Mastering Death
AN: I solemnly swear I was not this serious a minute ago. I seem to have run into a lot of delays while researching for another of my fics (namely Resplendent Emerald, honestly that fic is more trouble than all the others put together. Whoops, ranting here!). Here's another mini-fic in the meantime.
When one thinks about Death, the big D, reaper of souls and claimer of all life, one can immediately come up with dozens of questions and things to say. This is normal. Every person has questions they want answered and things they need to say and who better to address those things to than Death?
Sadly for all those involved (save a middle-aged Englishwoman who would come to gain more money than the Queen), 'normal' was hardly the adjective one would apply to our jade-eyed, raven-haired protagonist. Quite far from it, in fact. 'Abnormal' would be closer, 'aberration' would be ideal, but rude and 'the only exception' would make Paramore fans sigh wistfully. But I digress, 'normal' was probably a bad choice to begin with.
And so it came to pass, amidst a battlefield populated with British citizens casting magic back and forth in bastardized Latin, that our protagonist came to possess a title that many would, and indeed had, commit murder for. The title, one of 'Master of Death' was dubious at best and spurious when taken with a pinch of salt, but as it was noted, when have things ever been 'normal' for one Harry Potter?
Lying on the ground, having committed to being a martyr for the world on the word of a twinkly-eyed cult leader, he rapidly became aware of a presence nearby in his peripheral vision. Understandably confused (well he was supposed to die, wasn't he?), he picked himself off the ground, rapidly on the defensive.
Death, always a fan of the classics, stood in wait. An enormous scythe slung over his shoulders, a mocking smile on his face and black cloak over his head. He observed his so-called "Master" with mirth (would he really allow mastery to another? Wizards were so gullible). The Deathly Hallows? Pah! How silly. Personally he rather liked the idea of a Death-stick, it sounded like a euphemism for a seldom used part of his anatomy.
"Any last words, my master?" he asked, mockingly.
Harry was, for once, at a loss for words. Naturally, being short of wit and one-liners (he left that to a bushy-haired colleague), he used the first thing that came to mind.
"How is Elvis and have you seen him lately?"
Starting in surprise, Death accidentally decapitated himself. His head rolled across the floor and he perished due to the lack of a head.
And thus Harry Potter defeated Death and came to be known as the Master of Death.