QL, Semi-Final: Harpies Captain: Write about a character facing temptation
Word Count: 1213
Warnings: Canon typical violence/death
The Asterisk
He'd lost track of the years sometime around his first century. It was pointless to count, wasn't it, when it all seemed so never-ending? Turn up, reap the soul, guide it to the right path, and then turn up for the next one.
It was mindless work, really.
Death was the only certain thing in life and, since it didn't take breaks, neither could he. He didn't get to stop for a cup of tea, or take a vacation, or have a sick day.
And for so long—not that he knew how long, having given up counting—he'd done it. Never stepping out of what he was supposed to do, never jogging when he should walk, never strolling when he should run. He'd done exactly what he was supposed to do when he was supposed to do it.
Until Harry Potter.
The boy was on his list along with his parents, and yet, when Death arrived to claim the souls, only two awaited him. The little boy sat in the cot, his intelligent eyes resting directly where Death had appeared. They were a shocking green colour, those eyes, the colour of Death itself.
The scar on his head, the symbol of lightning, was bleeding slightly, but it looked partially healed, as though it hadn't only just happened.
And Death couldn't claim him, because this boy was alive when he shouldn't be, and Death wouldn't reap a soul in a body that wasn't dead. Right?
It had never happened before, that a name on his list would suddenly find an asterisk beside it, but as he left, taking the souls of Lily and James Potter along with him, he noticed that the boy's name didn't leave his list.
It remained at the top, an asterisk beside it.
Death wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. After all, it had been a long time since he'd felt anything at all.
But… if he remembered feelings correctly, this was one of distaste. No, he didn't like that asterisk at all. It felt like an itch and he wanted so badly to scratch it. It would be so easy too—a snap of his fingers and the boy's life would end, his soul would be reaped, and the name with that infernal asterisk would be gone. And yet... as tempting as it was, Death found that something stopped him. Something about those green eyes… they called to him. He wanted to watch them grow vibrant with experience, maturity and life.
…
It was ten years before he saw Harry Potter again; for some reason, he was counting the days again. Death wasn't really sure why, but he supposed it had something to do with the name on his list, the one that remained, with the asterisk beside it.
They were in a chamber, a mirror the only other thing present. Along with Harry's name was the name of an older wizard, Quirinus Quirrell. Death watched, from the corner of the room, as Harry reached out blindly, scorching Quirrell's skin from his face.
It was unintentional, Death could tell that much.
A shade left Quirrell's body moments before he died, and Death frowned for a moment. He knew what it was, but it still took him a beat. A Horcrux—an abomination—one of several, if Death was reading it correctly.
He knew that he could reach out and catch the shade, reap it before it had a chance to leave, but it wasn't on his list.
He looked back at Quirrell and Harry just in time to see the boy fall, his pulse weak. Was now the time for him to reap the boy? Take away the name and the pesky asterisk that he tried to avoid looking at?
But no, no, it wasn't time, because there was another man—Albus Dumbledore—and, despite his age, his magic was strong, and he was scooping Harry up in his arms and leaving, taking the boy to… safety?
Death considered following, but as he pulled the soul from the destroyed body of Quirinus Quirrell, more names appeared on his list, and Death left the way he'd come, his job calling for him once more.
…
He saw Harry again, not a year later. The body of a basilisk, a young girl lying on the ground, and another asterisk, though this time, Death knew what it was.
Another Horcrux—the same soul from the year before—though this one would be Death's to take.
He watched the boy stab a diary—the holder of the fragment of the soul—with a basilisk fang, and he collected the soul that left it. He watched as, yet again, the boy was saved on the brink of death, this time by a phoenix, and Death… well. He smiled.
He couldn't seem to help it.
…
Cedric Diggory was one of the kindest souls Death had reaped in a while, and he sent him up without a second thought, sure that the boy was destined for wings and a halo.
Three more names appeared on his list, and he knew he should leave, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.
He stood by a gravestone and watched Harry struggle against the binds holding him. A cauldron bubbled nearby, and Death knew the ritual, he could sense the fragment of the soul, and he knew what was going to happen before the figure rose from the pewter.
He'd never been more tempted to reach out and reap, even though this name wasn't on his list.
As another name appeared on his list, Death shook his head.
Harry Potter wouldn't die tonight.
Death realised that, asterisk or no, he would know.
…
He wasn't sure what drew him there. There were no names on his list, and Sirius Black's soul was beyond him. He couldn't reach those that fell through the veil; Sirius Black's fate was not for him to know.
There were no other names on the list, a minor break, if only for a few minutes. Perhaps that was why he was here.
Watching Harry.
The boy writhed on the floor, possessed by the fragment Death had seen rise months earlier. Death could see him fighting it, and he felt a sudden surge of pride.
Harry was strong, despite the odds stacked against him.
Marked by the fragmented one, marked by Death himself, asterisk notwithstanding, and yet here he was, fighting, living.
No longer was Death tempted to reap him; no, instead, Death faced a new temptation, and it was getting stronger every day.
But to reap one whose name wasn't on the list was… well. He didn't know. He'd never done it.
But he was tempted by the one called Tom Riddle; the one called Lord Voldemort; the one called the Dark Lord.
One and the same, despite the many fragments.
…
The spell hit Harry, and Death reached out a hand, hesitating at the last moment. There was something behind that lightning bolt scar, and Death cursed himself for not realising what it was before.
Instead of taking Harry's soul, Death pulled the shade from behind the scar, leaving Harry's own soul whole and intact.
The asterisk was the first to disappear, and then Harry Potter's name left the list.
Moments later, the name of Tom Riddle appeared.
Death smiled.