Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of infant death, non-graphic mentions of death.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all its characters, belongs to J.K. Rowling. All I own is a very vague plot bunny. Hell, you can use it if you want.
A/N: This is confusing. I know that. It was supposed to be since this is sorta in the POV of an immortal being with no real concept of life and humanity and all that fun stuff. Also, don't say that referring to a singular object with "they/them" pronouns is grammatically incorrect. You're wrong, and I'll only laugh at you.
Beloved Children
This isn't what They wanted. When They gave Their most Beloved Children, the ones who loved and feared Them equally, just the tiniest control over Life and Death, They had expected Their Children to treat their gift with the same reverance that They treated their Parent.
And for so long, that was how it was. Had it been days since They gave Them the gift? Years? Centuries? They did not know. It was not important. Time, no matter how long or short, had passed, and They forgot the presciousness of Their gift, forgot who gave it to them. Their love and fear disappeared, leaving behind only greed and selfishness, and the desire to use their gift to hurt each other and the world around them. They could only look on in disappointment, unwilling to offer Their traitorous Children help.
Then, finally, They had had enough. They found three Children, Children who still remembered Them and who still appreciated Their gift, and They gave those children another gift, Their attempt at offering Their Children another chance.
But Their Children failed yet again. And They wept.
They continued to watch as Their Children became worse and worse, Their actions warping Their gift, which warped Them in return. It was a vicious cycle, one that eventually led to a cruel Child putting himself above Them. They watched as that Child used the gift in a horrific, terrible way, uncaring of those he hurt, and They decided that it was time to intervene yet again. They could not trust Their Children any more, not after They failed Them so often, so They conceived a clever plan.
They slipped a pure part of Their gift into the mind of one of Their Children, speaking of time and death and debts repaid, then gave a new life, a fake Child, to a pair of Their Children. The Child would not survive, and neither would Their parents, but that did not matter. They were simply a vessel, and vessels do not need life, only someone to control them. They watched as Their new Child was born, and They watched as that Child died. Then They entered the tiny, fragile body, already growing cold, and they Learned.
Heracles Potter? No, Harry. A dog. Padfoot? Hair, so beautiful and bright. Laughter and tears and a mother what is a mother? Tastes and sights and smells and sounds why can't he move yet? Screams and crying whyareTheycrying and then painsomuchpain.
Darkness.
They pushed air through Their too fragile lungs, blood through Their veins, and They lived for the first time in Their long, long existence.
It was time to remind Their Children of Their gift.