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Le Maître de la Mort	By : AlicetheMadHatter Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3759 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making any money from this fanfiction. Harry Potter and Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter are owned by J.K. Rowling and Laurell K. Hamilton.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4

Death followed the trio and let them forget that he was there for the time being. Soon enough he would interfere, something he hadn’t done in a millennia the exception being the peverell brothers.
He saw long ago what Harry would do and what he would become and so he made himself known to the three brothers, gifts already in hand though they did not know that. After he let things play out the way his sister intended, it was her that decreed Harry would be the only one who would hold and keep all three of his gifts. Death could have disputed what had been set in motion but even he found Harry worthy of being his Master. Even if it was only a title.
Harry was the only person, thing, Death did and ever would care about. A successor of sorts, his heir, his son, his choice. Harry didn’t know that yet and he wouldn’t until he decided he was ready to end his living life and cut all ties to the earth.
In the next few minutes he would influence the coming events to ensure his Master, his son was happy for the foreseeable future; Harry was after all immortal now and a mundane human just would not cut it nor would they understand who Harry was and why he is the way he is now.
~~~
Damian, Harry assumed from the previous conversation, lay on his side curled around a sword. Blood had soaked around the blade into the dark material of the vest he wore as a shirt. The point came out his back. He'd been spitted. Hard to be a hundred percent sure because of the angle, but it looked like a heart blow.
There was a new vampire standing beside him. He held a two-handed sword in his hands, point down, like a cane. The new vamp was tall, six foot six or more, broad-shouldered. His hair was cut like a bowl of yellow ringlets around his face, leaving his ears bare. He wore a white tunic, white trousers; white on white in layers. He stood rigid, at attention, like a soldier. Harry thought that next time it might be a good idea to have his own sword on hand, even if he wasn’t that good with it yet.
"Warrick," Jean-Claude said. "I had hoped you escaped Yvette's tender mercies."
The tall vampire looked at them. His eyes flicked to Anita’s hand on Jean-Claude's wrist. He dropped to one knee and held the sword across his hands. He bowed his head and offered the sword to them. "He fought well. It had been too long since I had such an opponent. I forgot myself and slew him. I would not have wished death on such a warrior. His final death is a great loss."
Jean-Claude took the sword from the vampire's hands. "Save your apologies, Warrick. I come to save Damian, not to bury him."
Warrick raised pale blue eyes to them. "But I have pierced his heart. If you were the master that had made him, then there would be a chance, but you did not call him from his grave to his second life."
"But I am Master of the City, and Damian took a blood oath."
"Your blood may call to him. I pray that it will be enough."
Damian's hair was nearly blood-red, a startling color against the alabaster whiteness of his skin. Harry felt his heart give a hard little thump. The facial features and coloring were so like his mother’s that Harry had a very strong reaction to the unconscious vampire. He wanted to ask Death but feared what the answer may be.
Jean-Claude knelt beside Damian. He laid his hand on Damian's chest, near the sword. "If I pull out the sword and his heart does not beat, his eyes do not open, then he is gone. One chance, and one chance only. We could put him in a hole somewhere for a hundred years and until the sword was pulled out of his heart, there would still be a chance. If we do it here and now, we risk losing him forever."
Harry’s tongue was still stuck to the roof of his mouth and couldn’t get the words out to tell them that Damien was still alive, in a matter of speaking.
Anita knelt beside them. "Is there a ritual for it?"
He shook his head. "I will invoke the blood oath he took. That will help call him back, but Warrick is correct. I did not make Damian. I am not his true master."
"No, he's older than you are by about six hundred years." He was quite old than considering Harry was under the impression that Jean-Claude was more than a few hundred years old himself.
"I can still feel Damian," Anita said.
"What do you mean, ma petite?"
"I can feel him. His energy in my head. It's like coming on a fresh corpse before the soul has left the body. He's still intact, I think."
Warrick was looking at Anita. "How can you know that?"
Harry would never admit it out loud but when Death deemed to speak up at that moment he flinched, startled. “Would you like me to answer your question?”
“Ye-” Harry stopped and had to clear his throat. “Yes.”
He was so focused on Death, Harry didn’t notice Jean-Claude or Warrick turning their attention his way, nor did he notice Anita hadn’t torn her eyes from Damien. “I will answer your question but do not let her touch him first.”
Quickly Harry spun around and took a step toward the three on the floor and grabbed Anita by the wrist as she reached out towards Damian. Her eyes jerked up to Harry’s, “Please don’t touch him just yet.” Through his touch on her wrist, Harry could sense her need to touch Damien, almost like a hunger.
Harry looked back up to Death with a small frown. “She is a Necromancer and Damien is a dying vampire, her gift is compelling her to use it but if she does in this case or another like it, she would not be happy with the consequences and she would end up hurting Damien in the long run. Her core is much like yours all you have to do is find it and put a temporary shield around it like you did her mind earlier.”
Harry did so without even closing his eyes in a matter of seconds. He let go of her wrist, “Since Damien will not get any worse as he is, I have bought us some time now that Anita is no longer compelled to touch him.” He turned his gaze to Jean-Claude, “I will be able to help him if you allow it, with no lasting side effects whereas if Anita uses her Necromancy to bring him back there will be consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?” Anita asked in alarm.
Harry kept his eye on Jean-Claude and repeated everything Death told him, back to them both, “You would replace Jean-Claude as Damien’s Master. As his master, Anita, you would have to relearn how you spoke to him because he would never be able to refuse a direct command from you ever again and that hunger you felt before I shielded you from would always be there; it would never go away.
Anita’s eyes darted between Damien and Harry horror stricken.
"It is true. You are a necromancer." Warrick interrupted but no one payed any attention to the exclamation.
“You are sure you can do this without becoming Damien’s Master in my place?” Jean-Claude asked shrewdly. Harry smiled slightly, he was Master over them all anyway thanks to being Master of Death but he understood what Jean-Claude was asking.
“I will take an oath to that what I say is truth if you have need of it.”
“No, I will place my trust in you this once as a test. If you fail in this I will never trust you again, your vow will be broken and I will exile you from this place no matter who you are.” He said, meaningfully, dead serious with every word like he was making a vow of his own.
“You have my word.” there was a flash of light and Harry smiled at Jean-Claude. “Congratulations, you have bound me in a vow of your own.”
Jean-Claude’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you need?”
Harry held up a finger and turned back to Death. “Someone will have to pull the sword out and as soon as it clears his heart you need to be ready to breathe the power you hold as Master of Death into him. Push all you can into him until he is full. That power will be used to heal his injuries as if he ingested blood and it will keep him alive until his heart is healed.”
Harry nodded once signaling his understanding and knelt down next to Damien. Anita stood to give them space while Jean-Claude stayed which was a good thing since Harry would need him to pull the sword out.
“And Harry, the answer is yes. Damien was the brother of your Mother’s many times over great grandmother.” Death informed him before he could start explaining what he was going to do.
Harry bowed his head and took a deep shuddering breath. He had family left, not in the usual living aspect but they were here. He could talk to them, see them, touch them.
“Harry?” Jean-Claude asked softly.
Harry couldn’t verbalize his new found knowledge so he lifted himself to his knees, dug out his wallet and flipped it open to pull out a much loved photograph. He handed it over to Jean-Claude still folded; it took a moment after he unfolded it but eventually his gazed dart between Damien and the picture and then Damien, the picture and Harry.
“Your parents?”
“Yes.”
“And Damien-”
“Yes.” Harry gave him a slightly watery smile. “A many, many times Great Uncle it would seem.”
Jean-Claude smiled back at him and Harry just barely caught Anita’s gasp of surprise. She reached her hand out, “May I?”
Harry nodded his permission at Jean-Claude who gently handed to photo over to Anita. “I think it is time for us to proceed, you have a distant relative to meet, do you not?”
Harry chuckled lightly and placed his hand on Damien’s chest as close as he could get to the sword without actually touching it. The other hand he placed at the back of Damien’s neck so that he could lift him and tilt his head back for better access.
“Jean-Claude, when I say I need you to pull the sword out quickly. I don’t want you to be alarmed but I am going to look like I am kissing him when all I am actually doing is breathing my power into him.”
“He is not a lover of men.” Anita said, missing the point.
Harry chuckled, “It’s not going to be like a fairy tale kiss that will wake him from his slumber, merely a touch of skin. If he had not been impaled by a sword I probably could have gotten away with placing my hand against his skin directly above his heart but then again this may not have been needed if Damien hadn’t been stabbed.”
Harry closed his eyes then and breathed in slow and deep while tapping into the well of power he had gained from Death and let it pool in his lungs; the air soaking up every bit of magic as if it were a sponge. He lifted his hand slightly letting Damien’s head tip back at an angle.
Placing his lips against the vampire’s in the barest of touches and without breathing out he gave Jean-Claude the go ahead to pull out the sword. It came out quickly with a wet sucking sound and as soon as Harry felt it leave Damien’s heart he breathed out, pushing all the air and magic he was holding into Damien.
Harry pulled back and waited, one breath then two and three before he felt the heart beneath his hand start to thud. Damien took a deep shuddering breath and Harry adjusted his hand so that he was supporting the vampire neck while he re-woke.
Damien open his eyes revealing the green hidden behind closed lids, they were a shade paler than Harry’s own. They were so familiar Harry wanted to weep with joy.
“You are very familiar but I don’t know you.“ He whispered.
Harry smiled gently down at Damien, “That will take an explanation we do not have the time for. For now though my name is Harry Potter, welcome back.” He slumped suddenly and looked from Harry to Jean-Claude and back again.
"My how terribly impressive." A lightly accented voice came from down the hall. When Harry looked up at her it was almost like looking at a relative of Luna’s, with her white blonde hair and slight stature although her gaze was anything but dreamy; more like predatory or cold as ice. So maybe she was a distant relative of Malfoy.
Harry tore his eyes from the woman and directed them to the man with her. He was very handsome and looked to stand about as tall as Harry did. He had blonde hair and clear bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a cross between black leather pants and skin-tight chaps. Bare skin showed at his thighs, and what looked like a leather thong covered his groin. Around his neck was a metal-studded dog collar with a leash attached to it. The woman was holding the leash. Fresh bruises marched down his face, neck, arms. There were cuts on his lower chest and stomach that looked like claw marks. His hands were bound behind his back, arms pulled so tight to his body that it looked painful.
The woman stopped about eight feet from the group, posing. She shoved the man hard enough in the back for him to let out a small sound, forcing him to his knees. She drew the leash tight so he was almost hanging.
She smoothed her hand through his yellow hair, adjusting it, like he was about to get his picture taken. "He's my gift while I'm here. Do you like the wrapping?"
"Can you sit up?" Harry asked Damian.
"I think so." He rolled to his knees, sitting up carefully, as if everything wasn't working quite right yet.
Harry and Jean-Claude got to their feet.
"How you doing, Jason?" Anita asked. One of their people then, Harry thought.
"I'm okay," he said.
She jerked the leash tighter, so he couldn't talk. Harry realized that the inside of the collar had metal spikes on it, a choke collar. Great.
"He is my wolf, Yvette. Mine to protect. You cannot have him," Jean-Claude said.
"I have already had him," she said. "But I will have him again. I have not hurt him yet. The bruises are not my doing. He got that in defense of this place. In defense of you. Ask him yourself." She eased the collar, and then the leash itself.
Jason took a long breath and looked at them.
"Did she hurt you?" Jean-Claude asked.
"No," he said.
"You have shown great restraint," Jean-Claude said to her. "Or have your tastes changed since last we embraced?"
She laughed. "Oh, no, my tastes are the same as they always were. I will torment him now in front of you and you will be powerless to stop me. This way I torment several people for the price of one." She smiled.
"Who'd you feed off of?" Anita asked.
The woman’s eyes flicked to her. "You'll see soon enough." She turned her attention to Warrick. He didn't exactly cringe, but he seemed suddenly smaller, less shining. "Warrick, you failed me.”
Warrick stood against the wall. "I did not mean to hurt him, mistress."
"Oh, I don't mean that. You guarded them while they brought him back."
"You said I would be punished if he died."
"So I did, but would you really have used that great sword on me?" Harry hadn’t noticed when, but at some point Jean-Claude must have handed to sword back to Warrick.
He dropped to his knees, the sword clattered to the stone floor. "No, mistress."
"Then how could you guard them?"
Warrick shook his head. "I did not think . . ."
"You never do." She pulled Jason in against her legs, cradling his face against her thigh. "Watch, Jason, watch and see what I do to bad little boys."
Warrick got to his feet, putting his back to the wall. "Please, mistress, please do not do this."
She took in a deep breath, head back, eyes closed, caressing Jason's face. She was anticipating.
"What's she going to do?" Anita asked, it was the same thing Harry wanted to know.
"Watch" was all Jean-Claude would say.
Warrick was kneeling close enough for Anita to touch. Whatever was about to happen, they were going to have a ringside seat. Which was the point, Harry supposed.
Warrick stared at the far wall, past them, ignoring the audience as much as possible.
A white film spread across his pale blue eyes, until they were cloudy, blind. If they hadn’t been standing so close, it would have been too subtle to see.
His eyes collapsed inward, crumbling with rot. His face was still perfect, strong, heroic, but his eyes were empty, rotting holes. Thick greenish pus trailed down his cheeks, like thick tears.
"Is she doing that to him?" Anita asked.
"Yes," Jean-Claude said, almost too soft to hear.
Warrick made a small sound low in his throat. Black fluid burst from his mouth, pouring down his lips. He tried to scream, and all that came out was a deep, choking gurgle. He fell forward onto hands and knees. The pus-filled liquid poured from his mouth, eyes, ears. It flowed in a puddle of liquid thicker than blood. Warrick vomited his own rotting internal organs onto the floor.
They all began to move back from the widening pool. Didn't want to step in it. It probably wouldn’t do them any harm, but even the other vampires stepped back from it.
Warrick collapsed onto his side. His white clothes were nearly black with gore. But underneath the mess he was still whole. His body was untouched.
His hand reached out blindly. It was a helpless gesture. A gesture that said better than words that it hurt, and he was still in there. Still feeling. Still thinking.
"Sweet Jesus," Anita said.
It was the worst type of torture Harry had ever seen in person.
"You should see what I can do with my own body." Her voice dragged all of their attention back to her. She was still standing there, cradling Jason against her leg. She was a white, gleaming figure, except for her hand. From the elbow down a green rot had started.
Jason noticed it. He started to scream, and she yanked the collar too tight for speech. She caressed his face with her rotting hand, leaving a smear of something thick and dark and all too real.
Jason went wild. He tore away from her. She pulled on the collar until his face turned pink, then red. He fought to stay away from her. Fought like a fish on a hook. His face turned purplish, and still he wouldn't come to her rotting hand.
Jason collapsed to the floor. He was about to choke himself into unconsciousness. "He has tasted the pleasures of rotting flesh before with other vampires, haven't you, Jason? He is so afraid. It is why Padma gave him to me." She started to close the distance between herself and Jason's prone body. "I doubt his mind will survive even a night. Isn't it delicious?"
"We are so not doing this," Anita said and took the gun out of her pocket, just showing it to her. "Don't touch him."
"You are a conquered people, Anita. Don't you grasp that yet?" she asked.
"Conquer this," Anita said. She raised the gun towards her. Jean-Claude touched Anita’s arm.
"Put away your gun, ma petite."
"We can't let her have Jason."
"She will not have Jason," he said. He stared down the hallway at the woman. "Jason is mine. Mine in every way. I will not share him with you, and it is against the rules of hospitality that you do something to one of my people that will cause permanent damage. Breaking his mind is against council law."
"Padma doesn't think so," She told him.
"But you are not Padma." Jean-Claude glided towards them. His power began to fill the hallway like cool rising water. It soothed Harry’s nerves.
"You were my toy for over a hundred years, Jean-Claude. Do you really think you can stand against me now?"
Her power lashed out, like a knife striking, but her power met Jean-Claude's and faded. It was like she was striking at mist. His power didn't fight back. It absorbed.
Jean-Claude stepped up, almost touching her, and jerked the leash out of her hand. She touched his face with her rotting flesh, smearing things worse than blood down his cheek.
Jean-Claude laughed, and it was bitter, like swallowing broken glass. It hurt to hear the sound. "I have seen you at your worst, Yvette. There is nothing new you can show me."
She dropped her hands to her side and stared up at him. "There are more delights up ahead. Padma and the Traveler await you." She didn't know that the Traveler was already among them.
Harry felt them enter while he was healing Damien. Anita, Jean-Claude and Warrick probably noticed but none of them said anything. Willie's body remained quiet, not giving the Traveler away.
Yvette held up her hand, and it was smooth and perfect once more. "You are conquered, Jean-Claude. You just don't know it yet."
Jean-Claude hit her, a blur of speed that sent her careening along the floor to end in a not so elegant bundle against the wall. "I may be conquered, Yvette, but not by you. Not by you."
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Le Maître de la Mort