Chapter 2
A.N: I do not own Harry Potter, Discworld, or Marvel. The only things I have are a lovely bunch of coconuts and this story.
It had been five years since Harry had been encumbered by the role of Master of Death. Things had been going well, He'd only had to be present for four or five deaths each year, a few snappy comments comforting the deceased and he was done. Life was good, he was rich, had experienced his, perhaps, excessive number of girlfriends, and was enjoying his life for the first time in forever. It hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows, he'd had his share of upsets. Mainly the split from the Weasley family, Ron had let his fame go to his head and turned into an all-round wanker.
Thankfully he was no longer making Hermione miserable, she's split from him at the first sign of infidelity, betrayed, she'd turned back to her first love, books. She was now on her world tour, visiting universities, libraries, and magical spots, learning all she could. Harry thought she would eventually end up back at Hogwarts, imitating her mentor and inspiration, Minerva McGonagall. As such he hadn't seen her for two years now, but he normally got a letter each month detailing her exploits. She was only one of three people that he'd shared his new position with, along with Neville and Luna. Well, not so much shared with Luna, she just knew, as always.
It was as he was reminiscing about his friends that he felt the familiar pull on his senses of an impending death, transfiguring his clothing with a flick of his wand into something more suitable for his position, he allowed the pull to envelope his whole body. He arrived in what appeared to be banquet of some sort, just in time to see the individual sat at the head of the table be handed a large decanter of red wine by a curvaceous red head. The leader, dressed in ceremonial military clothing, stood and pulling the redhead to his side raised the decanter to the heavens and made an egotistical toast to himself and his kingdom, before throwing his head back and attempted to drown himself in the Burgundy liquid.
It was mere minutes before the Dictator started getting short of breath, during this time the redhead had managed to disappear, unobtrusively slipping out, unnoticed by all but Harry as his spectral form waited next to the quickly expiring man. It was as the leader began to cough blood that others took notice of his difficulties and began to fuss over the man, despite all their efforts and the medics arriving it was all in vain, with one last withering breath the Dictator was released from the mortal plane.
The spectral form of the recently deceased man floated up next to Harry with a face that reminded Harry of Vernon when he was in a tantrum. "When I wake up I swear to god, someone is going to pay. How dare someone attack me!" The veins on his neck pulsing and his face growing even more puce coloured with every second.
"Afraid you won't be doing that old chap, you've bitten it, kicked the bucket, become worm food, however you'd like to say it, you are dead." Harry replied cheerfully. To be honest these deaths had long since stopped bothering Harry, most of these world leaders were dicks. Harry found that militaristic regimes had a high turnover, who would've thought that violence would beget violence. Obviously having to cart off an Eighty year old who'd dedicated their life to helping was a bit of a bummer, but Harry took the rough with the smooth.
"What do you mean dead?" continued the now pale faced and panicked spectre. "I can't be dead, I rule with an iron fist, I am in complete control, no one would dare oppose me." At this point Harry was growing bored, talk about repetitive, it didn't normally take this long for people to accept their fate. This guy must have hit a lot of branches whilst falling out of the stupid tree.
"Afraid it's a clear cut case of poisoning, you've been assassinated, but as a world leader, you get the pleasure of my company as a reward to help you transition to wherever you're going. Isn't that something to smile about, I mean, I only turn up for VIP's." If anything this didn't help matters, Harry's less than supportive nature seemed to turn the dictator's ire from the murderer to himself.
"So this is your fault. You've killed me, what did you want, you'll never lead my country. My people will hunt you down like a dog." It seemed that Harry was sighing a lot these days, people could be so exasperating. It was easier when Harry only interacted with Ron and Hermione, and even then he needed frequent breaks from the bickering.
"No, I'm the physical representation of death, at the moment you're a ghost, and thankfully by the time I've finished this sentence, you'll be gone. So shut up and stop wasting your time. You're dead, some red headed bird did you in, don't know why, don't really care why. Just deal with it and enjoy the next great adventure as some barmy coot said to me once." As Harry finished his little speech the ghost had already began to lose its finer details, the outline becoming blurrier, the colours fading to a more transparent grey sheen. Within twenty seconds the ghost was nothing more, disappeared to the next world to be judged, Harry didn't feel optimistic for a peaceful afterlife after the remarks the odious man had made. Without another thought Harry relaxed the pull he felt to this location and allowed himself to return to his bedroom, re-joining his conquest from the previous night. Being the Master of Death could be such a burden when entertaining guests or doing something important, or in this case both.