AN: A little bit of the inspiration for this must go to Piers Anthony's "Incarnations of Immortality" books and to Shujin1 here on FFN for her fic HP & DI. I think she wrote hers first, anyway, since I can't remember when I wrote this.

Warnings: neglect, small children, symbolism

Disclaimer: If I was a world famous writer, would I be scrambling for substitute teaching assignments because I have no income? I think not.

Visitors for Tea

Black, no milk, no sugar

The little boy met Death for the first time to remember it when he was five years old.

He was alone in the kitchen. Actually, he was alone in the house, since Uncle was working and Aunt and Dudley were visiting friends. He was hungry, so he had climbed up on the counter to reach the place where Aunt had stashed the easy food. He slipped suddenly, his toes slipping over the edge and his little body following. His head made a loud cracking sound that nobody heard as it hit the edge of the countertop on the way down, and his arm bent at an awkward angle when it hit the floor.

Death arrived promptly, a little annoyed and confused because this had not been on his list five minutes ago. In fact, this particular name was not supposed to be on his list any time soon. That little agreement four years ago made sure of that. So imagine his irritation to arrive in a spotless—well, before it became blood-spattered, anyway—kitchen to find a five-year-old savior-of-the-world bleeding and broken on the tile floor.

Fortunately, the wound was not necessarily fatal. A head wound, a broken arm…piffle, really, especially to a god-like being or a wizard. And since this name should not be on his list, and since Fate would be more than a little miffed if her grand schemes ended now…Death calmly picked the child up and carried him to the sofa in the next room. A few murmured words and a gesture ensured that the wound was healing nicely. Then Death returned to the kitchen to vanish the blood and make tea.

By the time the tea was ready, the boy was stirring. Death sat down across from him in an armchair and watched as the boy roused and blinked in confusion before focusing on his visitor. In a meek and yet brave voice, he inquired, "Who are you?"

"I am…" damn, what to say? Couldn't say "I am Death" to a five-year-old. Fate would scold him for that. She was such a softie with children. "Morte…Mortimer."

"Okay. Are you here to hurt me?"

"Quite the opposite. I came to help."

The boy's green eyes lit up. "What happened? Why are you here? How'd you get in? Are you here to rescue me? You have a funny nose. Why is your skin so white? What are you wearing? Can I touch your shirt? It looks soft."

Death was…nonplussed. He took a sip of tea. "You fell from the counter. You must be more careful. I am here to keep you from dying, but not to take you away, I'm afraid. Doors and locks cannot stop me. This is the nose I was born with and I do not get much sun. This is a cloak and you may not touch it. Any other questions?"

"Where'd you get the tea? Can I have some? I'm thirsty." The child asked in a tone that expected to be refused but couldn't resist asking.

It should be noted that Death was not completely unkind. "It is my own special blend, but you may have a sip." He duly offered it, and a sip was duly taken. It was not quite enough to 'wake the dead,' but it came close.

The boy hummed in appreciation. "Mm. I like it."

Death had just made a friend.

He took his leave shortly after, once he had secured a solemn vow from the boy never to mention this visit to anyone. And the boy never did.

Just in case, Death checked in with the boy once a year or so. Just to make sure the boy had kept his word, of course. Not for any other reason.

He was always greeted with a glad "Tim!" (He never could convince the boy to call him 'Mort' and didn't want to push it.) as the boy put the kettle on. They would sit and drink tea and catch up.

When the boy was eleven and knew he was a wizard, he understood just who 'Tim' was. But he still put the kettle on. He'd be seeing his friend very soon, after all. Very soon or not for a long while.

Harry Potter does not need to flirt with Death, because Death has an open invitation to come over for tea unannounced.

…

Green Tea with a hint of lemon

Lady Luck has known the boy for longer than Death, as she likes to claim. Technically, it's only by a matter of minutes, but Mort wasn't paying much attention at the time—he was a bit busy in 1981, in his defense—so she liked to tease him about it.

Luck liked Harry. He was like her cute little brother whom she loved to tease but would also fiercely defend from all threats. She was there in the nursery on the loneliest of all nights and she did her best to be there in the cupboard and on the playground and everywhere else.

Harry first met Luck to know it when he was sitting on the roof of the school kitchens after escaping from his cousin. He landed on the roof after jumping much further than he expected. He was not properly braced for the landing, but suddenly a pretty girl gripped his elbows and dragged him onto the roof proper, then held him steady while he caught his balance. She smiled and winked and said, "Wotcher, Harry. I'm Felicity. Good job, there. How will you get down?"

And when his nervous teacher and irate headmaster and various other adults demanded explanations, Felicity was whispering in his ear one wild explanation after another. In truth, Harry had a hard time not giggling at some of her ideas. Really, leprechauns appearing with a handy rainbow for him to climb was simply too much!

He did not get away scot free from that one, but he didn't mind too much.

She was there on that July day that the first letter came. She was sitting on the counter when he came down to breakfast, primly sipping at a cup of tea. "Wotcher, Harry. Today's gonna be an exciting day. I can't wait! Watch out for the pig's stick, okay? And hold onto what's yours"

Her warnings didn't precisely produce any effect, but it was the thought that counted.

She was standing in the corner of the bathroom waving merrily as Harry removed his wand from a troll's nose, and he knew who she was.

Lady Luck was not precisely on Harry Potter's side, but she was there when he needed her and that was what mattered.

…

Earl Gray, with milk and two sugars

Fate had plans for the Chosen One.

She had laid these plans decades ago, when another of her boys starting down the worst possible path. Some of those plans fell through and had to be altered. Some came to fruition. At last, after long years and heartbreak, came the Choice.

There always had to be Choices in Fate's schemes. Otherwise the mortals got testy.

Once the Chosen One was Chosen, Fate got the ball rolling. A few meddlers got in the way, and Vengeance, and Chaos. But Death was pacified with an agreement, and Luck was happy enough with her role.

If asked, Fate would have gladly informed anyone at all that only half the shit the Chosen One endured was at her hands. She had prepared some tests, of course. But she had nothing to do with the Dursleys, or Dementors, or Ministry Toads. The Dark One's return, yes, she pushed that forward. She had been holding him back long enough, and the timing was right. And the diary, well, she may have nudged Lucius a bit. And the Azkaban escapees, and the tournament and the prophecies, of course. These things were necessary and right.

And she always intended some good things, too. Friends, and love, and joy. And rewards at the end, oh yes.

Even so, when she listened to Death and Luck describe the boy while drinking her tea, sometimes she wished she could apologize. She wished she had the courage to face the scarred little boy she had made her tool, and explain her reasons. He deserved to know.

She did not realize he already knew, and forgave her in some small way. Someone had to be it, after all, and it was just his poor luck that it was him.

Harry Potter has never met Fate face to face, but he knows her better than she knows herself.