Chapter 1
Death was not a villain, nor a hero—he was simply inevitable, woven into the very fabric of existence like a constant, patient observer. He neither hurried nor hesitated, and there was no malice in his work. Death was a force, a presence, with abilities beyond human comprehension—effortless, eternal, and resolute. His reach was vast, but never intrusive; his touch could be as gentle as a whisper or as sudden as a storm, depending on when the moment came, but it was always certain.
He was not a creature with bony fingers or a hooded cloak; that was how humans imagined him, grasping for a shape they could understand. In truth, he was formless, timeless, moving as the universe dictated. He was everywhere at once and nowhere at all. For some, Death’s embrace brought peace, an end to suffering; for others, it was feared, fought against with every breath, but futilely so. None escaped him—not kings or beggars, heroes or villains, the loved or the hated. All met him in the end.
And yet, he was not cruel. Death was merely a guide, a necessary transition from one state of being to another. He didn’t take life out of malice or whim; he simply answered the call when it came, appearing only when the time was right. His abilities were as ancient as the stars themselves, for what was death but the last of life’s great mysteries, the final door through which all must pass? He could not be bargained with, outwitted, or avoided—not in the end.
People often thought they could cheat him, delay him, trick him with potions, spells, or clever deals. But Death wasn’t one to be outsmarted. He watched, amused, at the attempts to escape his inevitable grasp, knowing full well they would all return to him in time. His patience was infinite; he didn’t need to hurry. Every living thing would come to him, whether they knew it or not. He didn’t chase anyone; they simply arrived, drawn to him as naturally as a leaf falling to the ground when the wind stilled.
Some had encountered him more directly, seen him up close. For those rare few, Death had appeared as something more tangible—perhaps a figure cloaked in shadow, a quiet voice at their side. But even then, he was no more fearsome than an old friend waiting at the edge of the path. Those who had lived long enough to understand this met him without fear, knowing that he was not the end but a continuation, a passage to something new and unknown.
To the rest, he remained a distant figure, something to be whispered about in dark corners, dreaded in their final days. They did not see the gentle hand he offered, the way he stood by their side in the last moments, not as an enemy but as a guide. He was not to be hated or feared, for in the end, Death was simply fulfilling his role, as he always had, as he always would. Eternity was his domain, and he held it with quiet, unwavering certainty.
Despite all of that, a boy, a mere child changed all of that. On the night of October 31st 1981, a family of three were a attacked at night time in their home. A dark lord whom he calls him Voldemort had come and sought out the child that the prophecy had mentioned of the reason of his downfall. He simply cannot have that, so he broke in, killed James Potter whom was wandless. Pathetic really. James then yelled as he kept his eyes trained on the dark cloaked figure standing over the blasted door. "Lily! take Harry and run!" Hurried footsteps then followed up the stairs then down where the nursery would be.
James fought hard, he did, for someone who did not have a wand, he was great in combat. But in the end, he lost, although James already expected of this to happen, when Albus came over a week ago to inform them of the danger they were in. They went into hiding. Casted the Fidelius charm over the property, making Peter Pettigrew the secret keeper instead of Sirius due to how obvious it would be, oh how wrong he was to entrust something as delicate as this. None of them expected for Peter, his long time friend to do such a thing, but he did. That blasted rat!
Cries could be heard as Voldemort then moved up the stairs to where the noise of a baby wailing was heated and a desperate mother trying to shush the baby. Voldemort having none of that then blasted the door like the how he did so downstairs and pointed his want over the redheaded woman who was covering the crib where the boy whom shall be the reason everything he has worked on will be gone. "Move over you stupid girl!" Voldemort then sneered. Muggleborn, how boring. "No! Please! Kill me instead, just not Harry! Never Harry!" The woman then pleaded.
Pathetic, just like her husband. It took 3 times that of Voldemort on threatening Lily to stand aside, and three times Lily to beg, plead but stood strong for a mere muggleborn. Voldemort would have kept her, he had heated all about the intelligence of the witch but, that would just be a lot of work now won't it. On the fourth time Voldemort had told Lily to stand down, Voldemorts patience wavered completely and casted the killing curse over the woman, creating a green light around the nursery.
Voldemort then sneered at the dead, unmoving body of Lily Potter and kicked the hand before he strode over the crib where a chubby boy, green eyes, enjoy black birds nest of a hair then sat, as he looked up, eyeing Voldemort that he himself never thought a child, a mere child was capable of but nonetheless went along. "How delightful" Voldemort then eyed the chubby child whom held out his chubby little fingers up towards Voldemort, expecting to be lifted up, to which Voldemort just slid his hands over the baby's armpit, lifting him up before sneering at the giggling child. "Pathetic. Look at you, a mere child! Ha! That old coot had definitely gone barmy." Baby Harry just stared at Voldemort then giggled again.
Sucking on it's fingers, drools pools out of it's mouth as Voldemort stared at the child in disgust." Voldemort then placed the child back to this cot, hovering his white wand over the child's forehead. Then casted the Killing cruse to which never in his life thought was possible happened, the killing curse backfired and instead shot towards Voldemort as his body turned to ash. The child sat there, crying as a lightning bolt scar appeared over it's used to be clear skin and blood gushing over.
Just then a black figure, a shadow then formed around itself as a man in a robe with a psych then lowed himself to meet the boys eyes, the man's face was hidden by the good although his eyes were glowing the color of green, it seemed to be hovering over the ground "Hello there my precious." Death then said to which Harry just stared wide eyed at the being Infront of him, "who- who awe u? Where is mommy? Where is dada?" Little Harry then asked. Death chucked at that. "They are in a place where they can be safe now don't you fret my little imp." Harry then nodded, not really understanding what the man said. "As for who I am. Well... I am Death"