Harry Potter does not belong to me and this story has homosexual relations, if you do not like it, do not read it.
English is not my first language, so in person your patience and if you want to help me to correct my mistakes, I would be grateful.
It had many different names and faces, attributed to it in different times, cultures and mortal regions. She was Hela, Morrigan, Supay, Giltine ... All with so many different characteristics and histories, and in a way, all representing their greatest personification and meaning: Death, the end of life, the rest of souls and deity responsible for crossing the veil.
It was a wearisome existence, wandering through the mortal plane and approaching those chosen, since, unlike what many assumed, it did not have to rotate the world every few seconds and drag the souls of those who left. No, their existence was enough for common souls to learn their way, indulging in what they called "light." In more specific cases, some clever souls tried to resist their end, usually being pulled by one of their reapers or becoming a famous "ghost" - things annoying them, fleeing like mice at the snake's sight.
But there were also those extreme cases, cases that needed their own presence and execution: the crossing of the souls of those called immortals.
In fact, it was not every day that an immortal soul was destined to cross the veil, being an almost miserable number of beings possessing such a title, for the most part consisting of vampires and some other variations of magical creatures. But that day, Death was waiting for a very special soul, the soul of a magical human - or magician, the term they preferred. The man had surrendered hundreds of souls throughout his existence, causing the chaos and disorder wherever he passed. The deity might even have sympathized with him, were it not for the abominations that man had made with his own soul, mutilating it into innumerable pieces, all for his quest for damn immortality. Now it was left for Death to drag the main piece of the soul and then to hunt the rest in the know where they were hiding.
That was why she was present on the night of October 31, 1981, notified by Destiny herself that this soul would leave in a few hours, all that remained was to patiently watch the events. Preparing for his beautiful entrance, Morte decided to use one of his most iconic personifications of the time: a thin, slender being with a long black cloak concealing most of his body without skin, exposing only his cadaverous face and empty eyeballs , watching a small family of wizards gathered in their living room, facing their fireplace that crackled with soothing embers.
The patriarch of the family, with more hair stuck than a hedgehog, lightly swayed his wand, creating little colored bubbles to entertain his little child of a few months old, who laughed silly every time he could burst one of the small spheres, being held by his hands careful of his mother with red hair, who encouraged him to try to reach the bubbles that floated further, making the little baby exercise their fat legs.
Anyone observing from the outside could erroneously conclude that this was a common part of the family. But watching the countless powerful wings of security that surrounded the house, the constant exchange of glances and tense shoulders of the grown-up couple, the smarter would soon realize, that this family was more than just spending a quiet night in their living room , but they were in fact trapped inside their own house, hiding from none other than the lucky soul bearer that Death was there to carry.
And talking about him ...
"Someone raped the wings ..." The red-haired mortal whispered, his eyes wide. Taking time just to hold his son closer to his chest and grab his wand.
The front door jumped from its hinges with an intense explosion of magical energy, throwing it far inside the residence and revealing the shadowy figure that walked into the room, wearing a cloak similar to that of the present deity, with fewer holes and years the mantle covered almost the entire body of the figure, who, with the help of a darkening charm, exhibited only his long wand and scarlet eyes that shone in madness.
"Lily! Get Harry! Go up!" Shouted the patriarch, standing in front of the hooded figure as his wife fired upstairs. The rest of the bells ran fast. With a small exchange of offensive spells, the haired man knew there was no chance for himself, forcing his magic to reinforce the vitality of his body as he swerved from spell to spell. He had gained as much time as he could, feeling his body relinquish fatigue and being unable to sidestep the green curse that silently fired from his rival wand, hitting him sharply in the chest. He fell soft on the floor, like a puppet who lost his ropes.
The hooded magician passed unconcernedly through the corpse, climbing like stairs without a press. Death followed him closely, making sure to hide his presence, letting Destiny do his job and end a life of that simpler mortal, sending his soul to access.
The scarlet-eyed wizard soon arrived at the nursery, initiating a pathetic dialogue on piety. Death did not really pay attention, too surprised as super runes that seemed to extend all over the floor of the room, passing beneath the engines and carpets. For millennia she did not observe this present writing no mortal world, which apparently extinguished according to evolutionary societies, but the deity seems to be wrong. And reading exactly what those runes meant, she can not contain a manic smile.
A deity to awaken from her ramblings by the green curse that lit every room, sending that as runes they began a work as a mortal woman's soul abandoned her body. Death watched with fascination the ancient magic moving across the floor, concentrating on the small wooden cradle that now resided the last and youngest member of the small magic family. The curse was fired once more, aiming at the little baby with dark hair, but just as his skin, to reflect back to his launcher, he let out a huge cry of pain and frustration, unable to do everything his body fell in ashes, leaving behind a small black soul and smoke.
The smile is once again, watching how a small soul had been seen in his presence, contracting in intimidation. It was possible to see small scarlet flashes desperately seeking an exit.
Suddenly, a strange surgical sound within the confines of the room, attracting attention of the two non-physical beings present. It was a voice, small and devious, babbling in an almost mute tone that, not the silence that circulated the whole house, could be as easily as the shouts of a howler.
"Skeleton". A voice repeated, coming out of no one else than the little magical baby, watching Death with her huge, curious eyes.
The deity, perplexed, involuntarily approaches the cradle, watching as the child's eyes follow it without any problem. Death began to notice better in his features, with rebellious make-ups like his father and his incredibly white skin, but what stood out in his huge eyes - that reminded Death of the curse that had killed all the parents of the baby - eyes that , for such a young child, are incredibly intelligent.
"That's not right to be possible." The deity reflected, extending his request, his children, a sharp child quickly, grasping his long bony fingers and laughing cheerfully through the contact. "You certainly are a strange child."
Even intrigued, Death still has a job to do, turning around to face a fucking smoky soul, a frustrated growl escaped her nonexistent throat. The soul is gone.
"Thank you for the distraction." The deity said, turning back to little child.
"Is nothing". The baby replied to his dismay, still a little distracted with his fingers, he did not see when a face beneath the hood assumed something very close to a careful one.
Feeling a closeness to a human soul, Death fit made the baby loosen his fingers, hoarding a little of his own mother and magic in the child. "Let's settle this later." He spoke, disappearing in a matter of seconds, with a memory of the intelligent childlike eyes haunting his memories.
