--

••••••

harry: am i.... scared?
also harry: nah idgaf
-----
the horcrux inside harry: WE'RE GONNA FUCKING DIE, WHAT THE FUCK??? DID YOU JUST PUSH DEATH???
also the horcrux inside harry: write that down! write thAT DOWN!!
-----
death: *exists*
harry: go fUCK YOURSELF
death: if you gave me a chance~~
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harry: you fucking cunt!
me: *imagines him doing it with maddy's hand gestures.*
also me: hmm. maybe i should delete tiktok again...
-----
harry: *has anger issues*
also harry: *immediately dissociates after bursting with emotions*

•••••

until next time, my lovelies!~~