The soul once had a name. They remembered the gentle voice of their mother calling out to them, the laughter exchanged by their siblings, and the rough hand of their father ruffling their hair. The soul once had a life, one that ended in a blaze of fire and hot white pain as metals pinned them to the ground.
The soul once lived and died. Then, the soul lived again. And died. Lived, died. Lived, and died. A constant repeat, a cycle the soul couldn't escape. The soul had no idea why they retained memories of their lives, but they had long understood they were one of those souls who slipped through the cracks of the system. They hoped some Powers Above would take notice and fix it, but the soul wasn't optimistic of the chance it would happen. Not after the hundredth time they lived.
So, when they woke up a newborn infant once more, the soul resigned themself and accepted their new identity. The hope they still held was diminishing with each new life.
Rigel Hall was born on the Halloween night of 1981, a whole 2 months early. The premature baby was tiny and barely survived the night. His mother wasn't as fortunate, only living long enough to hold him in her arms and name him. The woman didn't give her own name and left nothing to identify her, so when a month passed and no one came for baby Rigel, the hospital took him to an orphanage.
Monaghan Orphan Asylum wasn't a bad place. The orphanage was sufficiently funded and the matron cared for the children. However, Rigel was a quiet baby who could sleep through the days if left alone, and the caretakers tended to do just that to handle the fussier babies. It was not an intentional neglect, but baby Rigel grew to a toddler much smaller than his peers, much to the matron's consternation.
As for Rigel, he was content where he was. This life was surprisingly starting off great considering he was an orphan. From his prior experience, orphans didn't have the best beginning, especially when they grew up in an orphanage. Since this life was looking up to be a peaceful one, Rigel have every intention of growing up to be as average as he could be.
It wasn't meant to be.
The first sign the world wasn't as normal as it appeared to be, was the buzzing under Rigel's skin. It grew in intensity as he aged and was becoming an annoyance. The second sign was less of a sign and more of a slap to the face. Or rather, said sign came stalking into his life. Literally.
Rigel stared, eyes unblinking, at the man in drab grey suit who was not-so-subtly hiding behind a tree. The man had a lanky salt-and-pepper hair, a pair of square-rimmed glasses, and carried a brown case tucked under an arm. His eyes, a black so dark Rigel could see it from across the park, never left the toddler's body ever since Rigel noticed him. The thing was, nobody seemed to see the man like Rigel did. When Rigel took his eyes off the creepy man just for a few seconds, he got startled because the man was standing in front of him. He was startled so badly he fell back on his butt. Nothing to be ashamed of, Rigel was physically 2 and a half. Still, it irked him when the man had the gall to smirk down at him.
"An errant little soul, how interesting."
Rigel froze from his position on the ground before he calmly took a closer look of the stalker. The man still appeared, for all intent and purposes, an average middle-aged office worker. Except, this close, Rigel found out those black eyes were even darker, almost like it was absorbing the light. Whatever it was, this was no man.
The being crouched down and peered into Rigel's eyes. The toddler felt naked under the scrutiny and was suddenly reminded of the saying, eyes were the windows to the soul. Rigel was inclined to believe it at this moment.
"Why, hello little Master," the being spoke pleasantly. "What brings you to this part of the multiverse?"
Rigel blinked once, twice, then deadpanned, "What."
"You don't remember?" The being pouted.
"No." Rigel slightly shifted away.
The being moved and before Rigel registered the fact, it was holding his tiny hand within its icy grip. Cold fingers pried his fist open and trailed over his palm. Rigel watched, curious, when the buzzing under his skin reacted to those fingers and bled out of his skin as dark blemishes. It resembled a bruise but much darker. Didn't hurt, too.
"You don't remember, little Master?" The being whispered as the blemishes swirled and slowly formed a symbol, which left Rigel dumbstruck.
It was a circle within a triangle with a vertical line in the middle.
Well, there went his hope for a peaceful life.
Rigel tilted his head at the symbol (the Deathly Hallows, the soul whispered). He knew them from the Harry Potter series, but there was no fiction when it came to the multiverse. A single thought could gave birth to a world, not to mention a story series as famous as HP in many worlds. Rigel had no doubt the Potterverse was a mini multiverse in itself, with the size of its fandom.
He looked up at the grinning being, looking even more of a creepy old man, and asked, "Death?"
"One of them." The being answered nonchalantly, idly tracing the symbol on his palm. Rigel tugged, trying to retrieve his hand. The being's fingers were cold.
When his attempt failed, Rigel sighed and gestured at the symbol with his other hand, "What does it mean?"
"It's a symbol of mastery over my being." It was more of a confirmation to his suspicion than an answer.
"I thought Harry Potter is the Master of Death?"
"One of them." Was the echoing answer.
"How many Master of Death exist?" The being's answer made it sound like the title was easy to get. Rigel didn't even know how he got his and how that fit into the Potterverse.
"Plenty." Death glibly answered. "There are many who survived death and named a Master of Death. As many drops of water in the ocean. But those who Death acknowledged," those fingers touched the symbol again, tracing the lines gently, "There are only three."
Three acknowledged Masters of Death... Oh. The Deathly Hallows, one for each of the three brothers. The same brothers who was grudgingly rewarded by Death for conquering a death trap.
Feeling numb at the realization that he was one of those brothers once, Rigel asked, "Who is the third one?"
"Dear Antioch, of course. You may know his more famous incarnation, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I believe he's made a name as a Dark Lord recently. Always the megalomaniac, that one."
Thoughts screeched into a halt and Rigel frowned, "Isn't Riddle the second brother's descendant? Antioch was the eldest, wasn't he?"
The being finally let go of his hand, only to pat Rigel's head condescendingly. "Little Master, blood have nothing to do with the soul."
Rigel batted the hand away, "So, I'm the incarnation of the second brother. Why do I remember nothing of that life, when I remember every other life I've lived?"
"You made a deal with Death."
"What deal?"
"Your deal wasn't made with me." The being shrugged and stood back up. "This world is within my jurisdiction, however. Call if you need anything, little Master. And I might come visit time to time. You are currently the most interesting of my Masters."
Then, Death-this world's Death, at least-was gone and Rigel was ushered back to the orphanage along with the other children by the caretakers.
Back in the orphanage, in the darkness of his room, Rigel cried himself to sleep.
The soul didn't want this pseudo-immortality. They didn't want to live again and again after their deaths. They were tired of constantly reliving the cycles of life, tired of adapting to their new lives every time, and the soul was tired of living. It was especially difficult when the soul was reincarnated into the same world they once lived, to see the impact of their death and becoming a stranger to the soul's beloved people. The soul was tired.
The soul refused to admit it, but the tiny hope they always held deep inside had flared when they realized the being was Death. The soul was hoping the being could give them what they always sought; an eternal rest. The hope was crushed to smithereens when the being instead told them the soul was a Master of Death, something that implied immortality. That wasn't what they wanted.
It was never what they(he) wanted.