Part 1
His heart pounded in his ears, as he threw himself to the left, his torso, barely covered by what remained of his tunic, scraped against the rough tiling of the chamber.
Scintillating, razor sharp claws speared the air where his heart had been.
He rolled to a crouch, green eyes narrowing, his grip on the glimmering sword in his hand tightening as he exploded into motion.
His blade swung in a graceful arc, slicing the skin of his assailant.
She winced, a grunt slipping from her lips.
Her foot met his chest with the force of a hundred horses.
Or, more accurately, the strength of one veela.
The air was forced from his lungs as he exhaled explosively, the power behind the kick sending him slamming into one of the pillars holding up the roof of the chamber.
“Gah!” He gasped as he slumped to the floor.
Click. Clack.
He blinked away stars as he heard her approach, her boots clicking on the stone, ignoring the black spots on the edge of his vision.
Groaning, he forced his tired, battered body to its feet, his sword held firmly as he beheld the ethereally perfect visage of the Veela approaching him.
Fleur Delacour stared at him, her gorgeous face warped in an irritated frown, her perfect figure, adorned in the form fitting armor of the protectors of Death’s realm, marred by a dozen cuts and injuries.
Injuries he’d inflicted.
He stared defiantly, green glimmering on blackened sclerae, as he forced a smile to his face, “I don't suppose you’d just let me pass, huh, Fleur?”
The veela scoffed, flipping her silvery blonde ponytail back, “Not a chance Harry. You’re not getting a single step further.”
Her fingers flexed, the claws adorning them glinting malevolently in the ethereal glow.
Harry pursed his lips, “We’ll just have to see.”
She shook her head sadly, “No, we won't. You’re in no condition to go on.”
He wasn't. He truly wasn't. He had blundered a few chambers past, and had been in nowhere near good condition when she had appeared to bar his way.
“Why do you keep insisting on going on, Harry?” Fleur asked, her voice belying a hint of concern, “Why wont you just see?. Your place is here.”Harry shook his head grimly, his messy black locks splattering the blood that matted them.“You wouldn't get it.”
“Fine,” She snapped, dropping into a combat stance, “Come, if you’re so insistent on fighting, you gods damned fool.”
He smiled, a tired, weak smile, as he tensed, his sword coming up.
They stood like that for a moment.
Two.
Fleur exploded from her stance, dashing forward. Grunting, he sidestepped her charge, his blade already in motion…
A clawed hand caught his sword, razor edges skittering against its blade.
The other hand buried itself, claws deep, in his chest.
His fingers slackened on his sword’s hilt, his body losing strength.
As he collapsed to his knees, a dark, bloody mist began to seep from the floor of the chamber.
It pooled at his feet, tendrils reaching up to wrap around his form, as Fleur freed her hand from his body. She tsked, staring down at him as the mist began to cover his form, her blue eyes betraying a storm of emotions, as she spoke. “I’ve told you before, Harry, and I’ll tell you again. There Is No Escape.”
He wheezed, raggedy breaths escaping him as he locked eyes with her, already beginning to sink into the pool of bloody mist.
She dropped to her knees, her expression softening, hand reaching out to tenderly stroke its cheek as the mist pulled him into itself, back to its source.
“For what it's worth, Harry, I’m sorry.”
Her sad smile was the last thing he saw, before he was swallowed by the mist.
Part 2
As Harry climbed the steps out of the pool of the bloody mist, into the hall of Death’s office proper, he was once again struck by the jarring dissonance of the transition.
He stood on a threshold of ornate tiles, carved in stone, engraved in gold, and layered with red carpet. Barely inches behind him, the cavern that housed the source of the bloody mist stretched upwards into darkness, the pool ringed by stalagmites and stalactites, the rough, natural walls of the cavern a stark contrast to the decorated walls of the office.
It was… disconcerting, leaving the cavern. It felt like he was leaving one world and entering the next, so sudden was the transition. By Merlin, a few of the murals of the hallway were cut off halfway, as if a great blade had shorn the rest of the hallway short and slapped on the cavern instead.
As the last of the bloody mist receded from his clothes, the final tendrils slithering back into the larger source, he made his way down the hallway, into the larger atrium of the office. He passed the dead, some looking incredibly human, their forms almost entirely untouched by the grasp of the dead realm, while others were little more than shades, so entrenched in death that their forms were as indistinct as their memories of their lives.
Harry shuddered. To not remember who you were… what a terrifying existence that had to be. He was thankful that he had been left mostly whole, the only evidence of his existence in, and attunement to the underworld visible in the darkening of his sclerae.
His resistance to the grasp of death was what had buoyed him, through his last attempt at escaping Death, and the one before, and the one before still.
Twenty times, he had tried. Twenty times, he had failed. Yet, as long as the realm’s grasp on him remained as weak as it had, he was always free to try again.
Or, so he told himself.
Green eyes caught sight of a grand figure, wrapped in multi-colored robes, standing beside one of the tables in the atrium.
Harry’s face split in a smile.
“Professor!”
Albus Dumbledore turned to face the boy he had come to know well in his time in Death’s realm, his kindly old face writ with shock, before it broke into a smile, ancient, wise eyes twinkling, “Harry, my boy! You’re back, and… earlier.”
He turned, one hand clutching a majestic, carved staff, the other spread as if held out for an embrace, as Harry jogged close.
“It's been so long,” Dumbledore said, “but it's always good to see your face. Still no success?” Harry shook his head ruefully, “Not quite yet, sir. But there’s always next time.”
“Y… yes,” Dumbledore nodded, his smile dimming for a moment, “of course.”
“I do wish you could come with me though, professor.” the young man said, his smile turning sad,
“It… would be wonderful to see the sunrise with you.”
“If only that were possible, my boy,” Dumbledore’s smile dropped, as the ancient wizard shook his head, free hand patting at the chest of his flamboyant robe, below which, Harry knew, lay only mist and ghostly matter, “I’m afraid that the underworld is the only place for me now.” Harry could only nod.
“Those matters aside, I’m afraid congratulations are due, my boy,” Dumbledore said, smiling proudly, “I’ve been told you put up a valiant fight.”
“Not valiant enough, apparently,” the green eyed young man grumbled, “I’m probably going to have to put in a lot more work at the courtyard with the other warriors. Ugh, Draco will be insufferable.”
“I’m sure he will be,” Albus chuckled, as he put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “But… I’m afraid there is someone you have to talk to first, Harry.”
“Who?”
“One of the Veela, I believe. Someone you know quite well. Or, I’d hope so, seeing as she put her hand through your chest not that long ago.” Harry cursed, “I… fuck. Has she been asking?”
“You know she has, my boy. Apparently, you said some interesting words to her when you last fought, words that piqued her interest, for better or for worse. Something about a reason to try and leave?”
The younger man sagged, “Me and my Merlin damned big mouth.”
“She cares for you, you know. Even though she shouldn't, she cares. ” Dumbledore said solemnly, “And… I believe she just wishes to understand. With the... relationship, between the two of you, I think she deserves the truth, Harry.”
“Y… you’re probably right sir,” Harry acquiescenced, “I’ll… I’ll tell her.”
“Good,” Dumbledore smiled, patting his shoulder proudly, “I believe she is in the lounge at the moment. Off you trot.”