House: Slytherin
Year: 5
Category: Short
Prompt: Godric's Hollow
Word Count: 1715
The Death is fair,
The Death is kind,
The Death spares no life.
The amount of lies and truth stuffed into the old rhyme his mother recited to him as a child never ceased to amaze Ignotus Peverell. He knew first hand the Death was not kind, nor fair - the Death was cunning, slippery, and unfeeling.
But even before he consciously met the entity, he had seen It at work - on the day when he and his brothers had to flee their home of Godric's Hollow.
The sun was only peeking from behind the thick, white clouds lazily dragging themselves across the sky, which was a relief for young Ignotus. As the youngest, he was deemed the weakest, and relegated to the messenger duties and helping his mother in the kitchen. Fun job in theory, but in reality it involved running a mile up and down the uneven path in the fields, carrying pots of stew and flasks of water for his brothers Antioch and Cadmus, several times a day.
The three brothers had never known their father - their mother refused to speak of him, and the village of Godric's Hollow also kept their mouths shut. Ignotus always found that bit intriguing, but Antioch and Cadmus did not seem interested.
"Let the bastard stay gone," was what Cadmus had to say on the subject, his lips twisting into a sneer. "He had left our mother with three children and nothing but her magic to help her survive, which she couldn't use much of. We don't need him, Fire-bug."
"He'd better not ever come back," Antioch agreed, eyes alight in anger. "Because he might not leave this place alive, I swear to heaven!"
Ignotus understood his brothers' anger and dismissal of the man - he would dearly love to hex the man black and blue as well, and he was only ten! - but it did not remove the intrigue he had for his identity. Who was he? What was his name? And, most importantly, why did no one speak of him? Not even the vaunted village rumor mill had a name for Ignotus to work with, which was an enormous surprise. Those old hags knew everything, and by the gods did they enjoy hanging it over everyone's heads.
So why weren't they hanging that over Ignotus' and his family's heads?
Today, he had sworn to himself, he was going to find out, everyone's opinions be damned. He just needed to lug off the pot of stew for Antioch and Cadmus into the field before the sun came into full blaze over his head.
"Tio! Cam!" Ignotus called into the fields, looking for the silhouettes of his two brothers.
"Over here, Fire-bug!" Cadmus called from the other side of the field, looking like a tiny stick figure with his arm raised.
"Finally!" Antioch grumbled, putting to rest his scythe and leaning on it as Ignotus approached them with the pot. "I could eat a horse."
"Please don't, mother will be unhappy," Cadmus laughed. "Her stew is better than any meat."
"True," Antioch nodded and took the pot from Ignotus. "Thank you, little brother."
"No problem," Ignotus nodded, spying a figure in the distance. "Who's that?"
The other two whirled around, spotting the same figure watching them from the distance, right at the edge of Godric's Hollow. It was dressed completely in black, the only discernible feature being long, messy black hair that fell into the figure's pale face.
"I don't know," Cadmus murmured, with interested gleam in his pale grey eyes. "Antioch?"
"Unfamiliar," Antioch agreed with his younger brother. However, unlike Cadmus, he looked unhappy with the fact. "What is he doing here?"
"I'll go and check," Ignotus offered, heart beating in his throat. Finally, a mystery he could quickly solve! "Mother will be expecting me soon, anyway."
"Be careful, Fire-bug," Cadmus warned him, laying a hand on Ignotus' shoulder. "If he feels dangerous, don't approach and go find mother."
"I promise," Ignotus chirped and took off like a wind, kicking up small clouds of dust as he ran through the fields.
The childish wonder, however, was soon replaced by unease. The closer Ignotus got to the figure - the man, really - the more uneasy he felt. Something about the man was simply not right. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what set him off - his clothes, his paleness, or the overall lack of emotion on the man's face - but Ignotus Peverell was no fool. His mother followed the old ways, teaching her children of the myriad of pantheons and gods still walking the Earth, and the stories she had told them were enough to give younger Ignotus nightmares for weeks.
This man had had all the hallmarks of a deity, and Ignotus did not want to draw attention to himself. Terrible things happened to mortals who caught the eye of the gods.
"Come here, young one."
The man spotted him anyway.
"Come closer," the hand motioned for Ignotus to come closer. "Watch. Learn."
Ignotus gulped, and walked up to the unnamed deity. He could've refused, in retrospect, but at the time he was too scared of getting vaporized or cursed by the immortal.
"Come closer," the man repeated. "I will not harm a child of my dearest friend."
"You know my father, milord?" Ignotus managed to stutter out, and the man chuckled darkly.
"As I said, young one, he is my dearest friend. A companion and a helper, even though he is formally under my rulership." Here, the man inspected Ignotus, an approval shining in his eyes. "Out of all three of you, you bear the closest resemblance to him. I hope you have inherited his wisdom, as well."
Ignotus shivered, digesting the information the man dumped on him.
"My father… is an immortal as well, milord?"
"Sharp," the man nodded. "Yes, he is. I presume you have no fond feelings for him." He sighed, eyes drooping. "Your father is a very busy man - it's a wonder he managed to spend any time with your mother and your brothers. I pray you do not judge him too harshly when you finally meet him. Now, look."
The man pointed north, in the direction of the Godric's Hollow, and Ignotus barely stifled his scream.
The small, picturesque village was on fire, the cacophony of sounds of dying and fleeing finally reaching Ignotus' ears. The carnage spared no one and nothing: everything was burning, from houses and the small church to people and animals. Squeals of pigs and whinnying of horses trapped in the barns, screams and crying of the humans and delighted cackles of the mounted knights as they spread the fire along made Ignotus sick to the stomach.
"Mother!" he screamed, moving to run to the village, but was stopped by the man's heavy hand.
"You are far too late to worry about the living, boy," the man snapped. "Look! Look carefully!"
It took the young mortal a few moments to realise this horrifying scene was not what the god was trying to point out. It was…
"Death," Ignotus whispered, the knowledge coming unbidden.
There was no other name that the being Ignotus was seeing could bear. Its black wings were outstretched, covering the sky above the entire village, the flowing, ephemeral clothes acting on their own and collecting people from the fire while the being held children near Its chest and allowed them to climb all over Them.
The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time, and Ignotus was reminded of the angels from his mother's tales: terrifyingly beautiful.
"Yes," the man cocked his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "My old friend Death. Does he look frightening to you?"
"A bit," Ignotus admitted, eyes glued to the being. "But not really."
"Wise," the man nodded. "Death is not the one you should fear. He may sneak around, coming at the most inopportune of times for mortals, but the true terror of the afterlife lies with the Judge of the Dead. Death is simply a messenger - a bridge between this plane of existence and the other. In that, he is most kind and fair."
"You keep saying 'he', milord," Ignotus murmured. "Does Death have gender?"
"Yes and no," the man shook his head. "The Death itself is genderless. Its aspects, however, have gender, and the aspect I call my dearest friend is a man - your father, coincidentally."
Ignotus felt another wave of sickness overcome him.
"Is that -"
"No," the man chuckled. "Britannia is a bit out of Letum' reach at the moment. What you are seeing is the Death, and not one of the aspects. An impressive feat, young one: most would crumble at the sight. Now, I have to go - the Underworld won't run itself, despite what my baby brother thinks."
He turned to leave.
"Wait! Milord!" Ignotus called after the god. "Do all dead go to a same place?"
"Ah, young one," the man laughed. "The inter-pantheon relationships can be quite complicated, and we are not allowed to discuss them. Rest assured, godling, you will meet your mother in the afterlife. Now run, little one, and fetch your brothers: find yourselves a new home."
It felt amazing to return to the village after all those years, see everything so different yet identical to his hazy memories, and spend so many years there raising his own children.
The only thing missing, however, was the presence of his older brothers in his life.
"Hello, Ignotus," a cultured voice spoke, and the elderly Ignotus turned to the speaker.
"Father," the last Peverell brother bowed his head. "I suppose my time has come?"
The bewinged god, the carbon copy of Ignotus' younger appearance, simply outstretched his hand, not saying a word.
"What about the Cloak?" Ignotus wanted to know.
"It would be highly inappropriate to take away the freely given gift," Letum, or Mors as he was also known, chuckled, and motioned for Ignotus to come closer. It was an eerie echo of the same motion the god from Ignotus' memories. "Besides, out of the three gifts, yours is the only one Death did not curse. I have nothing against it remaining in your family."
Ignotus nodded and took his father's hand. "Let us not keep Lord Pluto waiting."
"Let us not," the god of Death agreed.