The Discworld Crossover Attempt
Prologue: Death
He stared impatiently at his watch. His cloak rustled slightly in the wind, but he ignored it. Instead, he tapped his foot to show his impatience and switched his gaze from his watch, to a two-handed sharp scythe, to the somewhat empty space around him, and back again. Really, did future dead people always have to be late? He thought he'd seen the last of that when the wizard-who-only-knew-one-spell finally kicked the bucket, so to speak.
"I hate it when they're late," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. At long last, a small fat rat with half of a silver paw came scuttling into view, and he watched in anticipation. Following the small fat rat with half of a silver paw were three people dressed in fancy white and blue clothing, holding small sticks out like weapons, shouting somewhat incoherently.
"There he is!"
"Catch him! Hurry!"
"Petrificus!" The small fat rat with half of a silver paw squeaked rather loudly as the blue beam of light hit him. It flailed wildly, turning into a small fat man with half of a silver arm, whom landed rather painfully on the tarmac roof with a loud squeal of pain.
He fingered the curved blade, standing back on his heels for a show.
One of the men stepped forward, taking out a rather crisp, shiny scroll and unfolded it. He read it out loud.
"Peter Andrew Pettigrew III, you are hereby under the capture and command of the British Wizard Ministry of Magic, Auror Division on the charges of: Accomplice in the murder of James Godric Potter VII and Lilliath Annamarie Evans-Potter; wrongful imprisoning of an innocent man; attempted murder of Harold James Potter II; aiding in the return of a Dark Lord; being a Dark Wizard of the Death Eater Fellowship; illegally becoming an Animagus; and so forth. You have rights to trial under Veritaserum, and everything you confess to will land you in Azkaban with the Dementors Kiss. You will not be given a fair trial. Everyone already thinks you're guilty. Anything you do or say now in objection to these accusations will not help you in any way whatsoever, and indeed will land you with a few nasty bruises, a few hexes, and a concussion or three. You will now come quietly or we will very happily bring you in pieces."
The small fat man with half of a silver arm gulped noisily and glanced down at the ground three stories below. He then glanced around the top of the building, looking nervously at the three men fingering their wands and at a fourth figure he hadn't quite noticed before…
Black cloak, skeletal body, shiny scythe that, in accordance to the laws of dramatics, went ting…
Peter gulped. The figure grinned.*
HELLO.
It was fun being Death sometimes…
-
*Of course, he couldn't actually grin, being a skeleton and all, but he certainly did try.
Chapter One: Rats
Harry always knew he was different from other people. In his past life, he had been Death for many thousands of years.* He had decided to reincarnate himself after his granddaughter - well, his past self's granddaughter - told him he didn't really understand life, only the technicalities of it. She wasn't very happy with him when she found out, because it meant that she'd had to be Death until he decided he wanted his old job back, and frankly, she really didn't like having to be Death. (She'd actually tried to kill him so he'd have to take his job back, but it didn't really work, to Voldemort's consternation.)
At the moment, he was in the library. It was nearing two o'clock in the morning. (One thing about being Death was that he didn't have to sleep much. Or at all, really.)
The library was quiet. And, aside from the numerous books (which were quite stubborn when it came to libraries and the subsequent being in them) and Harry himself, it was quite empty. Four candles hovered over one of the small tables in the back where Harry was busy at work. He was staring at the wall, which took a lot of concentration and will power. After all, one didn't want to look away before the wall did. That was called losing.
A small, lone figure scurried into the room. It wore a tiny black cloak and was carrying a tiny scythe between its teeth. It scrambled up the table and waited patiently for it to be noticed. After a while, Patience decided it wanted to read a book and ambled off.
SQUEAK. Harry glanced down.
"Oh, hello." The skeleton-rat-inna-cloak hopped up and down frantically.
SQUEAK IK IK!
"Really?" Harry said disinterestedly. "Well, then, I suppose I can't stop her then, can I?" The rat thought for a moment.
SQUEAK.
"Then what are you worried about?"
SQUEAK.
"What is she mad at me about this time anyway?"
SQUEAK. Harry shrugged.
"Well, what does she expect? I can't quit now, it's only been seventeen years. Besides, it was her idea anyway."
SQUEAK.
"Yes it was. She said I didn't understand life, only the basics. The being alive part, I mean. And it's not like she's Death all the time. Only when I'm not."
SQUEAK. EEK. SQUEAK IK IK.
"Hm? Oh, that. Yes, I know you're Death of Rats, but technically, Peter was human."
SQUEAK.
"Does it really matter if he died as a rat? He was still human."
IK. The skeleton-rat-inna-cloak grumbled to itself for a moment. SQUEAK?
"Hm? Oh, that. I thought using the Voice in this form wasn't a good idea. It would raise too many questions." If the rat had lungs, it would have sighed. It tried to anyway, without much success.
SQUEAK.
"All right then. Nice of you to drop by. Tell Albert to stop worrying. Tell Susan to stop sulking. Tell Binky I said hello."
IK IK. The Death of Rats scurried out the door. There was a moment of silence.
"Whenever you're ready," Harry said politely. Patience put the book back and slunk out of the door after it.
-
*Technically, he still was, but no one ever talked about that when the subject came up, only complained.