Holly Potter was furious. Not just annoyed, but truly, deeply furious. It had only been ten minutes since she set foot in magical Britain for her godson's birthday, and already she was being called away. These days, her visits to the wizarding world were rare and for good reason. There was the unsettling fact that she wasn't aging, her legendary status that refused to fade, the relentless media attention, and the hordes of admirers—some eligible, most not—who seemed to believe they could win her hand. And then there were the persistent rumors whispering that she was the Mistress of Death. Well, that part was true, but the wizarding world certainly didn't need to know.

Teddy's 15th birthday was meant to be a quiet affair, with a guest list that was intentionally kept small—mostly her doing. Teddy didn't have many genuine friends; too many people wanted to be close to him simply because of his connection to her. He had even avoided inviting his more amicable Hogwarts acquaintances, knowing they'd likely swarm Holly with questions the moment she arrived. So, the gathering consisted of just a handful of people: Teddy, his grandmother Andromeda, Draco and Daphne Malfoy with their son Scorpius, Narcissa Malfoy, Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini with their two children, Zandor and Marietta. That was it. It saddened Holly to think that after her own lonely childhood, Teddy might be facing a similar fate, all because of her. If only she were normal, perhaps he could have more real friends. Instead, he was left navigating a small circle of faces who knew Holly from her Hogwarts years.

Her own circle of friends had dwindled over the years, with two of the most noticeable absences being Ron and Hermione. Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Holly still felt restless. Hermione and Ron had made domestic life look easy; with a second child on the way and secure positions within the Ministry, thanks to their status as two-thirds of the Golden Trio, they had settled into a comfortable routine. But Holly couldn't move on. Death Eaters were still at large, and the Ministry, having learned nothing from the past, continued to fight them with non-lethal spells. The desperate remnants of Voldemort's followers, lacking leadership and direction, were causing chaos. It felt like another civil war was brewing, and Holly was helping as much as she could. But eventually, she grew tired of fighting for a society that wouldn't fight for itself. It seemed inevitable that a new dark wizard would rise, and when that happened, Holly wanted to be as far from Britain as possible. However, Hermione and Ron disagreed. In their minds, Holly should let the Ministry handle the situation, settle down, marry someone suitable, and start a family—so that their children could grow up together. But how could she do that when magical society hadn't learned from its mistakes? None of the eligible bachelors appealed to her. It wasn't a major fight that drove a wedge between Holly and her friends; their lives had simply diverged.

The argument about "stop fighting and live a life" was moot anyway. It was becoming increasingly noticeable to those closest to her that she wasn't aging. Growing old and raising grandchildren was a dream forever out of reach for her. And then came another shocking discovery—immortality. Holly had discovered her immortality as the Mistress of Death during a visit to New York, when a stray bullet had "killed" her. Damn Americans and their guns. She had woken up again in a train station, but this time, she wasn't greeted by Dumbledore; it was Death itself. The conversation that followed was as enlightening as it was disturbing.

Shortly after that, Holly decided to travel the world. Although she had eternity to explore, she might as well start as soon as possible. She also wanted to learn how other cultures handled "dark magic." Because, for the life of her, she hadn't heard of any other dark lords roaming the world. Her travels were eye-opening. Did no one ever wonder why the last two dark lords had both emerged from Britain in the past century? It was because only in Britain was dark magic so heavily repressed. Everywhere else, it was treated with the same respect as light magic—a yin and yang, a balance. Magic was simply magic. It seemed as though the magic itself in Britain was pushing for more freedom for the dark arts, manifesting in a powerful individual every few decades to restore balance. So, really, magical Britain was to blame for the bloody wars of the last century. If only they could open their eyes.

She longed to share her discoveries with her former friends, but she knew it was pointless. Ron, even more prejudiced after the war, saw himself as the "beacon and guardian of light" within their trio. He would never change his mind or help push for a more balanced approach to magic. So, for now, Holly pushed those thoughts aside. She owed nothing to the "magical sheep." Let them make their own mistakes again. If the next dark lord rose, well, she wouldn't be stopping him. Maybe she would join him, depending on her mood.

Now, fifteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Holly was trying to enjoy the small gathering of friends and family. But even surrounded by familiar, loving faces, Britain no longer felt like home. Britain felt like it belonged to another life, although Holly still looked like a 17-year-old girl. And in a way, it was another life. That didn't mean she wasn't enjoying her time with old friends; she was, but it was bittersweet. With each visit, she watched as her friends' children and Teddy grew older, while the adults gathered more wrinkles. Holly knew her time with these people was limited and tried to cherish it. But sometimes, she found herself fighting back tears with every goodbye. Immortality, she had come to realize, was truly a curse.

Ten minutes into the party, while the house elves were carefully arranging the cake, she was abruptly summoned by a frantic call from Death itself. This was unusual; Death was not known for panic.

"I'm sorry, Teddy. Something's wrong. Death is panicking, and I…"

"It's okay, Holly," Teddy mumbled, though his disappointment was clear.

"No, it's not okay. Your parents named me your godmother so I could take care of you when they couldn't, and I can't even manage to stay ten minutes at your birthday party. I'm a lousy guardian. Thank Merlin for Andromeda, who's always doing right by you."

"Holly, we know you hate what you've become and that you wanted a normal life. If you could, you'd give it all up. But you're making the world a better place so I can grow up in a safe place. I really have the coolest godmother in the world," Teddy said, trying to reassure her. He was such a sweetheart.

"I'll be back, I promise, bearing more gifts!"

"Oh, I think the gift from this trip will be only for you, Holly," Luna said airily, her eyes twinkling with that knowing look she so often had.

"What do you mean, Luna? I'm not buying myself presents on Teddy's birthday!" Holly replied, incredulous.

Luna only smiled in response.

Bless Luna. Always throwing riddles at the most surprising moments. But Holly had long ago decided not to doubt her. Time would tell what Luna meant.

With that, Holly reached the boundary of the Black Mansion and vanished.

After she left, Luna decided to share a bit more with the guests at the party.

"Next year, Andromeda, please prepare one more seat. And Teddy, you'll finally find a partner for that American sport you've been so eager to try—baseball. Although, do make sure to purchase an aluminum bat, not a wooden one."

No one dared to question Luna or ask for more details.

"This had better be good," Holly muttered, her voice laced with irritation as she swept into the grand ballroom of her Geneva castle. The stone walls echoed with the resentment she felt at having her godson's birthday party interrupted. Geneva had become her sanctuary, a haven far removed from the chaos of her other properties. The castle, with its serene beauty and isolation, was her refuge. Nestled in a region home to a small, discreet magical community—an elite group, if she dared say so—it provided her the anonymity she craved. Here, she could live undisturbed, far from the prying eyes of the press and the endless parade of suitors.

Many of the wizards and witches in the area were legends in their own right, figures immortalized on Chocolate Frog cards. Holly herself had been inducted into this exclusive circle shortly after the war. She still remembered the humorous letter they had sent her, welcoming her into their fold and inviting her to their monthly gatherings in Geneva. These meetings, filled with the exchange of rare books and spirits, tales from across the globe, and wagers on trivial matters, had quickly become one of the few social events she looked forward to. Despite the initial awe she felt, Holly soon realized that these luminaries were just as humble as they were successful. After half a year of mingling with this illustrious group, she decided to purchase the castle that once belonged to Penelope and Nicolas Flamel. It seemed only fitting.

Death awaited her at the long, polished table, a somber expression etched on his gaunt face—a rarity in their encounters. There was an apologetic air about him that set her on edge.

"Mistress," he began, his voice unusually grave, "He's awake. I had no time to inform you earlier, and now the Other Side is conspiring against him."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Holly snapped, her irritation flaring.

"Your mate is finally awake. But so is his mother. She's returned with a singular purpose—to kill all of her children, and with them, their entire race."

Holly's heart skipped a beat. Kol Mikaelson, her mate, had awakened. His mark had appeared on her skin the moment she had returned from that spectral train station where she had once encountered Dumbledore. She hadn't known its significance then, a fox and a name in ancient runes. She had spent years deciphering the script in dead language, and the name it revealed: Kol.

Of course, she knew the legend. The Original Family—the first vampires, ancient and powerful. Professor Binns, in one of his rare departures from droning on about Goblin Wars, had lectured on them during her fifth year. Most of the girls had harbored crushes on one of the Originals, especially the hybrid Klaus Mikaelson, whose tragic history of torment had captured their imaginations. Holly, however, had thought him a monumental prick.

During the First Wizarding War, Voldemort had attempted to recruit Klaus, not anticipating that the ancient vampire would bow to no one. The Dark Lord had barely escaped with his life. Holly had heard the tale from Draco, who had, in turn, learned it from his father, Lucius—now serving a twenty-year sentence in Azkaban for his role in Voldemort's reign.

It was a rare name, Kol, but she hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions. She had pestered Death for confirmation, and after two months, he had relented. Yes, Kol Mikaelson was indeed her mate—the same Kol who had not been seen since 1912, likely daggered and entombed by his siblings.

For nearly a decade, Holly had searched for his coffin. Death had been unable to pinpoint his location, as Kol was in a state of near-death, kept in limbo by that cursed dagger. Holly had traveled the globe, following whispers and rumors of his brother Klaus, who dragged Kol's coffin like a macabre piece of luggage. But Klaus was paranoid, reclusive, and Holly had never been able to catch up with him. And even if she did, what then? What would she say? "Hi, Sleeping Beauty. I'm Holly, your soulmate, an immortal witch courtesy of Destiny, which decided to complicate my life further by tying it to yours. Now, let's kiss and make up?"

Yeah, right. After a century of forced slumber, Kol would likely tear her throat out before she finished her speech.

So, Holly had found herself torn—desperate to find him, yet apprehensive about what would happen if she did. Her life had been dictated by prophecies, destiny, fate—call it what you will. Now, there was someone she was destined to be with, yet again with no say in the matter. She had long given up on the idea of love, especially after discovering her status as Mistress of Death. But a mate was supposed to love you, right? And Holly, who had felt unlovable for so long, couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, this time, fate might be kind.

Intrigued by the enigmatic figure of Kol Mikaelson, Holly had devoured every scrap of information about him. Old scrolls, rare books, and tales from her friends in the Chocolate Card community had painted a picture of the youngest Mikaelson—former witch, lonely, forgotten by his family, endlessly restless. She saw in him a reflection of herself, and that connection had only deepened her desire to find him.

But now, he was awake—and so was his mother, Esther, with a deadly mission.

"Wait, back up," Holly demanded, her mind racing. "Did you say his mother is trying to kill him? I thought she died a thousand years ago!"

"Yes, Mistress," Death replied, his tone grim. "Esther is borrowing power from the Other Side to eliminate all vampires. Once her task is complete, she'll return to the Other Side herself."

Holly clenched her fists. Of course, the 'Mother of the Year' would come back just to murder her children. The Other Side—a ghastly limbo created by Qetsiyah—was beyond Death's reach, a place where souls were trapped, forced to watch the living instead of finding peace. It was an abomination, and Death had been furious about it for nearly two millennia. Holly had once promised him she would find a way to dismantle it, but for now, she had to handle this the old-fashioned way.

"Where are they?" she asked, steel edging her voice.

"In Virginia, in a town called Mystic Falls," Death replied. "A few hours ago, Elijah awoke all his siblings. Klaus's enemies have freed Esther, hoping to use her as a weapon against him. She's already plotting—she's hosting a ball, planning to lure her children into a trap. A binding spell, using a doppelgänger. Mistress, I suggest dressing appropriately for a ball."

Holly took a deep breath, her mind already formulating a plan. "How many do I get to kill, and what's the plan?"

Death let out a cackle, the sound echoing through the room. He lived for these moments of chaos and strategy.

"Let the games begin," he murmured.