Harry Potter And The Master Of Death
[One-Shot]
Knock Knock; Whose There? Death!
Forewarning: This is going to be a little jumpy.
With many strange eons even Death may die.
As the sands of times flowed ever onwards, the Master Of Death looked upon his many apprentices that came to bid him farewell. He simply gave them a smile as a parting gift. Like a painted canvas that was refreshed to a blank state, the Master Of Death left no trace behind as he silently disappeared to worlds beyond.
The Death Scythe - the symbol of death - floated in the air and the Apprentices Of Death waited quietly for it to choose its new lord and master. Such a thing was mostly just formality for they were all 'Master Of Deaths' in their own right and it made little difference in their line of work whether they possessed the scythe or not.
The Death Scythe moved and appeared before the most worthy Apprentice. She was an oddity amongst the court, a mortal who had ascended to this near semi-representative-conceptual state and also the youngest of them all, but the symbol chose her nonetheless.
The Apprentices acknowledged the new Master Of Death before they all departed and returned back to their duty of monitoring and policing the ways of death.
The new Master Of Death held the scythe in her hand, which almost hummed happily in hand, as she clicked her tongue.
Being the Master Of Death and the new Head Of The Court Of Death did not necessarily increase her workload - there were rarely times where high-ranking psychopomps like her would be required to interfere - but it did mean that she was now the new kid on the block and that meant that she would naturally catch the attention of those fickle higher-powers.
She sighed. Speak of the devil; someone's lackey was already looking for her.
"Congratulations on your promotion, Master Of Death," the visitor greeted, "I'll have to skip the pleasantries for now though. I'm here on the behalf of Fate with a proposition for you."
The Master Of Death narrowed her eyes. She had no clue about why Fate itself would be seeking her out, what exactly did it want from her? "I see. I suppose it isn't asking to chat with me over some biscuits and tea, is it?" she asked politely.
"Sadly, no," the visitor shook their head, "Fate wants your help with, how shall we say..., a little experiment - yes, that's it."
She quirked a brow, "And Fate chose me because...?"
"It's something that you would find very relatable," the visitor said with a pleasant smile, "The experiment, you see, is: what would happen if Harry James Potter's guardian-angel was the Master Of Death?"
October 31st, 1981 was one of the most auspicious day in Magical Britain's history with the sudden defeat of the then fearsome Lord Voldemort by the now famous Potter Family.
However, very few knew the truth of what had happened.
After all, who could have truly claimed that they knew the Grim Reaper would pay the mortal realms a very personal visit on that very day?
[...]
The Potters didn't know what had happened. One moment they were playing cheerfully with their baby boy and the next they knew the Dark Lord had burst into their home with the Killing Curse at the tip of his wand.
James Potter reacted instantly as his Auror training kicked in while his wife retreated to safety. His eyes homed onto the Dark Lord's wand and he ducked to dodge the green light that zoomed pass him and blew a hole in the wall.
A reflexive flick of his wrist and his wand zipped into his hand, "Stupefy!" Voldemort simply side-stepped the stunning charm and casually released another killing curse at his opponent's prone position. James was already in motion as he rolled out of the way behind an armchair. He didn't bother aiming, merely pointing his wand where he had last Voldemort seen and where that bastard could possibly move to next, "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
None of those red-bolts managed to touch the Dark Lord. With practiced ease, he easily caught a coming bolt with the tip of his wand before he flung it away from himself. Voldemort leveled his wand back to the couch, "Avada Kedavra!"
The spell impacted the furniture and destroyed it beyond recognition as James Potter found himself furiously tumbling before the back of his head hit the sturdy wall.
Voldemort had his wand tracked to Jame's movement, the Killing Curse was at the gleeful tip of his tongue but the Dark Lord restrained himself from firing the spell. He stilled himself as he waited for the moment that this poor father would twist his neck - his face morphing with grim fear and despair - as he realized that his imminent demise was at hand.
Jame's blurry eyes had only a moment to refocus themselves. He was at wand-point, staring at Voldemort's darkly cloaked figure, eyes glinting a morbid red, and the moment felt like it had lasted an eternity. He didn't even get a chance to shudder.
"Avada Kedav-ARGH!"
Voldemort suddenly felt someone pulling down on his cloak and then tossed away onto the floor like some sort of discarded ragdoll, which both threw off his aim and messed up his killing curse - though no less potent as the spell destroyed a portion of the wall near the ceiling. The Dark Lord fluidly pushed himself off the ground and snapped his wand toward the intruder who was now helping James Potter to his feet.
The intruder was dressed in all black - a black so solidly and perfectly dark that movement was impossible to discern, it was as if the figure was a silhouette given life - with a hood masking their feature. The only thing noticeable about the intruder was their burning eyes - those avada-kedavra-green that illuminated the sheer black darkness.
He wasn't sure how the intruder had managed to elude him until now but this was not the time to ponder such questions; the Potters were being rescued. He would need to finish this up quickly before more of those Order fools got in his way - especially that accursed Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort sent the curse to the intruder and then flicked his wand to Potter. However, the second killing cursed died on the Dark Lord's tongue. The last thing he heard was a feminine voice taunting him. "Catch!" A green light flashed before Voldemort's eyes, a brief scream of anguish erupted from his lungs as he felt his soul being torn apart and destroyed. Were it not for a certain dark ritual Voldemort would have been completely obliterated, as it was the Killing Curse was reversed and destroyed his flesh-and-blood instead while his corrupted but immortal soul was forcibly ripped out of it.
The Dark Lord imploded and a green flash filled every corner of the previously warm-hued living room.
James Potter could only blankly gape as his savior spoke.
"Hello, Mister Potter, I would like to talk to you about some living arrangements. You may want to take a seat."
[...]
"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered to his rather unique guest as a way to break the ice. He received a polite "No thank you" and the old wizard merely nodded his head at the refusal. Clasping his hands together, Albus Dumbledore wasn't entirely sure what to make of his guest - the one who had saved the Potters and apparently the Longbottoms as well.
She was a young woman, appearing somewhere within her early twenties, with messy black hair framing her face and tied into a very long and flowing pony-tail. She looked normal enough - in fact, Albus noted, she bore some resemblance to Lily Evans Potter - but there was an inhuman quality to her, mostly attributed to her shadowy attire and piercing green eyes that seemed to gaze upon one's soul - which was more than likely true.
There seemed to be an oddly nostalgic twinkling behind her smile and eyes; how curiously strange.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Well, Miss Reaper, to what pleasure do I owe you this visit? While I am certainly thankful that you have saved the life of good people by ending the threat of a dark wizard, I must admit that I do not recall doing anything that would draw the attention of Death."
"Don't worry, this isn't a personal courtesy call for you or anything. I am on business here but not on behalf of Death," she smiled at him.
Albus chose his words carefully, "My apologies, Miss Reaper, but it was to my understanding that psychopomps would be working for Death?"
"That's true but some times there are others who will request our services."
"And, if I may ask, if it is not for Death that you are currently on business here, then what other or others would that be?"
Her eyelids dropped slightly as she stared at him with inquisitive eyes, "Who else?" she responded cheekily, "There's a little experiment that is happening here and I was chosen to be a part of it." Dumbledore waited for her to continue. "It's Fate, I am here to give a little helping hand to one of Fate's champion-of-interest."
"Fate?" the old wizard asked intrigued.
"Quite. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...'; As you've heard, Fate has made its mark on Voldemort and Harry Potter - for what reason, I don't know." She paused briefly, "To clarify, I am here on behalf of Fate but I'm not to interfere with the prophecy."
Albus frowned, "...If that is so... then the Dark Lord is still alive, is he not?"
She nodded, "Unfortunately that is the case; killed but not dead. Which actually brings us to the point of my visit with you."
The reaper leaned forward from her seat, her hand gripped the edge of his desk, "Harry Potter is mine," she declared almost in a hiss with those burning green eyes that he could not turn away from, "I would like you to keep your influences and machinations on him to a minimal, better yet, simply keep it to yourself," the very air itself seemed to rot all around her as the desk began to - for a lack of better description - decay, "I don't like being cheated, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do I make myself clear?" even the immortal phoenix perched nearby was trembling and squawking in primal fear.
Dumbledore numbly nodded his head, "Very, Miss Reaper."
The tense atmosphere simply melted away in an instant.
"Good," she pulled up her hood, "May you live a long life and die a peaceful death, Headmaster."
And with those parting words, she vanished from his office.
[...]
Harry James Potter had one of the most eccentric aunt ever, since the woman often insisted on being called 'Reaper' - which people seemed to oblige - and dressed somewhat like an ordinary muggle - she didn't wear the usual robes and cloak but a hooded long-jacket instead to say the least, but Auntie Reaper was his favorite aunt nonetheless.
She didn't quite spoil him but she wasn't harsh either. She had an amazing amount of stories to tell and was even teaching him - or, well, trying to - to do wandless magic amongst other things. Really, the two of them spent a lot of time together, though Harry's parent didn't seem to entirely approve of it.
Today they weren't doing anything terribly important. The weather was great with its warm sun and gentle breezes, so - naturally - sunbathing was in order. Harry laid peacefully on the grass while his aunt was laying lazily on the blade of floating scythe as though it was a bungalow.
'Wicked,' thought young Harry to himself, 'I'm gonna to learn to sleep like that one day.' There were even practical applications to it, for example: being able to free up both hands for Quidditch. Oh, how Harry loved playing Quidditch, granted he hadn't been able to beat his aunt yet but he was getting better. She had a wide assortment of spells, though she seemed to focus more on teaching him defensive spells than anything else.
Harry yawned, his eleventh birthday was coming up soon and Auntie Reaper said she had something important to tell him - it had something to do with the previous Dark Lord, if he recalled correctly. 'Wonder what it is...?' The young boy soon quietly drifted off to sleep without a care in the world.
The Master Of Death slowly opened her eyes as she stared directly into the sun with a soft pondering expression. Was it wrong for her to have a small investment in this experiment? Her feet soundlessly touched the ground and she dropped onto her knees to brush aside the stray locks of hair away from Harry's forehead.
Spotless.
She smiled. She had long come to terms with her past, choices were made and consequences were had, if she were to be given another chance to redo the past all over then she wouldn't change a thing. However, this boy was different. Harry's future was yet to be decided but it was coming and as his guardian-angel the Master Of Death would properly prepare him for it. The boy would have to go through many trials that would test him but she didn't want him to suffer through it.
The Master Of Death picked up Harry Potter and gently cradle him in her arms.
Was it wrong for her to be a little invested in this experiment?
She didn't think so.
Author Notes
Thanks for reading this one-shot!
A story as written by someone who hasn't read Harry Potter beyond fanfics! What could possibly go wrong? Hah, I'm just kidding, this is a one-shot so there's no problem at all.
So, yep, the basic premise of this story is "what would happen if Harry James Potter's guardian-angel was the Master Of Death?" which in this case is Fem!Harry. Well, I would imagine a more confident Harry Potter, who can do some wandless magic (Stupefy at least), and a lot of dueling experience; not all-powerful but certainly an above-average head-start.
In an unrelated note, I had another idea for Harry Potter: a young Harry, due to his abuse from the Dursleys, split his mind into seven pieces (ala Seven Deadly Sins, which makes him a natural Occlumen) to cope with his situation. Naturally, Harry is a bit emotionless because he threw most of his greater emotions into the Seven-Pieces, so the story would involve Harry slowly accepting his emotions again and becoming human once more. Oh, and Harry can do wandless magic related to his Seven-Pieces, there's that too... Probably won't be writing this one-shot.
If anyone wants to adopt (or do whatever) to this idea, then please feel free to do so.