Harry Potter inherited the cloak. He was given the stone. The wand he achieved by conquest.
Far, far away an anthropomorphic personification sat up straight. Something had shifted in the force. Something had happened, not strictly in his demesne but still . . .
After the horrors of the first world war a Welsh poet had written a poem he'd called "And Death shall have no Dominion". Many people felt better for reading it. Ideas gained mindspace. What this meant in practice was that, if there was no dominion, then there weren't any boundaries. He could go anywhere he damn well pleased.
So, he went.
Death arrived, climbed down from his pale horse and performed his duty.
Vital cord cut, a small form sat, arms clasped around his knees upon the sand, watching mournfully. Storms far out had sea had formed great waves that broke along the shore. Somewhere overhead a gull cried, mournful and raucous. Power grew. No daisies here, just a young wizard blinded by tears and blowing sand and digging, by hand, a grave for a friend and wishing. Wishing that Dobby had not died.
Harry Potter was master of no death other than his own and yet Death wished that he could, somehow, he could have helped such a boy.
'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.' Harry's first truly considered act after uniting the Hallows. Even the stone wished.
Angels, of which Death was one, don't break the rules, however, given sufficient motivation, some bending may occur. As Harry pulled himself upright and staggered off, Death saw that his mount had gone.
In the brightness high above the clouds, Dobby peered down from the horse's back. 'Yous can go anywhere?' he queried.. The horse's ear twitched dismissively. 'How about anywhen?' Dobby could see that he had the creature's attention. Leaning forward, he whispered into its ear. Somewhere over Wiltshire, they trotted down into the clouds.
In a cupboard in Malfoy Manor, a house elf wished for death. Scant moments of exchange and an open doorway. Younger Dobby passed on laughing, in his place himself but not, older Dobby pulled power into himself to repair the damage and began to plot.
In a cupboard, Harry Potter his friend was hurting with fear. That should be fixed.
Should not have written this. The bunny got away from me. Revised for clarity.