I have math finals in about two hours but guess what I'm doing? Writing a fic

Chapter 1: Interregnum

Harry was sitting on the couch when he felt the temperature drop several degrees. He bolted up, eyes wild.

"Who are you," he said, his wand pointed toward the intruder.

The figure was cloaked in a dark veil, the hood pulled up to draw shadows across nothing. It was gray and ragged at the hem, but strangely it seemed to regain intensity as it turned dark around skeletal hands. Death stared back, impassive, and slowly its head bowed as Harry could feel its thrum of power.

"Master, I return to thee."

Harry apparated.

Once upon a time, the world nearly ended as the dark lord Voldemort rose to power. There was a brief period of time when Harry had first remembered the tale of Death and the three brothers and feared, for just a moment, that he would become its Master. He had convinced himself that surely it wasn't true; after all, he had gathered them once upon a time, and behold! Nothing had appeared. However, after rounding up the remaining wizards in hiding (Death Eaters, he scoffed, he wished they could eat Death), the thing in question finally made its appearance. He did check in at the Ministry of Magic a couple of days later and reported his sudden absence.

Eventually, he had reason to come up with an explanation for it. They accepted the note he had given to them.

"Activity has been low recently," Angus chuckled as Harry passed his respective documents toward him. "I don't blame you for wanting a break. You deserve it the most."

"Thanks," Harry said tiredly, carefully removing his glasses before running a hand over his face. "It's...been a bit hectic." His eyes glanced around for any sign of the tattered cloak before apparating out, to Angus' confusion.

He would make up for it later.

After the Second Wizarding War, Harry had removed himself from the magical community with determination. Some, like Dippet, had urged him to return ("You're a hero, Harry! You saved the wizarding world, they need you out there!") and some, like Hermione, had respected his need for privacy. He had seen too much to be particularly keen on people anymore. He would save that for someone else to deal with.

He wrote the runes into the palm of his hand, tracing over the lines of his skin. His lips pursed, feeling frustration.

He had tried to chuck the wand into a nearby river and hope for the best. However, the next day, it had appeared on his bedside table, handle pointing towards him as if waiting for Harry to pick it up. He had promptly stood, picked up his well-worn jacket, and left the room to scream in his kitchen for several minutes.

The stone hadn't turned out any better. Once he buried it using all the curses and hexes he could think of, leaving it six feet underground inside a velvet pouch, locked and chained with an iron key, he had turned and found it right at his feet, dragging everything along with it in a pile of dirt and overgrown roots. He walked past it, hoping it would stay behind, but in the end it had magically appeared wherever he looked until he was staring at it on top of his pillow, pristine and unharmed.

"What the fuck," he said.

He had no desire to showcase his problems to the press or to Hermione, who would likely blow a fit for even having them. Which he couldn't help, could he? They haunted his nightmares, would not stay without him, and most importantly, were utter nuisances to his everyday life.

Merlin, he just wanted a quiet sleep.

He saw Death for the second time on his living room sofa, calmly awaiting Harry's presence. He was one foot away from turning on his heel and leaving the house for good when he stopped himself, sighed, and sat down opposite the cloaked being with a silver scythe hanging over their heads.

"Greetings," Death spoke, and Harry wanted to curl up and die. "I am glad you have accepted your fate at this point in time."

"Get out of my house, mate," Harry replied. Death chuckled.

"Many would kill to be in your position. Some already have."

"Well, not me. I want to be able to drink tea and watch the television without having a thing that looks like a bloody Dementor in my home."

Death raised its hood slightly, but still there was nothing but an inky blackness where its face should be. "Well, we cannot have everything, Master."

"Don't-" Harry shivered, repulsed. "Don't call me that."

"Of course, Harry."

"So," the supposed 'Master of Death' said as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and pulling them up so his feet wouldn't wither from the cold. "What are you even doing here?"

"Awaiting your orders."

"I have no orders to give you."

Death let out a breath that should not even have been a breath, and its tattered robes hovered and swayed with the movement. "Harry, I am Death, Destroyer of worlds, evil incarnate. You must have some sort of regret in your past life that you wish to bring forward. You have the power to do anything."

"I want the power to make myself a cup of tea without moving from this spot."

Slowly, the teacup hanging off the drying rack rose face-up, levitating over to the person in question as hot water filled to the brim. A teabag was placed in with a quiet plunk, the steam rising as its aroma hit Harry's senses pleasantly.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Of course, Master."

Harry promptly put down his cup and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, jeez, this is gonna take a while."

This was pretty short. Thank you for reading! I hope it was alright.

I probably won't continue any of these small prompts, but if you'd like longer ones then feel free to ask! I might pick up some of them again. Bye!