Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.
Written for Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Round Ten
Prompt – Forbidden Relationships – From rivalries to the downright taboo, there is massive variation in what could be classed as a 'forbidden' relationship, especially in the Potterverse. This is what this round is all about (I type as the Dramione shipper in me squeals in excitement) Amy wrote out this round! Each position has been given a kind of forbidden love, and that is the type of pairing you must write about in your fics. Both requited and unrequited love will be accepted here. Beater 2: An inter-species relationship.
Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps serving as reserve for Beater 2 (Story ended up not being used because our Beater showed up at the last minute and was able to post)
(This can be read as a sequel to On A Whim. Though you don't need to read On a Whim to understand this one.)
Death watched on as Time began and Life came to be. Death, who had always been alone, was at first fascinated by these new beings, by these new things that were appearing. After eons of nothing, he had found something.
His fascination quickly waned, however.
These somethings were so ephemeral that they hardly made an impact on his long existence. Life was the shortest of all, coming to an end as soon as he was near.
As such, Death resigned himself to an existence of solitude.
It was not that he truly cared; he was Death, and he knew that he would always be. After everything had come to an end, he would remain. Just as it had been before Time and Space and Life.
Nothing would change.
However, something did.
It had been nothing more than a whim, nevertheless that caprice changed everything.
When he had held that human soul in his grasp, one of the first children of Life when humanity was still in its infancy, and put it back in the body of the stillborn infant, everything had changed.
That child had ceased to belong to Life.
That soul had become Death's.
That soul had become the first of Death's children.
The first Necromancer.
Death watched on as his children spread. They were just as ephemeral as everything else he had ever encountered though, unlike everything else, they had no fear of him.
They longed for his presence, rejoiced in his existence.
So, Death, even though he knew they were so very fragile, become fond of his children.
For centuries he watched as they grew, as they improved and become something more than a mere human. He rewarded those that venerated his children, and punished those that harmed them.
He knew he should not interfere.
However who would dare stop him? Who could stop him?
He was the end of all things, and the beginning of everything.
He was absolute.
He was eternal.
So, Death watched on.
Then came the day that Death knew would come. The last three of his children was born. Three brothers, three he had blessed above all others.
He watched those lives with avid attention.
And when the youngest brother – his last child – greeted him with a smile, he retreated to a time and place where his children still existed.
He was Death. He was everywhere, any time; so he chose to spend eternity in a time where his children still lived.
Lifetimes after his self-imposed exile, there was a change.
He felt something pulling at his very essence, something he hadn't felt since his youngest child had joined his brothers in death.
It was nothing more than a whim that led him to investigate what it could be.
Surprise – such a foreign feeling to him – gripped his very core when he came across the Mirror of Erised. It was the creation of the oldest brother, one of the last Necromancers to be born – and eyes as dark as the endless abyss were gazing into it.
Wizards may look into it and see their heart's desire, but Necromancers... Necromancers looked into it and saw the souls of the departed, a glimpse of the afterlife, a sliver of Death.
Antioch's heart's desire.
Death circled the child gazing into the mirror, enraptured by what he was witnessing.
A Necromancer when no more Necromancers should exist.
A descendant of his last child.
The child looked away from the Mirror, starless night eyes turning back to emerald green.
Death paid no mind to the wizard talking to the child. All his attention was on the child that should not be.
When the child left, Death followed.
Years later, when the young Necromancer's friends told him that Death dogged his footsteps, they would never know just how right they were.
From that night onward, Death was the child's constant shadow.
It was different for Death to be so close to someone. Even with his last three children he hadn't been that close, hadn't followed their lives with such zeal. However, when it pertained the young Necromancer, Death could not help it.
The child simply should not exist.
The fact that he did was undeniable, and the only mystery Death had ever encountered.
Death told himself that it was perfectly natural for him to find it interesting, that he was merely curious.
That should have been Death's first clue that he was becoming too close to the young Necromancer.
Death, though, did not care.
He continued to watch the child, and when the child had to face death at only eleven years old, Death interfered.
He knew he should not have done it.
He did not care.
While the young Necromancer fought against the possessed wizard, Death stepped out of the shadows. None saw him, and he glided silently towards the wizard, and with just a touch the wizard was no more and the young one was safe.
The relief Death felt at the safety of the child should have been his second clue.
If it weren't beneath him, Death would have groaned when just a year later the child was on Death's door once more.
Truly, what had possessed the child to think that it would be a good idea to face a basilisk armed with nothing but a sword?
Again, Death interfered. Keeping the young soul safe until the Phoenix's tears healed the Necromancer's mortal body.
As he gently let go of the hold he had on the soul, Death resolved to have a conversation with the young one, just so the child would stop putting himself in dangerous situations.
Death was displeased.
It was not an emotion he was accustomed to.
Truthfully, Death's spectrum of emotions was rather limited. Usually he was quite indifferent to everything. He held fondness for his children – especially the last three – he was able to feel some degree of interest, and he had even been slightly annoyed by some situations. However, mostly, he was quite apathetic to everything. It was to be expected, of course, considering the eons he had lived, and would live.
Though, when it concerned the small, green-eyed child – Death thought the humans called him Harry – emotions were becoming the norm.
Case in point: Death was displeased.
These beings, Dementors they were called, believed they could pray on the young Necromancer's soul.
After that wondrous charm cast by the child prevented their souls from being consumed, Death did quick work on those that had dared to harm the young soul.
With a simple touch, the perpetrators ceased to be.
A warning to all those who dared to harm what was his.
That should have been Death's third clue.
Death watched, anger flowing through his being for the first time since he came to be, as his Harry was tortured by one that feared Death so much that he had mutilated his soul beyond redemption.
Harry's agonized scream pierced his, till then, nonexistent heart.
That night, as he helplessly watched his Harry suffer at the hands of a mere mortal, Death learned how to hate.
Death had not known true longing until that moment in time.
Until he had to watch his little one grieve for the loss of a loved one and he was unable to do anything to comfort him.
However, it warmed his heart to see that even in that moment, Harry did not blame or fear him.
Even though the young Necromancer was unaware of his heritage, he was was everything a Necromancer should be.
Humans called it jealousy.
How far had he fallen to be consumed by it when he saw the red-headed mortal female in the arms of his little one?
That should have been his last clue.
However, Death had reached a point where, even if he had noticed the clues, it would have mattered little.
Harry, just like his forefather, greeted him with a smile
Death watched from the side-lines as young Albus interacted with Harry. It was fascinating to see, however Death was impatient.
His little one was finally in his domain, and Death had waited long enough.
Before the mesmerizing soul could return to his mortal body, Death whisked it away.
With unprecedented gentleness, he took the soul outside of time and space.
He waited for Harry to get his bearing, a small smile touching his lips when Harry narrowed his eyes while looking around.
He stepped out of the shadows and their eyes locked.
Emerald bled into an endless abyss; a perfect replica of Death's own eyes.
"Death," Harry murmured, intrinsic knowledge that all Necromancers possess jumping to the forefront of his mind.
"Harry," Death whispered back, his voice foreign to his own ears. One does not need to speak when there is no one around to listen.
"I'm a Necromancer." Harry frowned, confusion marring his features.
"I don't understand," Harry confessed.
Death chuckled, another thing he had never done, and walked towards his little one – more pleased than he cared to admit when Harry did not step away from him. Carefully, almost as if afraid of doing so, Death caressed Harry's cheek.
"I have to confess that I do not understand how you can be what you are. Your ancestor, Ignotus, was meant to be the last of my children." Death smiled when Harry closed his eyes and leaned into the soft caress.
Harry may not understand, however his soul was connected to Death, had always been, would always be. It longed for the closeness that all Necromancers had with Death.
"However, I do not truly care how it came to be." Harry opened his eyes, glancing at him. "I have been with you since that night you stepped foot in front of the Mirror. Watching you, guarding you. Interfering when you were at my doors. I have become involved in a way I should not have. You made me feel. I am Death, little one, I should not feel."
"I... I still don't understand."
"Your Headmaster was right, the Hallows mean nothing. They were merely gifts to my three favored children. However, he was wrong as well. You are the Master of Death, little one. Master of my heart."
Death leaned in, tasting lips he had longed to touch for what felt like the beginning of his existence, only for Harry's soul to slip through his fingers, slipping back into the mortal body awaiting him.
Death closed his eyes, an eternity passing in just that moment, and followed.
He had found something, he was not willing to let it go.