Actions

Work Header

Death's Hand

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I only own Death, Mort, Harriet Potter, and any other characters that are not created by J. K. Rowling. Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling. Enjoy.


Prologue

The End

2nd of May, 1998

Death's hand curled around her own as she reached deep into her pocket, her fingers touching the golden ball. Carefully with nerveless fingers, the girl pulled the Snitch out, her green eyes hardening as she stared at the writing on the cold surface.

I open at the close.

She shivered, as the dementors came close, their grasp on the air deadly and cold. Her arms were sore, her core drained, that if it wasn't for Death standing by her side, the witch would have fallen into unconsciousness. He held her up, his ancient bones carefully holding her side as she swayed back and forth. A numbing feeling tugged at her gut as a dementor loomed unnervingly close. Her Patronus was gone, her happy memories drifting away when she saw her loved ones die. Fred…

The witch shook her head and with a hesitant breath, pressed the gold metal to her lips and whispered,

'I am about to die.'

There was a small click as the Snitch broke open. Draco's wand felt heavy in her grasp as she raised it beneath the Cloak. A cold glow burst from the tip, and in the shuddering night, the Resurrection Stone gleamed. The witch's breath caught in her throat as Death moved her hand, instructing her to take the cracked stone. She flinched as her fingertips brushed the cold surface, her bruised and swollen fingertips running along a vertical line. The Elder Wand. The witch's breath tightened as the triangle and circle appeared next. The Cloak and Stone.

'Stop it,' the witch instructed, ripping her hand from Death's clutches. 'I can do this myself,'

Death grinned, his black hood fluttering in a non-existent wind. His hand fell to his side, his pitiless sockets watching her with what the witch would have called amusement. Before she could lose her nerve, the witch plucked to stone from the Snitch and turned it over in her hand. On the third roll, the witch paused.

She felt their presence long before she opened her eyes. Their feet trod on the twig-strewn ground, and the air thickened as four figures solidified, their forms becoming whole. She opened her eyes. The shades watched her, their forms flicking between ghost and flesh, and on each face, looking alive more then dead, a warm, loving smile graced their lips.

Her father was almost the same height as her, with his black until hair, the witch finally understood why Professor Snape compared her to him. She had his face, his long nose and thin lips — a face, that could twist into a smirk and make stiff centaurs smile. His clothes were faded, the dark blue shirt contrasting with his brown eyes that peered out behind a pair of slightly lopsided squared glasses. She had inherited his sight too.

Her godfather stood beside him, his tall, handsome frame towering over the witch, and for the first time in her lie, he looked healthy — young even. Death certainly suited Sirius well, for he stood still his right hand in his pocket and his hair fell down his back in thick, black waves. His eyes were sparkling, and hanging off his left arm, her dark hair pressed into his shoulder a young witch stood.

Dorcas Meadowes grinned, her eyes as clear and bright as melted glacier water. Her purple robes hung off her strong frame, and dangling around her neck, like some sort of forbidden sign, the metallic curve of a snake sat, it's slitted eyes watching the witch with a kind gaze.

Remus was younger too, his hair thick and dark. The scars that lined his face and gone, the trace of his old life drifting down the drain as his wife stood beside him, her hair fluttering between bright pink and a calming turquoise.

The witch's mother's smile was widest of all. She tucked her long, auburn hair behind her ear as she approached her. Her green eyes, searched her face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at her enough. Her hand reached up as if to catch her daughter's face, but before she could, she said,

'You've been so brave.'

The witch's mouth opened, her voice frozen as her eyes stared at the woman who she had never known.

'You are nearly there,' said her father, and the witch turned to face him, face pale. 'Very close. We are... so proud of you.'

'Does it hurt?' she whispered, the childish question drifting from her lips before she could stop it.

Sirius smiled.

'Dying? Not at all,' he said. 'Quicker and easier than falling asleep.'

'He means it,' Dorcas said. 'The Curse is kind that way,'

'And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,' said Remus.

The witch gripped Death's hand, as Tonks smiled at her.

'I'll watch for you,' she said.

The witch's hand curled tightly around Death's.

'I didn't want you to die,' she whispered, her voice hollow and cold. 'Any of you. I'm sorry —'

She turned to Remus, tears drifting down her face.

'— Teddy… He won't know. You've… Right after you had him. I'm sorry…'

'I am sorry too,' said Remus sadly. 'Sorry I will never know him... but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.'

Tonk's hair flitted to a deathly black as she squeezed her husband's hand.

A chill rose up the witch's back, and her heart winced as her hand shook — it was time to go.

'You'll stay with me?'

'Until the very end,' said her father.

'They won't be able to see you?' she asked, lips pursed.

Sirius shook his head.

'We are part of you,' he said. 'Invisible to anyone else.'

'And we'll watch over you,' Tonks said. 'Keep you safe.'

'Yeah,' Dorcas grinned again. 'Like we're going to ever leave you, Squeaky,'

The witch looked at her mother, her green eyes tracing her face one last time.

'Stay close to me,' she said quietly. 'And tell Fred…'

Lily Potter smiled, her eyes sad but hopeful. She nodded.

'Always,'

The Stone was tucked into the witch's pocket and, as if like leaves scattering across a cold ground, the ghosts followed her as she set off. She ignored the dementor's chill as she passed, the shades of her family keeping them at bay as she and Death approached her demise.

The Cloak sat around her shoulders, the folds kicking her heels as she plunged deeper and deeper into the forest. Where Voldemort was she didn't know, but judging from the Dementors and Death's tight grip on her hand, he was close. James, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dorcas and Lily, walked beside her, their feet silent over the cold death and for the first time in a long while, her courage crept into her blood.

The witch paused as a thud echoed through the forest. She peered under the Clock, the shades stopping beside her.

'Someone there,' a rough voice hissed. 'The bitch's got an Invisibility Cloak. Could it be-'

Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree: Their wands flared, and the witch's gaze hardened as Yaxley and Dolohov peered into the darkness. A grin cursed her lips as the two turned away.

'Definitely heard something,' said Yaxley. 'Animal, d'you reckon?'

'That head case Hagrid kept a whole bunch of stuff in here,' sniffed Dolohov, glancing over his shoulder. Yaxley looked down at his watch.

'Time's nearly up,' he said. 'Potter's had her hour. She's not coming.'

'Better go back,' said Yaxley. 'Find out what the plan is now.'

Yaxley and Dolohov walked away and after a moments destination, the witch followed. The lead her north, heading deeper into the forest, that as the witch crept behind the two Death Eaters she turned to her mother. The woman nodded.

And then she was standing in a clearing, Voldemort's head bowed, his fingers folded over the Elder Wand. Death uttered a silent curse, his hands tightening when he noticed the Death Stick. Swarms of Death Eaters huddled around their lord, their faces masked and heads hooded. Two giants loomed above them, and chewing his nails, Fenrir Greyback sulked. The witch shivered, her hands reaching up to trace the scars that ran down her neck. Rowle dabbed at his bleeding lip as Lucius Malfoy sat with his wife, his hands clasped in her own.

Everyone watched Voldemort, a silent question hanging in the air. Above him, in a charmed cage floating Nagini, her fangs sharp and deadly. Voldemort looked up as Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle.

'No sign of her, my Lord,' said Dolohov.

Voldemort's expression was placid, but his red eyes burned. Death shifted as he raised his wand.

'My Lord-'

The witch's skin bristled as Bellatrix spoke, but before she could continue, Voldemort silenced her with his hand.

'I thought she would come,' Voldemort hissed. 'I expected her to come.'

Nobody spoke. The witch's heart was breaking her ribs, determined to escape her body. She placed her hand on her chest it, afraid that Greyback may hear. Death leant her his skull on her the back of his head, comforting her.

'I was, it seems... mistaken,' Voldemort whispered.

Anger swelled in her gut as she stared at the man, and with a shuddering breath she ripped off her Cloak, allowing her green robes to flutter in the breeze.

'You weren't!' she cried, anger dancing across her lips.

Death chuckled as she slipped the Resurrection Stone into her pocket and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her parents, Sirius, Dorcas, Tonks and Lupin vanish as she stepped towards the firelight.

Voldemort stared at her, his red eyes tracing her gaunt frame as she strode towards him. Giants roared, Death Eaters rose and for the first time in her life, Death stayed put.

Then a voice yelled:

'HARRY! NO!'

The witch turned, her eyes dark as she noticed Hagrid, chained to a nearby tree. The ground shook as his massive body tried to move, the swell of pride for her father figure rising in her chest. He was alive.

'NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH—'

'QUIET!' Rowle cried, and with a flick of his wand, Hagrid was silenced. The witch turned away, her eyes dark as she stopped in front of Voldemort.

The Death Stick pressed against her chest, its sharp point tracing the valley between her breasts with a mocking twist. Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the girl standing before him. The witch said nothing as he smiled.

'Harriet Potter,' he said very softly, almost lovingly, but the witch had learnt long ago that he was only playing with her. Testing her. His wand trailed further down her body, to where her heart lay beating in her chest. 'The Girl Who Lived.'

No one moved. Everyone waited. The witch licked her lips and thought of Fred. His warm smile — his lips on hers — his cold body decorating the floor of the Great Floor. She thought of Hermione — the years of sharing a dorm — the friend she had gained. Ron came next — his light eyes — love of food and friendship that could never run dry. Daphne  — her hand into the world of the Purebloods  — the Queen in the Slytherin's hall.  Draco — the enemy turned friend in the final years of her life… Lastly, she thought of her mother and her final word… Always.

Voldemort's wand-hand was raised back, his head still tilted to one side, as if waiting for her to run. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hunting her down… this was the end…. The end of everything…

She heard his voice before she saw the curse. Powerful but longing at the same time, as if he had waited a hundred years for this.

She saw the wand flick, a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

Death's skeletal hand caught the woman as she fell, her auburn hair spilling onto the forest floor. He ignored Voldemort's scream of pain as the Horcrux burnt away, and instead fixed his black gaze on the woman who lay before him. He had stayed by her side for years, watching her age, a shadow sitting on her shoulder as she grew. He had clapped for her when she was sorted into Slytherin house — cheered for her when she'd picked up her wand and chosen to fight.

He had seen her first kiss, and the pain it caused when the boy died. How she rebuilt herself, turning away from her Uncle's harsh words and cruel treatment. He had seen her joyful smile, and kind eyes fade, the darkness swallowing her whole as she was replaced with a cynical mind, and a paranoid gaze. The little girl he had followed was long gone, and in her place, his Mistress sat.

Death could wait a little longer for her to return.