Disclaimer: *sarcastically* Yes I do own Harry Potter! I am actually
making loads of money of this FANfiction story! And I also own the
Internet, and the Eiffel Tower, all the McDonald's out there, and the color
green! Do I own Harry Potter you ask? Well that's a stupid question. No
I don't. There you happy . . . punk?
Prologue
Isn't it amazing to think that anyone can ultimately decide the fate of the world? Just think, a perfectly normal person with no great significance decides to come into work later than they usually do. Why? Because they just feel like having a lie in, that's all. That person just saved the lives of themselves and a young boy. How, do you ask? Well, if they had been responsible and had left for work on time, they would have spilled their coffee that they had brought in the car, run a red light, and collide into the car of the young boy's mother, thus killing themselves and the child instantly.
Did you know that that same boy grew up to be a doctor, discovered a cure for all types of cancer, and saved many lives? Including the life of the man who would eventually discover life on Mars, make a peace treaty with the Martians, and change the course of our world forever? And all because one seemingly insignificant person decided to have a lie in. Just think, if they hadn't who knows how many people would be dead? Not to mention the attack of the Martians.
One thing leads to another, and some events can never be changed, but what if something happened that wasn't supposed to happen? What if an aged and respected man overlooked a small, but rather obvious flaw in his perfect little plan? One family's decision causes a ripple effect like no other. What if the Dursley's abandoned their nephew, and what if the Grim Reaper visited little Harry Potter again, but instead of Death stealing Harry's heart, Harry stole Death's. Grim finds that parenthood looks much easier on TV.
Death's Sanctuary
Chapter One
A dark figure skulked silently down the alleyway, watching his prey run haphazardly towards Itself. It, for it was neither male nor female, observed the man as he stumbled past Its hiding place amongst the shadows. The young man's eyes were wide with fright as he over turned garbage cans and tripped on old tires in his haste to get away from his hunter.
It knew that the man was going to die tonight. In fact, it seemed that a great number of people seemed to die the day before and on All Hallows Eve. All It needed to do was wait for the moment when the mortal's life was taken by his own kind. The Immortal slinked from shadow to shadow with inhuman speed as it followed It's prey down the maze of alleys that were London's very own. It was as if the Immortal was made out of the shadows themselves the way It blended and molded into them.
It breathed in deeply. The Immortal could smell the fear mingled with sweat and blood that was coming from the frightened muggle. A feral grin spread across It's face. Soon. Soon It would have the man's soul. But the grin slowly started to disappear. It just remembered all of that bloody paperwork still sitting on It's desk.
The sound of the cracking of bones could be heard as the man stepped on an innocent, by standing rat. The man stopped and tried to wipe the rat's remains off from the bottom of his shoe. But that moment's hesitation cost the man his life.
The Immortal hide in the shadows and watched the scene play out.
The sound of gun blasting, the whistle of the bullet as it sliced through the air, the sound of skin tearing, and the man was no more.
"Bloody hell, Frankie. You shot tha' guy righ' good ya did. I can see straigh' through 'is 'ead," panted a large burly man carrying a pistol and trying to catch his breath from the chase. He was dressed in an expensive Armani suit and greatly resembled a gorilla. The man was heavy browed and looked rather slow, in more ways than one.
"Yea Bruno, I got 'em," replied Frankie smugly. Frankie was the kind of man you would immediately associate with some species of rodent. He had greasy slicked back hair, and a very pointed nose. He, too, was carrying a weapon and was dressed rather expensively for someone who wouldn't look out of place in a penitentiary somewhere.
"That'll teach tha little bastard not ta mess aroun' wit' tha Giovanno family. 'E got wha' was commin' to 'em. Nex' time e'd better pay wha' 'e owes tha boss or 'e'll get 'is!" stated Bruno firmly.
"Ya stupid idiot!" yelled Frankie as he hit the back of Bruno's head for emphasize. "There won' be no bloody nex' time! The man 'ere is already dead! At leas' act like ye got an ounce of common sense abou' ya!"
Bruno blinked and rubbed the back of his head, although it took a second for his brain to fully register that he was supposed to be in pain.
"Oh yea, I forgot."
Frankie glared at Bruno, sighed, and looked up to the heavens as he mumbled under his breath. "Oh come on ya stupid brute! Let's get outta 'ere before we get someone come along an' sees us. We nee' ta go an' report to tha boss tha' Jonesy 'ere 'as been taken care of."
The two men lumbered off towards the street, unafraid of passing cars as it was close to three o'clock in the morning. The Immortal watched the two men leave. Oh what fools these mortal's be. No matter, because It'll see those two both soon enough. It turned to face the dead body of the man he had been following earlier, and internally debated on what form It should take. Since the man had committed crimes of great caliber throughout his lifetime, It decided to take on the well-known and well-feared form of a skeleton wearing a black robe and carrying a scythe.
The dead man opened his eyes.
He seemed a bit disoriented at first, but when he saw the skull looking out from under the hood of it's robe, seemingly staring straight into his very soul, he screamed. But the dead man was shocked into silence as he spotted his dead body lying at his very own transparent feet. The man was about to scream again, but was interrupted by the Grim Reaper.
"Hush you filthy mortal! Accept the fact that you are dead, for there is no power on earth that can reawaken you. Raphael Derek Jones, you have done many a heinous crime in your short twenty-eight years. All of which include murder, rape, and kidnapping. You should have never entered the folds of the English mafia. I give my final judgment. You, Raphael Derek Jones, are going straight to Hell, and I hope to never see your damned face again."
The Grim Reaper swung his scythe to the ground. The sharp point of his weapon cracked the gravel of the alleyway, and the ground slowly started to split apart. Orange and Red light poured from the crevices as they opened and the temperature suddenly increased drastically, almost to the point where any living being would quite possibly combust.
The man tried to run, as most do, but with a snap of the Grim Reaper's bony fingers, the man was shackled and chained. Small, black creatures with pointy horns and red eyes crawled from the openings and tugged sharply on the man's chains. The man cried out in pain.
"Take him to the Fourth Gate of Hell. I will instruct you more on his "detailed" punishment when I return from my vacation, but for now try the cat o' nine tails and give him the rack," addressed the Grim Reaper to the demons. The demons nodded their understanding and dragged the spirit of the dead man into the rift. Finding his voice, the man screamed.
"NO PLEASE NO! DON'T DO THIS TO ME! I'M INNOCENT I TELL YA! YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG GUY! NO PLEASE! HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY!"
But his pleas fell upon deaf ears as the demons dragged his struggling body into the fiery depths of Hell.
The Grim Reaper reverted back to It's natural shadowy form. Now that It was in the moonlight, It could definitely be described as a living, or well, existing shadow. The shape of the figure was tall and lean, and it appeared that it was wearing some sort of a cloak. The hood was pulled up, much like its Grim Reaper form. Although instead of a skull, the face was that of something vaguely resembling human, but one could not tell if it was male or female, but it currently resembled more of the male variety and therefore we shall refer to It as a he. His blue eyes seemed to glow with repressed power as he watched the opening to Hell close.
It, now identified as Death, or to close friends as Grim, sighed. It had been a long couple of centuries dealing with these petty mortals, and to be frank, Grim was tired and in desperate need of a vacation.
Grim reached into his sleeves, where he kept a multitude of useful items for all occasions, and pulled out his "Death List". It was a list of all the people that were going to die that day, and there was only one person left. Grim heaved a relieved sigh. One more person to go, then it was off to the office to tie up some loose ends, file away the information of his latest "victims", and then off to Hawaii.
Grim may not be particularly fond of mortals, but he did think them ingenious with their advances in technology. He planned to barricade himself in the hotel room and watch that wonderful invention, television, for the first week. Well, there was also the little problem of who was going to fill the position of Death while he was on his three-month vacation. He couldn't well have living but sort of dead zombie wandering around and decaying on people now could he?
Thinking on the problem at hand, Grim shrank back into the shadows, and traveled through them to his next appointment. He needed somebody responsible, well organized (he privately snorted at this as he was well- known for being an absolute pig), trustworthy, and someone who would not abuse the power of being Death. He finally came to the conclusion, after much thought, that Desdemona, one of the higher ranking demons and a good friend of his that he trusted beyond anyone else, could take up the scythe whilst he was away.
Grim nodded to himself, pleased that he had come up with a solution to his problem in such a short time. He re-emerged from the shadow of a large two- story house. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, as was the bushes, and the house was painted a pleasant cream color. All in all, it was a nice house. Being invisible, as he could not be seen by mortals, Grim, via shadow- travel, entered the house.
The interior of the house was just as pleasant as the exterior. Pictures of small children, parents, and grandparents adorned the walls going up the stairs. Grim glided silently to the second floor, and stopped just outside the door of one of the bedrooms. He passed through the door, as was one of his other talents, and gazed upon the sleeping figure of an old, frail looking woman. Her breathing was erratic and it looked as if she were sweating. She tossed, turned, and mumbled quite protests under her breath. Her eyes were scrunched up in pain, and it seemed that the poor woman was having a very distressing nightmare.
Grim slowly raised his hand to the woman's forehead, and immediately the woman fell into a dreamless sleep. She was old, but she was not the one that Grim had come for. He left the old woman to her rest, and went to the room right across the hall. The door had a picture tapped onto it. It seemed as if the artist was six or seven judging by the stick people family. There were five people in all. The man was labeled "Daddy" and the woman "Mommy", but the woman with gray hair was labeled "Grandma". There were two children in the picture. The little boy was labeled "Billy" and the little girl, who was slightly taller than the boy, was labeled "Emma".
Another picture above the family portrait was also tapped onto the door. In different colors, the word's "Emma's Room" was written in sloppy letters that only a child could manage. There were little hearts and flowers surrounding the words. Grim took a moment to study the pictures, and then entered Emma's room.
A night-light glowed in the far corner. There was just enough light to make out a small girl tucked safely into her bed. She had curly brown hair and small little hands and if her eyes were opened they would be a beautiful cinnamon color. She, like her grandmother, was sweating profusely and her breathing was ragged. Though this was not caused by a nightmare. No, Emma was ill, and her fever was becoming deadly. One of Grim's many talents was taking on different forms with different people. With criminals like Raphael Jones, he became the Grim Reaper because that was what that person would respond most to best. Although children were different. They responded better to soft-spoken words of reassurance and friendly, smiling faces.
Grim changed into a beautiful woman with honey colored hair and big blue eyes. Snow-white wings adorned her back, and she wore a flowing robe of pure gold. She gently settled her hand on the child's forehead.
"Child, come on now, it's time to go."
Emma's eyes fluttered open and she blinked in surprise. "Who are you?"
The angel smiled sweetly at the child's small voice. It was such a shame that one as young as this girl had to leave life so early, but it was out of her hands. She just fulfilled the orders she was given.
"I'm your guardian angel, Emma, and I'm here to take you on a little trip far away from here," replied the angel, formerly known as Grim. Emma's eyes lit up with excitement.
"Really? Oh boy! Where are we going? Are Mommy, Daddy, Granny, and Billy coming too? I never get to go on trips anymore since I got this cold 'bout two weeks ago. When do we leave?" asked the small girl. She was literally bouncing in excitement. She didn't seem to realize that her body had stopped breathing long ago, or that she was sitting in mid-air.
"Hush now child. Enough questions. No, your family isn't going to be coming, and they won't be with you for a while, but your Grandmother will join you soon. But don't you worry your pretty little head about all that, because time will just fly by. Now, have you ever heard of Heaven?" asked Grim sweetly. The girl nodded vigorously.
"Yes, that's where Mommy said Grandpa is. What's your name?" said the small girl. The angel smiled brightly and offered out her hand to Emma.
"I don't have a name. How about we go see your Grandpa, hmm? I bet he'd love to see you. What do you say? Do you want to go visit your Grandpa, Emma?" Emma nodded once again enthusiastically and took the angel's offered hand.
"But what am I going to call you?" asked Emma. The angel smiled indulgently.
"Why don't you give me a name?"
The small child's face screwed up in concentration as she thought of the perfect name for her guardian angel. She suddenly smiled a bright smile. "Can I call you Sera? My mommy said that means angel and that's why my nickname is Sera, but you can have it!"
Grim smiled sweetly at the small girl. He was always rather fond of mortal children, even if they did grow up to be idiots. The newly dubbed Sera took Emma's hand. They disappeared in a blinding flash of white light.
The next morning when Emma's mother came to wake her daughter, Mrs. Harding found her daughter unresponsive to the calling of her name. When Mrs. Harding gently shook her daughter's shoulder, she discovered that it was quite stiff, as rigor mortis had already set in. She screamed and Mr. Harding came running, along with Emma's younger brother and Grandmother. What started out as seemingly a simple cold, had turned deadly.
The funeral was next Sunday.
~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~
Grim sighed as he filed the last of his paper work away. It was now about nine o'clock on All Hallows Eve. It had taken him almost sixteen hours to finally get all of his affairs in order, file the paper work, hire someone to feed his fish, and talk Desdemona into taking over for him for a while. She had reluctantly agreed, as she wasn't all that comfortable with going around and informing people that they were, in fact, dead. But on the up side, their reactions were quite amusing at times, so she'd enjoy that.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"BLOODY HELL! DO I NEVER GET A BREAK?!?!" screamed Grim, for that was the alarm that somebody was about to die. He thought he had checked his Death List and he was going to be free tonight. Apparently he was wrong. Grim looked at the small television screen on his desk and waited for the names to come up.
Names: James Potter, Lily Potter, Harry Potter
Type: Wizard, Witch, Wizard
Location: Godric's Hollow, Scotland
Death: Murder, Murder, Murder
Murderer: Thomas Marvello Riddle Jr. aka Lord Voldemort
Grim sighed. He'd been having that problem with Lord Moldie-whatsit lately. He'd have the problem with a dark lord rising now and then, but Tommy here was getting a little too powerful for Grim's liking. The man would go off on muggle killing sprees! Not to mention killing his own damn followers! As if he didn't have enough work already! And on top of that, the bastard was trying to become immortal, and damn near achieving it too! Oh he hoped he'd get the chance to meet Goldie-whatever soon. He'd LOVE to take that guy to Hell personally.
Well, he might as well just finish this case up now. He wanted to tie up all loose ends here before he went and indulged himself in a three-month long vacation. Besides, he had the strange feeling that he was meant to go there, but he could exactly explain it. Shrugging with a sigh, Grim set off to Godric's Hollow, hoping this wouldn't take up too much of his vacation time. If the poor Immortal only knew.
AN: Yes, I know, I seem to have a multitude of unfinished stories, but hey! The idea just started typing itself. Why I picked this title? Who knows? Not like I could help it. My fingers have a mind of their own. Please, you know that your reviews mean alot to me, so please do review and tell me what you think so far!
Oh yeah, should I continue this story, or should I just delete it? Please let me know, because I think I might just trash it, but I don't want to, but I'm just not sure. What do you think?
Thanks, Siripiritus
Prologue
Isn't it amazing to think that anyone can ultimately decide the fate of the world? Just think, a perfectly normal person with no great significance decides to come into work later than they usually do. Why? Because they just feel like having a lie in, that's all. That person just saved the lives of themselves and a young boy. How, do you ask? Well, if they had been responsible and had left for work on time, they would have spilled their coffee that they had brought in the car, run a red light, and collide into the car of the young boy's mother, thus killing themselves and the child instantly.
Did you know that that same boy grew up to be a doctor, discovered a cure for all types of cancer, and saved many lives? Including the life of the man who would eventually discover life on Mars, make a peace treaty with the Martians, and change the course of our world forever? And all because one seemingly insignificant person decided to have a lie in. Just think, if they hadn't who knows how many people would be dead? Not to mention the attack of the Martians.
One thing leads to another, and some events can never be changed, but what if something happened that wasn't supposed to happen? What if an aged and respected man overlooked a small, but rather obvious flaw in his perfect little plan? One family's decision causes a ripple effect like no other. What if the Dursley's abandoned their nephew, and what if the Grim Reaper visited little Harry Potter again, but instead of Death stealing Harry's heart, Harry stole Death's. Grim finds that parenthood looks much easier on TV.
Death's Sanctuary
Chapter One
A dark figure skulked silently down the alleyway, watching his prey run haphazardly towards Itself. It, for it was neither male nor female, observed the man as he stumbled past Its hiding place amongst the shadows. The young man's eyes were wide with fright as he over turned garbage cans and tripped on old tires in his haste to get away from his hunter.
It knew that the man was going to die tonight. In fact, it seemed that a great number of people seemed to die the day before and on All Hallows Eve. All It needed to do was wait for the moment when the mortal's life was taken by his own kind. The Immortal slinked from shadow to shadow with inhuman speed as it followed It's prey down the maze of alleys that were London's very own. It was as if the Immortal was made out of the shadows themselves the way It blended and molded into them.
It breathed in deeply. The Immortal could smell the fear mingled with sweat and blood that was coming from the frightened muggle. A feral grin spread across It's face. Soon. Soon It would have the man's soul. But the grin slowly started to disappear. It just remembered all of that bloody paperwork still sitting on It's desk.
The sound of the cracking of bones could be heard as the man stepped on an innocent, by standing rat. The man stopped and tried to wipe the rat's remains off from the bottom of his shoe. But that moment's hesitation cost the man his life.
The Immortal hide in the shadows and watched the scene play out.
The sound of gun blasting, the whistle of the bullet as it sliced through the air, the sound of skin tearing, and the man was no more.
"Bloody hell, Frankie. You shot tha' guy righ' good ya did. I can see straigh' through 'is 'ead," panted a large burly man carrying a pistol and trying to catch his breath from the chase. He was dressed in an expensive Armani suit and greatly resembled a gorilla. The man was heavy browed and looked rather slow, in more ways than one.
"Yea Bruno, I got 'em," replied Frankie smugly. Frankie was the kind of man you would immediately associate with some species of rodent. He had greasy slicked back hair, and a very pointed nose. He, too, was carrying a weapon and was dressed rather expensively for someone who wouldn't look out of place in a penitentiary somewhere.
"That'll teach tha little bastard not ta mess aroun' wit' tha Giovanno family. 'E got wha' was commin' to 'em. Nex' time e'd better pay wha' 'e owes tha boss or 'e'll get 'is!" stated Bruno firmly.
"Ya stupid idiot!" yelled Frankie as he hit the back of Bruno's head for emphasize. "There won' be no bloody nex' time! The man 'ere is already dead! At leas' act like ye got an ounce of common sense abou' ya!"
Bruno blinked and rubbed the back of his head, although it took a second for his brain to fully register that he was supposed to be in pain.
"Oh yea, I forgot."
Frankie glared at Bruno, sighed, and looked up to the heavens as he mumbled under his breath. "Oh come on ya stupid brute! Let's get outta 'ere before we get someone come along an' sees us. We nee' ta go an' report to tha boss tha' Jonesy 'ere 'as been taken care of."
The two men lumbered off towards the street, unafraid of passing cars as it was close to three o'clock in the morning. The Immortal watched the two men leave. Oh what fools these mortal's be. No matter, because It'll see those two both soon enough. It turned to face the dead body of the man he had been following earlier, and internally debated on what form It should take. Since the man had committed crimes of great caliber throughout his lifetime, It decided to take on the well-known and well-feared form of a skeleton wearing a black robe and carrying a scythe.
The dead man opened his eyes.
He seemed a bit disoriented at first, but when he saw the skull looking out from under the hood of it's robe, seemingly staring straight into his very soul, he screamed. But the dead man was shocked into silence as he spotted his dead body lying at his very own transparent feet. The man was about to scream again, but was interrupted by the Grim Reaper.
"Hush you filthy mortal! Accept the fact that you are dead, for there is no power on earth that can reawaken you. Raphael Derek Jones, you have done many a heinous crime in your short twenty-eight years. All of which include murder, rape, and kidnapping. You should have never entered the folds of the English mafia. I give my final judgment. You, Raphael Derek Jones, are going straight to Hell, and I hope to never see your damned face again."
The Grim Reaper swung his scythe to the ground. The sharp point of his weapon cracked the gravel of the alleyway, and the ground slowly started to split apart. Orange and Red light poured from the crevices as they opened and the temperature suddenly increased drastically, almost to the point where any living being would quite possibly combust.
The man tried to run, as most do, but with a snap of the Grim Reaper's bony fingers, the man was shackled and chained. Small, black creatures with pointy horns and red eyes crawled from the openings and tugged sharply on the man's chains. The man cried out in pain.
"Take him to the Fourth Gate of Hell. I will instruct you more on his "detailed" punishment when I return from my vacation, but for now try the cat o' nine tails and give him the rack," addressed the Grim Reaper to the demons. The demons nodded their understanding and dragged the spirit of the dead man into the rift. Finding his voice, the man screamed.
"NO PLEASE NO! DON'T DO THIS TO ME! I'M INNOCENT I TELL YA! YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG GUY! NO PLEASE! HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY!"
But his pleas fell upon deaf ears as the demons dragged his struggling body into the fiery depths of Hell.
The Grim Reaper reverted back to It's natural shadowy form. Now that It was in the moonlight, It could definitely be described as a living, or well, existing shadow. The shape of the figure was tall and lean, and it appeared that it was wearing some sort of a cloak. The hood was pulled up, much like its Grim Reaper form. Although instead of a skull, the face was that of something vaguely resembling human, but one could not tell if it was male or female, but it currently resembled more of the male variety and therefore we shall refer to It as a he. His blue eyes seemed to glow with repressed power as he watched the opening to Hell close.
It, now identified as Death, or to close friends as Grim, sighed. It had been a long couple of centuries dealing with these petty mortals, and to be frank, Grim was tired and in desperate need of a vacation.
Grim reached into his sleeves, where he kept a multitude of useful items for all occasions, and pulled out his "Death List". It was a list of all the people that were going to die that day, and there was only one person left. Grim heaved a relieved sigh. One more person to go, then it was off to the office to tie up some loose ends, file away the information of his latest "victims", and then off to Hawaii.
Grim may not be particularly fond of mortals, but he did think them ingenious with their advances in technology. He planned to barricade himself in the hotel room and watch that wonderful invention, television, for the first week. Well, there was also the little problem of who was going to fill the position of Death while he was on his three-month vacation. He couldn't well have living but sort of dead zombie wandering around and decaying on people now could he?
Thinking on the problem at hand, Grim shrank back into the shadows, and traveled through them to his next appointment. He needed somebody responsible, well organized (he privately snorted at this as he was well- known for being an absolute pig), trustworthy, and someone who would not abuse the power of being Death. He finally came to the conclusion, after much thought, that Desdemona, one of the higher ranking demons and a good friend of his that he trusted beyond anyone else, could take up the scythe whilst he was away.
Grim nodded to himself, pleased that he had come up with a solution to his problem in such a short time. He re-emerged from the shadow of a large two- story house. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, as was the bushes, and the house was painted a pleasant cream color. All in all, it was a nice house. Being invisible, as he could not be seen by mortals, Grim, via shadow- travel, entered the house.
The interior of the house was just as pleasant as the exterior. Pictures of small children, parents, and grandparents adorned the walls going up the stairs. Grim glided silently to the second floor, and stopped just outside the door of one of the bedrooms. He passed through the door, as was one of his other talents, and gazed upon the sleeping figure of an old, frail looking woman. Her breathing was erratic and it looked as if she were sweating. She tossed, turned, and mumbled quite protests under her breath. Her eyes were scrunched up in pain, and it seemed that the poor woman was having a very distressing nightmare.
Grim slowly raised his hand to the woman's forehead, and immediately the woman fell into a dreamless sleep. She was old, but she was not the one that Grim had come for. He left the old woman to her rest, and went to the room right across the hall. The door had a picture tapped onto it. It seemed as if the artist was six or seven judging by the stick people family. There were five people in all. The man was labeled "Daddy" and the woman "Mommy", but the woman with gray hair was labeled "Grandma". There were two children in the picture. The little boy was labeled "Billy" and the little girl, who was slightly taller than the boy, was labeled "Emma".
Another picture above the family portrait was also tapped onto the door. In different colors, the word's "Emma's Room" was written in sloppy letters that only a child could manage. There were little hearts and flowers surrounding the words. Grim took a moment to study the pictures, and then entered Emma's room.
A night-light glowed in the far corner. There was just enough light to make out a small girl tucked safely into her bed. She had curly brown hair and small little hands and if her eyes were opened they would be a beautiful cinnamon color. She, like her grandmother, was sweating profusely and her breathing was ragged. Though this was not caused by a nightmare. No, Emma was ill, and her fever was becoming deadly. One of Grim's many talents was taking on different forms with different people. With criminals like Raphael Jones, he became the Grim Reaper because that was what that person would respond most to best. Although children were different. They responded better to soft-spoken words of reassurance and friendly, smiling faces.
Grim changed into a beautiful woman with honey colored hair and big blue eyes. Snow-white wings adorned her back, and she wore a flowing robe of pure gold. She gently settled her hand on the child's forehead.
"Child, come on now, it's time to go."
Emma's eyes fluttered open and she blinked in surprise. "Who are you?"
The angel smiled sweetly at the child's small voice. It was such a shame that one as young as this girl had to leave life so early, but it was out of her hands. She just fulfilled the orders she was given.
"I'm your guardian angel, Emma, and I'm here to take you on a little trip far away from here," replied the angel, formerly known as Grim. Emma's eyes lit up with excitement.
"Really? Oh boy! Where are we going? Are Mommy, Daddy, Granny, and Billy coming too? I never get to go on trips anymore since I got this cold 'bout two weeks ago. When do we leave?" asked the small girl. She was literally bouncing in excitement. She didn't seem to realize that her body had stopped breathing long ago, or that she was sitting in mid-air.
"Hush now child. Enough questions. No, your family isn't going to be coming, and they won't be with you for a while, but your Grandmother will join you soon. But don't you worry your pretty little head about all that, because time will just fly by. Now, have you ever heard of Heaven?" asked Grim sweetly. The girl nodded vigorously.
"Yes, that's where Mommy said Grandpa is. What's your name?" said the small girl. The angel smiled brightly and offered out her hand to Emma.
"I don't have a name. How about we go see your Grandpa, hmm? I bet he'd love to see you. What do you say? Do you want to go visit your Grandpa, Emma?" Emma nodded once again enthusiastically and took the angel's offered hand.
"But what am I going to call you?" asked Emma. The angel smiled indulgently.
"Why don't you give me a name?"
The small child's face screwed up in concentration as she thought of the perfect name for her guardian angel. She suddenly smiled a bright smile. "Can I call you Sera? My mommy said that means angel and that's why my nickname is Sera, but you can have it!"
Grim smiled sweetly at the small girl. He was always rather fond of mortal children, even if they did grow up to be idiots. The newly dubbed Sera took Emma's hand. They disappeared in a blinding flash of white light.
The next morning when Emma's mother came to wake her daughter, Mrs. Harding found her daughter unresponsive to the calling of her name. When Mrs. Harding gently shook her daughter's shoulder, she discovered that it was quite stiff, as rigor mortis had already set in. She screamed and Mr. Harding came running, along with Emma's younger brother and Grandmother. What started out as seemingly a simple cold, had turned deadly.
The funeral was next Sunday.
~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~^V^~
Grim sighed as he filed the last of his paper work away. It was now about nine o'clock on All Hallows Eve. It had taken him almost sixteen hours to finally get all of his affairs in order, file the paper work, hire someone to feed his fish, and talk Desdemona into taking over for him for a while. She had reluctantly agreed, as she wasn't all that comfortable with going around and informing people that they were, in fact, dead. But on the up side, their reactions were quite amusing at times, so she'd enjoy that.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"BLOODY HELL! DO I NEVER GET A BREAK?!?!" screamed Grim, for that was the alarm that somebody was about to die. He thought he had checked his Death List and he was going to be free tonight. Apparently he was wrong. Grim looked at the small television screen on his desk and waited for the names to come up.
Names: James Potter, Lily Potter, Harry Potter
Type: Wizard, Witch, Wizard
Location: Godric's Hollow, Scotland
Death: Murder, Murder, Murder
Murderer: Thomas Marvello Riddle Jr. aka Lord Voldemort
Grim sighed. He'd been having that problem with Lord Moldie-whatsit lately. He'd have the problem with a dark lord rising now and then, but Tommy here was getting a little too powerful for Grim's liking. The man would go off on muggle killing sprees! Not to mention killing his own damn followers! As if he didn't have enough work already! And on top of that, the bastard was trying to become immortal, and damn near achieving it too! Oh he hoped he'd get the chance to meet Goldie-whatever soon. He'd LOVE to take that guy to Hell personally.
Well, he might as well just finish this case up now. He wanted to tie up all loose ends here before he went and indulged himself in a three-month long vacation. Besides, he had the strange feeling that he was meant to go there, but he could exactly explain it. Shrugging with a sigh, Grim set off to Godric's Hollow, hoping this wouldn't take up too much of his vacation time. If the poor Immortal only knew.
AN: Yes, I know, I seem to have a multitude of unfinished stories, but hey! The idea just started typing itself. Why I picked this title? Who knows? Not like I could help it. My fingers have a mind of their own. Please, you know that your reviews mean alot to me, so please do review and tell me what you think so far!
Oh yeah, should I continue this story, or should I just delete it? Please let me know, because I think I might just trash it, but I don't want to, but I'm just not sure. What do you think?
Thanks, Siripiritus