Summary: Harry Potter, family man and hero, has a secret. And not one you’d quite expect.
Fandom: Harry Potter. It may become a crossover – and likely will, although I haven’t quite decided which fandom yet.
Spoilers: Through book 7 of Harry Potter. Lots of canon compliancy, but some not :)
Disclaimer: I do not own rights to HP, just to my various thoughts. Also, this story was inspired by a post on Tumblr. Link will be posted when I find it again :)
His reflection frowned back at him in the mirror. A hand ran through black hair in a half-hearted attempt to straighten his messy strands, but it seemed that his hair never changed.
Nothing ever changed.
Harry Potter sighed and washed his hands in the bathroom sink, wincing at the coldness of the water. This winter was particularly frightful; the coldness seemed to seep into every aspect of life.
As he walked down the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry lightly ran his fingertips over the walls. The wood paneling was smooth to the touch after years of use and Harry smiled slightly at an unbidden memory. Sirius used to do the same thing back as he led Harry around his hated home.
Harry liked to think that Sirius would have been happy to see how 12 Grimmauld Place turned out. Every dark artifact had been cleaned out, the portrait of Sirius’ mother had been obliterated during one of Harry’s less patient moods, and the house smelled of sweet lavender and new furnishings. It was a lovely place to raise a family.
The smell of toast led Harry to the kitchen. Ginny was waving her wand and preparing breakfast for Albus, Severus, and Lily before the trio went to wizarding summer camp for the day.
“Good morning,” Harry murmured. He nuzzled the crook of Ginny’s neck and laid a soft kiss against the hollow of her throat.
Ginny giggled, still sounding ever the school girl. “Good morning. I see you slept in today. Late night?” She gave him a peck on the lips before Lily distracted her with spilled orange juice. A wave of her wand and the table was clean.
“Yes,” Harry answered without further embellishment.
Ginny frowned. “How much longer will you be working on this case?”
Harry plopped down between Albus and Lily at the dining table. “Hopefully not much longer.”
Making a disgruntled noise, Ginny sat at the opposite side of the table. “Well you let the Auror Department know that I’d like my husband back,” she commented flippantly with an arched brow.
Ginny never had a lot of patience and Harry knew, even if she was avoiding from outright complaint in front of the kids, that she was getting upset. He understood. Over the last two weeks he had gotten home late enough that Ginny was already in bed, and it was taking a toll. The worst part was that Harry felt like a right bugger for all the lying.
“I’ll let them know,” he responded with a perfectly pasted smile.
Sometimes he appreciated all those years with Vernon and Petunia. They had taught him exceedingly well how to lie.
“You’re late, Potter.”
Harry rolled his eyes at that familiar sneer. “Shut up, Malfoy.”
Draco’s expression darkened. The face he wore was not his own, but not even Polyjuice Potion could disguise that sneer or strut. “You idiot,” he hissed. “There are people about, you know.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I doubt Muggles really care, Malfoy.”
The light in Draco’s eyes brightened with anger. “Someone is my
position can’t be seen like this. Especially with you.”
Harry fought not to roll his eyes – he didn’t want to give Draco any more reason to throw a hissy fit. “Well then, let’s go.”
Draco threw him one last annoyed look before leading Harry past the brick alley and onto one of the major streets running through downtown London. Harry kept up with Draco’s quick steps as they weaved in between Muggle pedestrians. After several blocks they arrived at a very average looking 10-story building, but instead of entering through the revolving front lobby door, Draco took them to the side. Discretely he pulled out his wand and tapped the brick, saying an incantation so softly that Harry could not hear it.
But that was fine. Harry would allow Draco his little secrets.
The brick wall segmented as a door-sized piece swung backwards, showcasing a waiting room and a receptionist.
She was not surprised to see them, instead issuing a very bored “Hello”.
“Yes, yes, I know.” She waved her hand backwards. “He’s waiting. You’re late.”
Draco glared at Harry. “Told you.”
Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t angry, though. No, whenever Draco annoyed him, Harry just replayed that image of Hermione punching Draco in the face back when they were kids.
“What are you smirking about?” Draco snapped as they walked to the back room.
“Nothing,” Harry smirked.
“Stupid Scarhead,” Draco muttered.
Harry laughed softly and followed Draco into one of the patient rooms. Maybe, he thought, maybe today he would finally get an answer.
Then again, Harry wasn’t quite sure if he even wanted an answer. Sometimes ignorance was bliss indeed.
A man in a white labcoat greeted them with a grim smile at the door of an examination room. He was tall with long fingers that stretched out to usher them into the room. Black rimmed glasses hid coffee brown eyes and his black hair was streaked with grey. “Mr. Black, I presume?” he asked in a baritone voice.
Draco nodded his assent, the meaty hands of his polyjuiced disguise clasping the doctor’s hand in greeting. “Yes, and this is Dick.” His lips tugged into a slight smirk before it disappeared again, leaving Harry feeling annoyed at Draco’s secrecy and aliases. “Dick Johnson.”
One of these days, Harry promised silently.
“Dr. Higgins. It is an honor,” Harry stated as he extended a hand.
“Yes…” Dr. Higgins trailed off as he critically examined Harry’s face. Unlike Draco, Harry appeared as himself. It would be fruitless to disguise himself when he needed a crucial diagnosis. He suspected that Dr. Higgins knew who he was and hoped that would not be a problem. The doctor practiced a particular type of magic taught in the Caribbean schools. He was a wizard but held advanced skills in areas that the British often ignored. Although his records indicated that Dr. Higgins had only moved here five years ago, he still likely knew what the ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ looked like.
Dr. Higgins cleared his throat and pulled out his wand. “Well then, Mr. Johnson. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Harry Potter sat on the examination table, hoping that this visit would get him one step closer to understanding what the bloody hell was wrong with him.
“After weeks of testing, I think we’ve arrived at the only conclusion, Potter.”
Harry shifted uneasily in the leather chair across from Draco’s desk in the Department of Mysteries. He and Draco had maintained a productive and sometimes even positive working relationship over the last twelve years, but that didn’t mean either were particularly fond of the other. Draco was still a tool, after all. Still, he excelled at…well, whatever Unspeakables do. Harry knew that approaching Draco with his problem would result in an answer…the problem was, as of this moment Harry did not know if he truly wanted an answer.
“The work in the lab, the appointments with Higgins…” Draco sighed, for once appearing as though he felt bad about causing Harry pain. “My research team has arrived at a conclusion.”
“Well?” Harry asked irritably, his nerves getting the better of him. “Just bloody say it, Malfoy.”
“Your suspicions were correct. You are not aging, Potter. The acts you undertook during the war against Voldemort made you the Master of Death. Your own death at Voldemort’s hands negated your true death. It appears that a man can only die once.”
Harry slumped in his chair. “But the stories…they made it seem that the Master of Death could still die…” His chest constricted and his hands clenched the armrests.
“Stories are not facts, Potter.” Draco’s face darkened and he frowned. The two of them had engaged in discussions about what Harry’s suspicion meant for his future, for his family’s future. And now it was true…
“You’re immortal, Potter.”
It's summer break. I'm back.