From the POV of the warlock's bride in The Warlock's Hairy Heart by JK Rowling, you can find it here if you haven't already read it- d2. . /files/201405/%E6%B2%AA%E6%B1%9F%E8%82%B2%E5%84%BF%E7%BD%91_J.K._Rowling_-_The_Tales_of_Beedle_the_Bard_20140530113631475_ ?_upd=true

This is a Kuroshitsuji-Harry Potter crossover (are there any others?). I don't own Kuroshitsuji or Harry Potter (but I hate being reminded of it), character copyrights except Michael go to Yana Toboso and JK Rowling.

The carriage rolled into my hometown, and a cold breeze caused me to shiver. The town had not changed much; the same thatched cottages, livestock, the same people, the same weather. I yawned and stretched lazily to prevent myself from nodding off.

"Oi, pretty lady!"

This was going to be a LONG week.

I frowned at the source of the voice (a big, welcome-home smile and striking chartreuse eyes I hadn't seen in months). "Haven't changed much, have you, Michael?" I half-sneered, too tired to be snarky.

"Pretty hard to, stuck here. And aren't you the one who's been around the world and back, or am I burdened with the title of Too Above It All to Be There now?"

"Sassy as always. Watch that -ah- tongue of yours, young man." I mock-scolded, giving in and shoving my luggage at his outstretched arms.

"So, how's the job?" I asked. To any eavesdropper, it would seem like I was just casually asking my brother about himself...

One thing you should know- I never make small talk.

So what was this, you ask? See, my brother's a Grim Reaper. Being the village idiot is just his cover (and hobby). He's actually around because he's been banned from crowded areas (he's a bit clumsy with his Death Scythe) and now he handles only the region we belong to- stick-in-the-mud, boring places like this.

He half-laughed. "How's the job, she asks. Funny, that." I raised an eyebrow, but the bastard just held a finger to his lips and smiled mysteriously. "Come now. You know I'm not allowed to tell you..."

"Oh, of course not, now that I'm interested. Git."

The pause after his laughter ended stretched on and on, until-

"It has something to do with you, but that's all I'm going to say. Nothing very good, either."

#

As I'm getting ready for my wedding, I wonder casually if the warlock, er, my fiancé (it feels so strange calling him that) is going to die. Was that what Michael was on about? Not, of course, that it matters. I'll have his money and his castle to do what I like with. I don't love him; he can't be loved, or love. He refuses to.

My life as a trophy wife begins in an hour.

#

"'Nothing very good', Michael?"I ask him as he pulls my Cinematic Record out of me (not that any of it is news to him).

"Well, do you call this good, sis?"

"Sod off."

"Oh, I will, soon."

His eyes suddenly cloud over and he looks broken for a minute.

"I'll miss you." I whisper simultaneously with him.

Slightly cheesy, innit? Anywaaaaaay, if you want more Grim Reaper fanfics, PM me. If it's anything involving Grell, I will love you forever and ever and ever and collect your Cinematic Records personally. Lots of love, the Sequitur.