Only me. Only fucking me.
Chapter One - Prologue
When I was 17 I became the Master of Death. At the time the title didn't really mean all that much, It allowed me to come back from the dead, yeah; but that was it. Honestly I probably never would have realized that the MoD was anything more than a fairy tale if it weren't for the fact that the bloody Hallows kept coming back.
The first time that I tried to get rid of them I dropped the stone in the middle of the forest and snapped the wand (if I were a tad more oblivious then I probably would have given the wand back to Dumblewhore but alas, I was born with a semblance of common sense). Three days later they appeared on my bed organised in the Deathly Hallows symbol.
The second time that I tried to rid myself of them I burnt the wand and smashed the stone with a hammer. Three days later they came back.
The fourth time that I tried to dispose of them I fed the stone to a tiger and gave the wand away. Two days later they reappeared.
It became a game of sorts, I tried to find the most inventive way of destroying them (the cloak too, if they were coming back then what was the point of treating it like some holy artifact given by Zeus himself) and they would reappear. I noticed after a few months that every time the items were destroyed they got a bit smarter, soon the cloak could fly and gained the ability to shapeshift, the stone could fly and could communicate a bit and the wand could also fly and was a generally intelligent stick.
When I was 24 I used the hallows all at the same time. The Hallows had been trying that for some time, the cloak would fasten itself around my shoulders, the stone would put itself in my right hand and the wand in my left. Honesty the amount of times that I had woken up like that... On Halloween 2004 I finally caved.
Since that day I haven't aged and no longer need to sleep, the Hallows intelligence sky rocketed and I gained a whole bunch of knowledge, and magical power along with a whole bunch of other 'Perks', one being that everyone gets a Death Badge, a Death Badge is a 'badge' that floats above your head and it tells you the time, date and details of your death. Do you know how fucking awfull it is to look your best friend in the eye and tell him that he's got three months left to live? Knowing that two of his kids are going to have to grow up without him, but one will follow him only three weeks later?
Having Teddy as my son was the best thing of my life but came with one of the hardest jobs ever, not only knowing when he was going to die but having to live without him once it happned. After that day I left the wizerding world, I took name after name, face after face; never staying in one place longer than 10 years lest I get attached to someone and watch them fade.
Fast forward three thousand years and I am bored. Once you have masteries in most subjects (except potions. Turns out Snape wasn't just a horrible teacher, I also have zero talent and are generally incompotent when it comes to potions. Seriously, how can I be fantastic at cooking but worse than a three footed niffler at potions?) and have studied in the muggle world for three-bloody-thousand years there is only so much that you can do. And so I take the next logical step. I get a brief case, enchant the fuck out of it and dive headfirst through the veil of death.
Only to end up in eleventh century Cardiff.
Only me. Only fucking me.