The Master of Death

Lestrange Château
Wednesday 31 March 1999

Harry Potter smoothed out the silken bed sheets in the master bedroom. His heart thundered in his chest. It was the first time he was in Rodolphus Lestrange's ancestral home. Of all his years at Hogwarts, he did not think it was possible for him to be here at this point in his life. Never in his life did he think that he would be a follower of the Dark Lord. He should have been working on his Auror training, dating Ginny Weasley, and gathering the courage to choose an engagement ring for her – with the help of Ron and Hermione.

A tightness radiated in his throat. Ron had died. He would be recognized as a war hero, a prisoner of war, and a loyal friend. His death had hit Harry excruciatingly hard. He had masked the pain for he had to be strong for Hermione. The girl was definitely horrified by the things that were going on around her.

Harry ran a hand across his face so he might be able to compose himself. The door to the bedroom swung open. Slowly, Harry turned to face the woman.

"It will be here?" Harry asked her in Parseltongue. It was very …nice that he could speak to somebody in this language other than Lord Voldemort.

Adhara nodded nonchalantly. She pursed her lips. "Help me with this." She gestured to the litter of potion utensils and ingredients that were in her arms.

Harry rushed over and took them; moving the things to the bed. "When are you moving the brew?" He asked, referencing to the large cauldron in her husband's basement.

Looking thoughtfully at the boy, she pressed her right hand against her swollen belly. "After I give birth to her."

"Are you sure it's a girl?"

"Is that a problem?" Adhara posed the question, a smirk across her face.

"Are you sure it's a girl? The Dark Lord will not like that."

"And he will not be around for long, will he?" Adhara switched to their native tongue, taking two sweeping steps towards the green-eyed wizard.

He shrugged. "I suppose he won't." Harry paused to look at the pregnant witch. "He will die, Adhara. Do not worry. Your family will be unharmed."

She shuddered before turning away to walk to the window. Adhara looked down at her ancestral home. "His quest for…" She stopped thinking of the appropriate word. "...immortality had led everything to this. His ultimate demise."

Harry wasn't sure how to console the woman. She had been through so much. The division within her family started with her brother's birth – when they were all bred like a high-class show dog. Arcturus and Draco bred for service. Adhara and Hermione bred to give birth to more pureblood children. The only one who didn't follow in the footsteps of the Black family's shadows was Nymphadora.

"Kill him, Harry. Kill him and I promise no one will ever go against you. You will be the Master of Death." Adhara turned to him.

"I already am."

Author's Notes: Please review. I would love feedback.

-Rosie