"Language!" Dumbledore tutted. Harry rubbed his eyes. He could feel the marionette strings controlling the professor, tying him to continued life, but he wasn't actively controlling him. He could, but regardless Dumbledore was autonomous and mostly alive. His undead heart rose and fell, his lungs breathed without need, his body functioned. But what about his soul? Was his spirit possessing his own body? Was such a thing possible - it wasn't supposed to be! This was power beyond comprehension.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair and panicked some more.
"Please explain things," Harry turned back to Death, who was still playing with the water, unconcerned at the whole ordeal. "Unless that will cost me something further."
Death laughed.
"Oh no no. Don't think of things like that! We're teammates now. Like Keeper and Chaser - or something, I don't understand sports, to be honest. You are dead, Harry. Undead. Beyond death. Whatever you wish to call it. An unholy arch-lich. No longer human. I transferred your soul into the three Hallows. It's a bit different than horcruxes, don't think of them as such. All three share all of your soul."
"You can't remove a soul from a person and still have them be fine!" Harry felt along his skin. He felt alive, and normal, and not like a soulless husk of a body, although that was what he was. But his memories lay intact, his identity, his personality - and sensation and emotion, that was obvious with the pain and the panic sinking into his skin.
His heartbeat puttered steady beneath his fingers and it was the only solace Harry felt.
"Oh absolutely, it's a terrible idea unless you know what you're doing." Death agreed easily. "I certainly wouldn't recommend such a thing for the average living human. But you are such no longer. Your body lives and shall age, should you wish to continue doing so, but your soul is immortal. Functionally. Everything will die, eventually, even I. If your body is destroyed, a new one will be made, just as living and whole as your current one."
The Cloak snuggled into his shoulders, trailing its hem along Harry's cheek. It felt sentient, alive in a way Harry had noticed vaguely before but had never pondered. It also felt familiar, like an extension of himself, another limb separated from his body. His control over the three was as instinctive as blinking.
"What does this mean? What do you want?" Harry asked.
"You are the Master of Death -"
Harry huffed out a laugh. "I know I'm not your boss!" He interrupted.
"Hush, child. No, you are not. That is a ridiculous notion and it is admittedly a ridiculous name, although that is the one the mortals have chosen. No one is the "boss" of death, as you call it. I am eternal and unchanging. Death is inevitable."
"So what does Master of Death mean?"
"Well goodness, perhaps if you ceased interrupting me I would tell you!" Death chided.
Harry, who was in a lot of pain and also a snarky teenager, rolled his eyes.
"Sorry mum!" he huffed.
"That's another thing. You're welcome, by the way. I had assumed you would be far worse off if you hadn't received any training before your ascension. Although I had expected your mother to make you less petulant."
"You sent mama to me?"
"She is one of the last remaining necromancers. She follows the Olde Ways and some of the others are quite fond of her. I am pleased your placement suited you."
"Others?"
Death waved its arm dismissively. "We are getting off track again. I do believe you will be expected back at your school eventually. Shush."
A skeletal hand lay flat on the solid obsidian beneath them. A sharp crack tore through it suddenly, and bursting from the gap grew a yew sapling. With a wave of its hand, the tree grew more, thickening and trailing roots deep within the rock island they were perched on.
It towered over the small area, aging and curling twisted branches outward, the tips ripened with small red berries. It was a massive tree, and when Harry reached a stunned hand to rest on its bark, he felt its age and magic whispering from within.
"I am Death, Harry Potter. That said, also I am Life; sacred fertile soil." Death plucked one of the berries free and it shifted and bloomed into a small flower. "Both aspects must be in balance, given equal worship. And your magical world I have found lacking in this matter. But I am not justice, nor revenge, nor violence, nor war. Death and Life are neutral. You, therefore, will be my hands on Earth. It is this power that I have gifted you."
"You are Death and Life?" Harry asked after a long moment. He could not tear his eyes away from the tree.
"There is no difference whatsoever between them. Death is the absence of life and life gives meaning to the eventual, permanent slumber. One cannot exist without the other. There is a great deal of overlap and grey area between the two, and that is where your power lies." The little flower faded again into a seed, resting on the skeletal palm of an ancient deity.
"You want me to… restore balance? How?"
"Ah, a discussion for another time. I have been informed that it is improper to ensnare a child into such tasks. We have eternity, after all. You need to age, like a fine wine, I believe is the saying, and perhaps you should use the time to work on your conversation skills to stop interrupting me. Regardless, I am in no rush, and I did promise that you may handle your human business before we move on."
"You were informed? By these 'others' again?" Harry asked.
"Yes, some of them are rather fond of you. You were chosen for this, Harry Potter. Your destiny was cemented by providence and mortal whim that night we first met."
"That doesn't make me feel any better!" Harry argued. "Is my life mine at all? Do I get any free will?"
"Of course you do!" Death said. "Where did you come to such a foolish conclusion, lichling? You were destined because it suits you. Because of decisions not yet made and actions not yet taken.