A/n: Written for the final round of the Quidditch Fanfiction Competition. Prompt: to have another character speak a famous character-quote. CAPTAIN: "Why is it always me?" – Neville

This story is dedicated to the wonderful Raven of the Shadows. I look forward to working with you xx

Until Death do us Part

Once there was a boy named Harry

He was always pursued by Death.

From the day he was born to the day that he died

Death was never his friend.

From the very first time I met Harry Potter, I knew that our fates were intertwined.

Even now, so many years later, I am still unsure of whether or not it was a mistake that I walked into the Potter household when I did on that fateful night. Perhaps, if I had left immediately after collecting James and Lily Potter's souls, without nearing the cot where a wide-eyed, gurgling baby boy was watching me with curious eyes, things may have turned out differently.

As it was, however, I stood before the child, looking into his shimmering emerald eyes. I was always curious about what the mortals saw, if ever they sensed my presence. A living soul would only see what fit within its realm of understanding, after all. Some saw nothing but darkness, some the monsters that haunted their nightmares. But none ever saw me, for I was perhaps the farthest away from their realm of understanding.

"Mamamamama," little Harry cooed, and I felt my appearance shimmer and morph until it settled on what was undoubtedly that of Lily Potter. Harry stretched out one pudgy hand and waved it. "Mamamamama!"

I reached forward, my fingers inches from his head, and the already-healing scar on his forehead glowed faintly. I knew that I could save this child from the terrible fate awaiting him if I simply brought his soul with me, but Fate was not to be tampered with. Especially by Death.

"Forgive me," I said.

Harry closed his eyes.

-oOo-

If there is one thing I dislike more than eternal damnation, it is a soul that toys with death. Every so often, souls so powerful that they are able to change the course of Fate appear in this world. Which just means a whole lot of extra work for me, because they could nearly die when I'm not looking and then be perfectly fine by the time I arrive to whisk them away.

It is truly frustrating.

And watching as Harry Potter slipped out of my fingers at every turn was the truest test of my patience. I could swear that every time I missed him by a hair's breadth, I heard Fate laughing at me.

One such noteworthy example occurred during his thirteenth year.

Somehow, the magic-possessing mortals, who you would think were a more evolved sort, thought it a good idea to fly around on sticks high up in the sky and risk their lives, all in the name of recreation. I had caught several souls as they fell out of the sky before—struck by lightning or blasted to death, as per usual—and it had become a pastime of mine to watch these games of theirs.

On one fine stormy afternoon, while lightning streaked the sky and thunder rumbled in anger, two groups of young mortals flew around, ready to be struck down at any moment, while several hundred others cheered them on from below. I was particularly wary that day due to the creatures that hung beyond the perimeter of the field—soul-sucking monsters of darkness that even I steered clear of if I could help it.

I had decided that I would not intervene, but, of course, who tried to put on heroics and nearly had his soul ripped out of him before my very eyes?

Sometimes I find myself thinking that Harry Potter had a particular talent for making a fool out of me. One that even Fate would envy.

After all, here I was, the Grim Reaper, casting away the creature and saving the fool of a boy from having his soul sucked out of him. In my defence, the very thought of losing the boy's soul to a Dark creature was so distasteful that I had to do something about it.

While I was returning Harry's soul back to him, his emerald eyes widened, fear shimmering within. I almost regretted replacing his soul, then, for I knew my form had taken on that of the hideous creature that I had just saved him from. In a moment of bitterness, I pushed him away, and he plummeted to the ground.

There was a flash of light as a spell was cast.

Harry closed his eyes.

-oOo-

I shall admit that Harry Potter had the ability to bring out the worst in me.

First, it was the need to save him by taking away his soul (which I sometimes regret not doing). Then, it was the need to save him by stopping his soul from being taken away. And then, it was the need to guide his soul back to the land of the living instead of claiming it into the realm of the dead as I was supposed to have done.

It began with me being summoned when he activated the Resurrection Stone—it made sense that he got to have his way with me, considering he was a descendant of Ignotus Peverell—and I showed him the mortal forms of the souls he yearned to see most.

He spoke to them, and I allowed him to perceive replies from them. Then he turned to me, and I felt my form morph to that of a familiar one.

"Stay close to me," he whispered.

"Always," I replied, wondering if the irony was inappropriate.

What transpired after that was inconsequential. I was sure his time had come, and I was resolved to take his soul this time around.

My overconfidence and greed were my undoing.

Harry Potter's soul hung in limbo, out of my reach, but there was still hope. If his soul was as powerful as I believed it to be, he would be able to summon me into the void, thus allowing me to guide his soul to the realm of the dead.

However, I knew, even without Fate's interference, that it was not his soul that had to be taken away. So, as I watched him struggle with confusion, desperate for answers, I made up my mind.

I entered the void, my form morphing to the desires of Harry's soul, striding forward as ivory robes billowed around my ankles and a long white beard scratched at my chin. His eyes widened at the sight of me, and I forced a welcoming a smile onto my face.

"Hello, Harry."

The conversation between him and 'Professor Dumbledore' wasn't as interesting as I had secretly wanted it to be. It neither gave Harry the answers he sought, nor did it give him any clarity as to what he was supposed to do next.

Which was how it should be, I knew, no matter how much I wanted otherwise, considering I was already breaking a dozen or so rules by meddling with the course of his life and death. It was dangerous not only to Harry's soul but to me, as well, if I were to meddle too much and grow attached. I was reminded of the Peverell brothers yet again, and I could already hear Fate's endless lecture on doing things I wasn't supposed to do echoing in my ears.

But, if I had learnt anything from being evaded for nearly two decades, it was that Harry Potter was a smart boy. He had the talent for eluding me, which was perhaps a far greater gift than intellect. Moreover, I was placated with the knowledge that soon I would be able to mete judgement on a terrible creature that barely was a soul anymore.

I told Harry that he could return to the land of the living if he so wished.

Harry closed his eyes.

-oOo-

After the death of Voldemort, things were relatively less exciting. I was able to relax, take a breather, and play a few games of chess with Fate that lasted a decade or two. And just as I made the mistake of allowing myself to get used to the momentary peace, I felt the familiar flicker of a soul on the brink of death.

Not just any soul, either. It was the one soul that had eluded me since the very beginning. Eager to rub two consecutive victories in Fate's face, I materialised before the soul, side-stepping to avoid a crumbling piece of wall.

Harry lay in a crumpled heap at the centre of what looked like an explosion, webs of magic coiling outwards from where the spell had caused him to slam into the wall. The building was crumbling around him, and he looked like he was barely holding onto life. His eyelids fluttered, and he looked up at me, his lips moving to form soundless words.

My appearance morphed once again, but this time to show him his father. He didn't say anything—he just lay there, staring at the illusion, as though knowing that it wasn't truly a phantom of James Potter that he was seeing. I wondered if I should speak, just to convince him that it was indeed his father, because Harry's gaze was rather unnerving. But, before I could, he closed his eyes.

You would think that this is the point in my story where I finally take Harry's soul, but, as Fate would have it, it wasn't.

Shouts echoed through the ruins as Aurors rushed to Harry's aid. They administered the basic procedures to keep him alive until he could get more intensive care, and as they levitated him away, I caught him mouthing words at me. I presumed he was bidding his father goodbye.

I left the scene, knowing when to walk away with what little dignity I had left. Fate's laughter echoed in my ears as I wondered when my next opportunity would strike. Luckily for me, it was sooner than later.

The scene was similar: a destroyed building, a beaten-up Harry sprawled over broken glass, barely hanging onto consciousness, his soul flickering weakly. I stood beside him and waited for the inevitable, sighing when my form shifted to take on the appearance of his godfather. Again, Harry simply stared up at the illusion, almost as though he could see past it, his deep emerald eyes searching for something that wasn't there.

I thought he would simply lose consciousness as he had before, but he groaned and shifted, his gaze fixed on me. Tears rolled down his cheeks, perhaps from pain, perhaps from longing. I waited, knowing not to do or say anything unless necessary, watching as he coughed blood and winced.

Harry attempted to smile, but it ended up being a grimace instead. "It's been a while," he croaked, and I wondered for the millionth time why mortals found the need to speak aloud to the illusions when barely clinging onto life.

"It has," I said, my voice resembling that of his late godfather. "You don't look too good down there," I added, more for my own entertainment than his satisfaction.

Harry wheezed out a chuckle. "How's death treating you?"

I smiled despite myself. "You'd be surprised."

He sighed, his eyelids fluttering. "I… miss everyone," he murmured. "I want to come with you, but I'm still needed here."

"You'll always be needed, as long as you live," I said, somewhat bitterly.

"Isn't that… what it means to be alive?"

I knew better than to answer that question, but the way Harry was looking at me, his eyes glinting with a hint of something dangerous, sent a shiver down my spine. He didn't just want the answer to that, he needed it, and the desperation made him cling onto his waning life despite wanting to let go.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, and I could feel his heart still momentarily. I leant forward, his soul just within my grasp, but something didn't feel right. There was something very… dissatisfying about it all.

Someone shouted his name, and I stepped back, hesitating, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Just as the Auror rushed over, Harry gasped, his heartbeat ringing clear in my ears, as though taunting me, and I turned away, feeling like I had been cheated. It was an odd feeling, but my intuition was never wrong.

After all, I am Death. I cannot be wrong. Can I?

This pattern of events repeated often over the course of the next few years. Harry would go into battle despite everyone's protests, let himself get injured within an inch of his life, and then await my arrival. Each time, my form would take on that of a loved one, and each time, he would stare at the illusion like he expected it to disintegrate at any moment. When it didn't, he would converse with me until he collapsed, having spent the last of his strength, leaving me to eye his broken body with distaste, waiting until his heart beat again.

I was no fool. Anybody could guess what he was playing at. Harry Potter wanted to die, but every time he was on the brink of death, he would find that he still had questions he didn't have answers to—answers I refused to give him—and he would cling to life so desperately that I felt like I would be burned if I were to try to take his soul from him.

And, although I did not want to admit it because it went against all my principles, he was the Master of Death. I could not take him unless he willed me to. Even if he changed his mind at the very last moment.

-oOo-

One time, frustrated by constantly being toyed by him, I followed Harry with the intention of stealing away his soul at the first opportunity. Of all the places I thought he would go, I hadn't expected him to visit the burial grounds of the Peverell brothers. Standing before Ignotus Peverell's grave, an air of remorse hanging over him, Harry reached forward to brush his fingers against the marble tombstone.

"Did you find it?" he murmured, his voice desperate. "Did you finally find the answer you sought?"

He stood like that for a long time, as though trying to converse with the dead Ignotus was how he would find what he wanted. Finally, he turned and looked straight at me. I faltered, surprised that he had sensed my presence. Looking into the deep emerald of his eyes, I felt like he would consume me if I stayed any longer. I moved away, and Harry cast one final look of longing at the grave before Disapparating.

(It was only later that I realised that Harry's going there had been his final attempt at seeking the answers that had him desperately holding onto life.)

The last time I felt his soul flicker, something was different. This time, it was almost as though it was beseeching me to go to him.

As I stood over him, grimacing at the sight of the metal pike that impaled him straight through his chest, a sense of finality settled over me. I could feel it from the core of my very existence. It was finally his time.

Harry looked at me, a wry smile on his face, and it took me a moment to realise that my form had not shifted.

"Finally I see you, my old friend," he said, his voice feeble.

Realisation came to me all at once, and seeing the clarity in his eyes, I finally understood.

"It seems that I will never come to understand you," I said, and Harry's smile grew. I felt a sense of familiarity, long-forgotten memories of Ignotus Peverell returning to the forefront of my mind. "You truly elude me, even until the very end."

Harry's chuckle turned into a wheeze and then a fit of coughing. By the time he settled down, he looked much weaker than before.

"Why is it always me?" he murmured, but there was no bitterness in his voice. He said it matter-of-factly.

"I wonder," I said, as it was the truth.

Harry's smile was weak. "I think… the land of the living isn't for me anymore. I think… I've done my job. Wouldn't you say?"

I eyed him evenly. "It is not my place to comment on your life." When his smile faltered, I added, "But, I will say that your death shall be memorable."

He attempted to nod and then winced before saying, "That's more than I can ask for." After a long moment of silence, where I almost thought he had passed, he said, "I'm glad."

"That you're about to die?" I said before realising how insensitive it was to ask a dying mortal that.

Harry cocked his head, as though listening to a voice only he could hear. "Yes, but also that I finally got to meet you while I still live."

I did not quite understand what he meant, for he had met me several times during his lifetime. It was only later, after much pondering, that I realised that he had meant he was glad to have met me, and not all the ghosts of his past.

"Have you finally found the answer that you seek?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Harry sighed wistfully. "Is it strange if I were to say that death is what gives meaning to life?"

I smiled. "Not at all."

"Perhaps," he said, his voice so weak it was barely audible, "I had been chasing behind the wrong thing this entire time."

I didn't answer, having understood what he meant, knowing he no longer needed affirmation.

"Shall we?" I asked, sensing his heartbeat weaken.

He nodded his head once. "Thank you," he whispered, "old friend."

"Always," I said because it felt right.

Harry closed his eyes.

Once there was a boy named Harry

He was always in pursuit of Death.

From the day he was born to the day that he died

Death was always his friend.