Tentative title: Living in the Shadow of Death


Death wasn't a sociable sort. Lady Fate and Mistress Time both knew this, but they kept him company regardless. Both of their jobs were connected to his in some way, after all. Time passed and Death claimed and Fate Saw it all. They were a trio, much as Death disliked having anything but the Hallows to his name.

It was perhaps because of this camaraderie that Death was nearby when Lady Fate took notice of one very specific child. The fact that, at the same time, Death felt him survive a direct Killing Curse certainly helped.

"Interesting," Lady Fate mused, watching through the suddenly transparent floor as the Dark Lord Voldemort screamed and exploded into ash. Death felt the sting of that too, and annoyance once it was clear who had just not died.

"Little cockroach," he grumbled, his attention split six ways as he mentally trailed after the wizard's shattered spirit. Horcruxes would forever have his ire.

Death turned away from Voldemort with a shake of his head, glancing instead at the scene below them. The baby, who he knew to be Harry Potter now that the boy had come into such close contact with him, shrieked as the shard of alien soul forced itself into the new scar on his head. Death yearned to interfere, to stop the process and finally claim a piece of the cockroach's soul, but he knew he couldn't. He could only grab them when they were unchained from the mortal plane, something that possibly might never happen to the Dark wizard.

"Very interesting," Fate repeated and Death finally turned to her. She was watching the baby with the most peculiar glint in her eyes, head tilted so that her long, silvery blond hair, fell over her shoulder and covered part of her face. Her fingers danced over her shimmering gown, the fabric glinting with color as scenes shifted under her hands. But it was her eyes that held his attention; that, and her words.

"What's interesting besides him evading me?" Death inquired, leaning back in his chair. Lady Fate looked at him with amusement clear on her face.

"There is a prophecy about the little one," she murmured, tracing a long finger along her knee, "and something... unable to be recorded, yet set in stone."

On her knee, her dress gained a solid black symbol and Death sucked in a startled breath. His own symbol, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, stared back at him.

"He's–" the being started, then stopped with a shake of his head. Of course he was. Death could already feel, now that he was looking for it, the ownership of his cloak transfer to the child. His wand would come to him eventually – to survive the Killing Curse, no matter how much ritual magic or how many flukes one threw into the equation, still made for an incredibly powerful wizard. The stone would find him, drawn to him like a moth after all the death the baby had already seen. Barely fifteen months, and already three had died near him. The stone may not be sentient, but it would be able to feel that, and influence things enough to make its way into little Harry's hands.

"We will watch him," Lady Fate nodded, smile lighting her face. Death just nodded along. They certainly would.

Prologue End–


Chapter One Begin–

Dudley was chasing him again.

Six year old Harry panted as he pelted across the yard, scrambling for the tree uncle Vernon was close to cutting down. Harry didn't truly know why, and Dudley had pitched a fit over it, since his swing (that he never used but it was his, so of course he would get upset) was hung from a branch. The branch always creaked, even when Harry sat on it that one time, and the smaller boy thought Vernon wanted the tree gone so Dudley didn't get hurt. It was only a guess, but Harry was good at guessing motives. He had to be with his relatives.

Dudley was 'Harry Hunting' at the moment, though, and the only place Harry could think of to escape him was that tree, since he wasn't allowed back inside yet. If he could get up high enough, Dudley couldn't reach him. So the boy wouldn't be able to grab his ankle and yank him back to the ground, possibly twisting or breaking the bone in the process.

Harry risked a glance behind him once he'd reached the trunk of the tree and saw Dudley waddling towards him, breathing much heavier than Harry was. Good.

Harry couldn't resist raising a mocking eyebrow towards the boy, but flinched when Dudley growled at him, speeding up in his approach. Harry panicked, latching onto the swing and using it and a nook in the tree to push himself up until he could grab the branch the swing was tied to. It groaned quietly, but held, and Harry clung to it like a sloth, watching Dudley make pointless swipes at him, shouting in his still high voice.

Harry couldn't help but wonder: if Dudley, only just six years old, was this vicious, what would he be like when he grew up? Harry shuddered at the thought and prayed he'd be long gone by then.

Eventually, Dudley grew bored and, with a huff, disappeared back into the house. Harry heard him call out for supper, and Harry realized with a jolt just how late it was. His stomach growled at him, but Harry ignored it with long practiced ease. It wasn't the most important thing right now, especially since he was banned from the house until late that night.

What was important, now that the threat of Dudley was gone, was getting down.

Harry started to shimmy backwards, towards the trunk of the tree, but his luck didn't hold out this time.

The branch he clung to creaked, louder than any time before, and bent downwards. Harry froze and then panicked, clutching tighter to the wood even as he searched for a way down without looking at how far the ground was from him. He tried again to make for the trunk, but the branch shuddered, slipping further and then–

It splintered with a great crack, plunging to the ground. Harry swallowed a scream, hitting the ground with his shoulder, his head bouncing with a muffled crack. The last thing he was aware of before he fell unconscious was a jarring pain over his entire body.

Then all he knew was darkness.


It wasn't really a death, the being in question mused, but it was close enough that he felt it, deep in his bones. He'd deny to Lady Fate that he'd panicked, running from their realm like a madman the moment it registered. Because, while the boy wasn't his yet, he would be and Death couldn't have him leaving that world just yet. Mistress Time had told him, with mirth, that the boy would survive and that he still had many years to his name. Death chose to ignore that when he felt the boy brush against his domain for the second time in five years.

He'd also deny the protective streak he seemed to be developing concerning the boy. He hadn't felt his non-existent heart stop when the boy's fall registered; he definitely hadn't felt his lungs close up on him, nor had he felt like the world had fallen out from under him. Honestly, what gave anyone those ideas?

Death ignored Lady Fate's chiming laugh and sent her a scowl before he turned away and vanished from their realm, a concerned frown unconsciously finding it's way onto his face.


Death found him in the Dursley's back garden, laying on the grass underneath the only sturdy tree, staring somewhat blankly at the sky. A branch lay next to the boy, the thicker end broken and jagged. It was morning now, or close enough to it that the sky was lightening. Harry'd woken from his oblivion only moments ago, and the only movement he'd made was to roll onto his back. After that, he'd let his body go numb to ignore the pain.

Death sighed lightly, making no sound, and strode forward.

Harry caught the movement and tilted his head slightly, slight enough that no pain sparked, looking towards the man approaching him. He was tall. Harry could see that, though the man of course looked much taller since Harry was laying down. As soon as he thought it, Harry pushed himself to his feet, surprisingly less sore, and managed to stand still when the man looked at him. He had nice eyes, Harry thought, trying not to stare too long. They were a similar green to his own, but lighter, clearer. They could be scary too, the boy realized with a shiver, recalling his most common nightmare and the flash of light that perfectly matched this mans eyes.

The man had reached him by now and was staring down at him with a blank face. Harry fidgeted, eyes lowering to the mans shoulder. He was dressed oddly, too. Everything was dark, much more of a true black then anything the Dursley's owned. It looked like nice material, for all that Harry couldn't tell what it was. It was thicker than silk, but shone like it and looked as smooth. It wasn't grainy like leather and wasn't denim, but Harry didn't know what else those trousers could be made of. His shoes were probably leather, though. He was almost sure of that.

Harry wasn't supposed to speak, not to anyone let alone strangers, but he couldn't stop himself. "Who are you?" he blurted, then flinched, scrunching into himself. But the man made no move to hit him, only watching his reaction with a sort of sadness in his eyes. Harry forced himself to relax.

"My name is Tod," the man told him, voice just above a whisper. It was a smooth baritone and Harry felt himself calm just a bit more, for reasons he didn't know.

"How'd you– why are you here?" Harry asked next, wary. And he was right to be, surely; why would just hearing this mans – Tod's – voice calm him down if something fishy wasn't going on?

Tod smirked slightly in response, shrugging. "That fall must have hurt," he commented, nodding towards the branch. Turning his head towards it, Harry winced. Now that he mentioned, Harry's head still hurt from where he'd hit it. "Here," the man murmured, suddenly right next to him, his hand on Harry's head. The boy froze and Tod ran his fingers through his hair, pressing slightly harder where it was sore.

Harry winced, expecting more pain, but all he felt was tingling, which faded when Tod took his hand away. His headache disappeared too, clearing up so fast Harry staggered. A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him from falling down. Harry stared at the man with wide eyes.

"How–?" he started, but Tod just smiled secretively, lifting his free hand to press a finger to his lips.

"Trade secret," he said frankly. Harry found himself nodding, even though he did want to know. He'd never felt anything like that before – the only thing close was the feeling he'd had that time he'd grown his hair back after his aunt shaved his head.

Tod stepped away from him, as if he knew how uneasy Harry was by the proximity. The boy couldn't help but feel relieved, though. He never did feel that safe with an unknown so close to him.

The silence between them was heavy, but Harry didn't know what he was supposed to do. Should he break it? And say what? Or should he wait, as he'd been trained, for Tod to speak?

Turns out, he needn't have worried. The back door opened with a creak (and Harry winced. He would have to oil the hinges) and he cowered automatically when he saw his aunt in the doorway.

"Boy!" she snapped, face twisted into an ugly sneer. Harry flinched and rushed towards her. After a few steps he faltered, turning to look fearfully over his shoulder at Tod–

Only to see the yard empty. Even the broken branch had vanished, the stub on the tree smoothed down. Harry stopped to gape, and question if he'd even met the man, and Petunia growled at him again. He darted past her into the house, heading straight for the kitchen.

It was only after he'd finished cooking and had been stuffed back into his cupboard that Harry realized Tod hadn't ever answered his question. Why had he been here? How did he get here?

Harry didn't know. And he doubted he ever would, now that the man was gone.


Because of his stunt (taunting Dudley, staying out all night, ignoring his aunt), Harry was locked into his cupboard after making dinner, without having any of the said meal. The next morning, after making breakfast and getting a stale piece of toast aunt Petunia had 'kindly' saved for him from last night, Harry was kicked from the house to tend to the garden. It was a bright, warm Sunday, and Harry soon found himself sweating and starting to get burnt. Not that that was any reason to stop – Harry knew that much.

So he labored on and, around what he thought to be noon, Harry leaned back to wipe the sweat off his forehead with his arm.

And yelped, scrambling away from the crouched form of Tod.

"How long have you been there?" Harry squeaked. Tod shrugged, face caught between looking amused and glaring at the house.

"About five minutes," the man answered. His gaze finally settled on Harry, eyes searching in a way Harry'd never had directed towards him. He'd seen his aunt look at Dudley often enough to recognize the look – a mixture of worry and searching for wounds after a time spent away. Harry flushed. Tod leaned back with a smile that could have been a grimace.

"You shouldn't have to stay here," he said suddenly, eyes back on the house. His expression was twisted with disdain. "Those... people have no idea how to care for someone like you. Don't want to care. And they don't... appreciate what you can do. What we can do." As Tod spoke, his voice quieted, as soothing as it had been the day before. Harry only barely heard the words, but he understood what was being said. He understood, without his conscious understanding, that this man was more like him than his relatives ever could be.

"How would you like to come with me?" the man asked quietly. Harry froze, eyes widening just a touch before he ducked his head. How often had he dreamed of that question, of different relatives, or anyone, coming to save him from the Dursleys? How often had he woken from such dreams, cold and alone in his cupboard with only the spiders as company? What was to say he wasn't dreaming right now, still asleep in the yard after falling from a tree? It was a nice dream, though he usually didn't feel anything in dreams. He pain in his shoulder seemed real enough, but stranger things had happened to him than this.

Harry really hoped this wasn't a dream.

The tall man in front of him clicked his tongue and Harry's attention immediately snapped back to him. The only reason he didn't flinch and brace for a smack was because the man was looking at him with the oddest smile Harry'd ever seen. He swallowed heavily, thinking back to the question. There wasn't much to think about.

"You'd want me?" he mumbled back, keeping his voice quiet. He'd learned his lesson about talking too loudly around the Dursleys, and knew it probably transferred over to his interaction with any adult. No one liked a loud child.

"I would," Tod told him, voice steady and filled with certainty. Harry's throat closed up even as a warm feeling filled him. Someone actually wanted him! He felt like he was going to cry, and fiercely rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, the man was smiling strangely again. "Do you have anything you need to grab?"

Harry wondered about that, wondered if he had anything he wanted to take with him. He glanced over at the house, then back to the man. "There's..." he started quietly, hesitant. He wasn't supposed to want anything, that was something the Dursley had made painfully clear. But the man was still smiling at him, so he continued, "I have a blanket. It's– all I have of–" his voice grew quieter until he trailed off. His parents were always a heavy subject at the Dursley household, even for him.

The man just nodded, understanding and recognition in his eyes. "Alright," he said, then before Harry could try sneaking into the house to get it, the man waved his hand in the direction of the house, then made a tugging motion, as if pulling a rope.

Harry's blanket, a toddler-sized blue thing with little golden balls on it, blinked into sight outside the door of the house, then flew over to land in the Tods hand.

Harry couldn't contain his gasp. It was part awe, part fright, and had maybe a touch of wonder. Because this man was really, honestly, like him and Harry knew he wouldn't be staying another second at the Dursley's if this man was the alternative.

Tod handed him the blanket and Harry clutched at it, barely refraining from burrowing his face into it. It was the only thing the Dursley's let him have from his parents; the only thing in the house, besides Harry, that came from his parents. It was also the only thing that they'd given him, then never complained about or took back. He almost believed they didn't know about it. But how could they not, if they'd given it to him? The only time he'd heard aunt Petunia say anything about it was when she'd sniffed about how he'd come wrapped up in it and how she'd never let her Dudley go anywhere near it because of that.

Then she'd never mentioned it again. And, while he'd kept it hidden in his cupboard, he knew they could have found it. But neither of the adults had ever noticed it.

"Are you ready to go?" the man asked and Harry jumped, startled for half a second before he nodded excitedly. Tod smiled again, this time normally, without the touch of bemusement he'd had before, and held out his hand.

Harry grasped it firmly.

As Death and his new ward disappeared from the yard without a trace, the wards around Privet Drive fell with a quiet snap.

And, far away in an office on the seventh floor of a magical castle, every spinning, chiming instrument monitoring one Harry Potter froze in its place. When Albus Dumbledore looked up in shock, all those instruments turned to dust. Albus was devastated.

Because, for all intents and purposes, Harry Potter had just died.


A/N: and that's that. New idea! Woot! I think I saw the 'Death adopts Harry' idea floating around somewhere – probably Tumblr. Might be continued, probably not. Here, have this story starter! If you want to continue it, credit me and maybe even send me a message about it? So I can read it, of course; I love reading Harry Potter AU's. 'Tod', for those who don't know, means Death in German. Not very creative of him, but it's an actual name so whatever.