I own nothing but the plot.
We had met many a time over the years, him and I. First, when he was just an infant, as his parents left him. Again at 11, when Quirrell had burned through his soul. I was by his side at 12, stroking the phoenix as it cried against his poisoned arm. At 13, I paced anxiously while he lay in the mud after falling hundreds of feet. 14, 15 and 16 saw me there again, the stress of being the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had never noticed me though, never realised that I was there with him at every struggle he'd had, ready to guide him through, if only he would let me.
He always begged for solitude though, to be alone another year. I was a sucker for him, I know, and I gave him the time he wanted. I knew, surely, one day he would want me as I want him. One day, we would be together. I thought I had him at 17, when he steadfastly marched into the forest that fateful night. I was one step behind him, rushing through the tangled undergrowth, desperate to stay close until the Dark Lord struck and he slipped from my grasp.
That was the night that nearly broke me, so I moved on. It was the only option. I passed through a spate of people. Men, sometimes. Older, younger, pureblood or muggleborn, it didn't matter. I wasn't particularly fussy. I took women, too. Mostly younger, often the youths caught in a night of alcoholic revelry. They were the easiest to pick up. Sometimes I welcomed children into my life, though it always left me with a bitter taste in my mouth – I knew they wouldn't last.
I never forgot him, though. I always checked back on him, waiting patiently for my time. It wasn't something I could rush, not with him. He needed to be ready, and I needed him to want me. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at the redheaded girl, the one he married, who gave him children that looked just like him, with bright eyes and untameable black hair.
The others begged me, just as I wished he did. They didn't have the same hold on me though, and it fell on deaf ears. Some men offered me their wealth, hundreds of thousands of galleons. Others, land, valued at millions. If I had taken them up, I could have lived a lavish lifestyle for the rest of time, I really could have. Some of the women offered jewellery, precious gems and metals. Silver, gold, platinum and diamond all passed before me, with begging tones and cries to stay. Just one more day, week, year.
Perhaps I should have taken them up on the offers, but they didn't satisfy me, not like he could. Instead I took only what I wanted from them before moving onto the next person, working my way through society until he was ready for me.
The names they would call me as I left grew old, quickly. Some called me the Devil, for the way I treated those who I took to bed. Others said I opened the door to Hell itself when I was around. There were tears, screams, cries and threats of violence, sometimes. I had to let it brush over me though, I couldn't let them get to me.
Years passed by, before his name flashed before my eyes again. He was calling me at last, eight decades since our last encounter. I had never forgotten about him, and it set me at ease to know he hadn't forgotten me either. I went with haste, elation passing through my being as I got closer to him. He had been without his redhead for a few years, his children now grown, with children of their own.
He commented with a laugh that my hands were as cold as ice as we lay together in the narrow bed. I couldn't help but smile and laugh back at him, apologetically as I knew they wouldn't be able to warm up though. He didn't seem to mind, instead giving himself over to me as we joined as one, finally.
He was different, he always had been. I gave him more of myself than I had anyone else in the years gone by. I had been with thousands of people, and never let any touch me the way I was touching him. He whispered in my ear, sweet nothings and words of how beautiful he found me. I let him touch, I let him feel. He remarked again about the coldness of my flesh but it didn't turn him off.
I opened the door to Heaven for him as we joined in a passionate fury, his cries of pleasure mixing with mine as we came to climax again and again.
Hours passed by before we finally relented in our love making, laying together in the bed, tangled in one another. He had wanted me, more than anyone else I'd ever met, and he had made me feel complete at last. I had always known he was the one who would completely satisfy me, and I had not been disappointed.
The cold crept in as we lay together, an icy mist passing through the room and freezing everything in time. The light faded from his eyes as the icy mist wrapped around his legs, travelling up his chest with every passing second. He dropped his head back, mouth falling open as a last, rattling breath escaped from him, his very soul passing into my care.
I came to take his soul, and I will leave his body, and leave it cold.
For I am Death.