Harry sat in the cemetery, hidden beneath his cloak, studying the dark handled wand he slowly twirled between his fingers.
As the sun lowered in the sky, Harry looked at the wand and he thought through everything that had happened since the moment they left for the cave.
He cleared his mind and he considered every tiny action that had been taken, every word said, every movement, since Snape took him to that cave.
In the end, Harry was drawing it out, delaying the inevitable.
Because of him- not Sapphire, not really, but because of Harry- Trent was gone.
Fierce, optimistic, kindhearted Trent.
Harry's chest felt like a knife was ripping through it as he pictured his young godbrother's happy eyes and bright smile.
'We'll always be godbrothers, right Harry?'
"Always," Harry whispered to Trent's headstone. His throat was tight, clogged with the regret of all the things that Trent would never get to experience. "I'm so sorry."
Trent should never have been Harry's godbrother.
Harry was a fucking plague that got people killed.
Good people.
People like Trent, who should have lived to become an old man.
Trent who should have gotten to play as Captain for Slytherin when Harry left and Ron graduated. Trent who should have graduated himself, married Sapphire, and became the first wizard firefighter.
Trent who came back to a fight to save his girlfriend and told Timmy to fuck off, right to his face.
Trent who was a true hero in every sense of the word.
Trent who Harry trained to be deadly with a gun, and aimed it with perfect accuracy at Timmy's chest. Harry was nearly relieved to know that Trent died before he could acknowledge that Timmy found a spell to block bullets, something none of their enemies had found before now.
Something Harry imagined Timmy invented himself after Harry executed Bellatrix with a gun.
How much longer until someone else died because of Harry's refusals?
His refusal to bow.
His refusal to give in.
His refusal to die.
He was so stubbornly clinging to a life he couldn't have.
He'd always known that he wouldn't have a long and happy life. He'd known that since he was a little kid. Given to a family who hated him, fighting nonstop on the streets to get some semblance of a life, dropped in a magical world full of magical enemies. Harry could count the injuries he had, the proof of the fights he lost and the ones he won, but what was the point of it all? He should have just given in years ago really. Truthfully, he always thought he would have died long before now. So really, every moment of happiness he's had since then was stolen.
And he's had happiness. He's had everything he ever used to dream about. It didn't matter that it didn't last for decades, he'd gotten a few good years and it was more happiness than he ever expected.
Harry smiled sadly as he considered his Fred, his friends, his family.
The day after Trent's funeral, Fred clung to Harry like a burr.
"Until this is over, I'm having Johnny cover me at the shop," he had murmured in Harry's hair. "I swear to you, where you go, I go. Until this is all over."
They would be sad, but Harry wouldn't be owned.
If he couldn't be free in his life, then he would be in his death.
It would all be over before they knew it.
It was hardly surprising when Snape eventually arrived, somehow sensing his presence even when he was hidden from Death himself.
Harry wondered if James and Lily Potter would have been able to do that too? If they could have gotten to know him so well that they knew where he would be when he was hiding and wanted to be alone? He supposed he could ask them soon, if there really was an afterlife like Theo thought.
He could ask them if he was let in to that afterlife. He doubted he would be.
His brain didn't work like everyone else's, that had been made clear to him since he was little. The Dursley's weren't right, but they weren't wrong for calling him a freak either. Harry always took a little too long to smile. It always took a little too much time checking everyone else's reactions to know to mimic them himself.
Except when the reaction was anger and hate.
That came quickly and easily.
And Harry always saw other lives as expendanble things, tiny little flames that were so easily snuffed out if the need suited him. That seemed like the sort of thing that would exclude him from an eternity of peace with the first people who loved him.
An eternity with the godbrother who believed so wholeheartedly in Harry's abilities to keep him safe.
Snape silently folded his legs beneath him and sank down to the ground next to Harry.
"I've got to die soon," Harry said softly, admitting the words he always knew out loud for the first time in his life. "I can't live forever."
Snape didn't say anything for a moment, but Harry could sense his flinch even as he kept his eyes on his new wand.
"What was the point then?" Snape asked quietly, as passionate about Harry's life as he had always been.
Always trying to save the damned.
"What was the point of Albus' death if you are going to give in now?"
Harry quirked his lips up in a cruel smile. "Everything," he said. "Dumbledore was always going to die, always by my hand. I told him when I was twelve that I was going to kill him and I'm not a liar. I'm surprised there was no prophecy foretelling that. But... but Timmy isn't going to stop until he owns me or he's dead. So... so I have to die. Then someone has to kill him."
"You believe the master of death can die?" Snape asked. He wasn't looking towards the space where Harry was hidden at anymore, his eyes were now on the tombstone in front of them. "You alone can control death, Harry. So control it."
"I'm going to try," Harry said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "but I don't think it'll work. It was a brilliant idea, Sev. You've always had brilliant ideas, haven't you? But we're going to have to test it eventually. I have to be k-killed eventually."
"And you will come back," Snape said. He didn't state it; he demanded it, swore it. "You have never listened to me before, but you will now, Harry. You will look Death in the face, you will tell them to piss off, and you will return to me."
"I'll try," Harry lied. There was no 'Master of Death'. The wand didn't work for him. He didn't conquer Dumbledore, Dumbledore fucking surrendered. He'd died and taken the power of surviving death with him.
'Master of Death, Harry Potter. That's quite a terrifyingly intriguing scenario.'
Apparently it had been too terrifying for Dumbledore to handle, and so he'd fucked Harry over one last time- planning for Harry to face death with only the false reassurance of continued life.
Harry slumped down and tilted his head over until it rested on Snape's shoulder. "You owe me a favor and I'm cashing it in now."
"Anything, child."
"You have to be the one to do it."
Harry felt it as Snape's entire body stiffened beneath him. He knew it wasn't fair, he knew it was cruel. But he couldn't do it himself, and he didn't want Timmy to do it.
He didn't think Timmy even would at this point.
Timmy didn't want him dead, he wanted to own him.
And that was a fate worse than death in Harry's opinion.
"No murder," Snape whispered. "Those are the terms of your favors. No murder."
"Does it feel like murder? Me asking you?"
Snape's voice was hoarse, but the arm that snuck around Harry's shoulders was firm and steady. "No assisted suicides either Harry."
Harry tilted his face up, finally looking away from the wand in his hand and up to Snape's face. His expression was blank, could nearly be bored if you didn't know him, but Harry knew him.
He saw the fear in the lines around his mouth.
The moisture pooling in his eyes.
"I won't beg you, but I need you to do it anyway," Harry said quietly. "No one else. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction."
"You would ask me to do this? You would ask me to kill my only child?"
That was nice. It was nice to be reminded that he did have a parent, he did have someone who cared about him for no reason. Someone who supported him, someone who believed in him.
"Who else?" Harry asked, solemn and soft as he knew what he was asking of this man. This man who has always looked out for him. This man who cared for him and kept him alive all these years. The only person whose wand Harry would let cast that final spell. "Who else would I ask?"
"Is that why you are here? Your final resting place? Shall I do it now?" Snape sneered, hiding the heartbreak behind anger.
They were so very alike.
"No." Harry laughed and sat up without dislodging Snape's arm from his shoulders. He pulled the cloak off his head and gave Snape the cockiest smirk he could muster in the moment. "Not yet. I need a little more time. We've got other things to do first."
Snape turned away from Harry, trying to hide his movements as he swiped at his eyes. "Apologies, of course the great Harry Potter would require a party before you have me kill you."
Harry knew that Snape knew that the Master of Death was a title he had grasped on to out of desperation. He never had any true way of knowing if it would work, no way of knowing if Harry would survive while killing the horcrux.
It came from a fucking storybook after all.
And when had anything in Harry's life ever ended with 'happily ever after'?
"I do actually want to have a party," Harry said. He felt a little flare of warmth inside him as he eyed the ring on his left hand. "But we also have horcruxes to find, death eaters to kill, government plots to overthrow."
Snape turned and gave Harry an incredulous look. "That is what you are willing to delay your possible death for? For more death and destruction?"
Harry blinked quickly as he leaned back on his hands and eyed the tombstone in front of him.
It was more than a possibility, he was sure that he would die. Dumbledore knew it; he'd died knowing that Harry would die then Timmy would- Dumbledore played chess master to his last breath.
And Harry knew now Snape would do it, he would be the one to cast the spell. But he wasn't going down until he knew that he left Timmy alone in this world; no horcruxes, no followers, nothing.
It would be easier for someone to kill Timmy once he was alone. And, if Harry couldn't be the one to cast that final spell, shoot the final bullet, throw that last knife, then he'd be damned if he didn't do all the legwork for it.
Harry would be gone soon, he'd be a mere memory in people's minds. He'd never get to be Minister of Magic, never get to take the Canons to the World Cup, but he could destroy everything that Timmy owns.
Timmy had taken everything from Harry after all.
Harry's parents.
Fred's dad.
Snape's friend Barty.
Luna's dad.
Susan's aunt.
Trent Isaac Bailey.
And now Harry's future.
When Harry was gone from this world and people thought of Harry Potter, he didn't want them to think of his death, he wanted them to remember him for the acts he did before it.
He wouldn't die a martyr, he couldn't stomach the pathetic end that would be. But he damn sure would go out as a bloody legend.
"For chaos," Harry corrected Snape softly, his eyes lit up with a fierce fire of joy as he imagined the revenge he could rain down on Timmy's head before he joined his brother and his parents. "Absolute chaos."