Chapter Text
Chapter One:
She absolutely abhorred this place. Everything was looking exactly the same, as if the Lich King was just defeated by the Champions of the Alliance and the Horde.
Sylvanas Windrunner felt totally empty and tired after all this time. Everything she had done was so she could end the one that had raised her in this cursed existence.
Vengeance.
That had been her purpose since the beginning of her life in undeath. Ruleship was not something she desired. But at that time, she was the voice and anger of all that had suffered from Arthas Menethil.
Standing atop the Frozen Throne, all that she could experience was all of the conflicting emotions that currently battled within her. After all the trials and tribulations, the Lich King was finally dead and put to rest, but at the same time, she was not present to see his fall, to be the one to send him to the hell he would now spend eternity in.
So, she just started waking to the edge of the Citadel. What other purpose was there for her? There was nothing that she wanted more than to escape this existence, to be put down to rest after everything that has happened.
The Val’kyr were swarming around her, trying everything to dissuade her, to stop her in that self-destructive quest of hers, but that was not going to happen. With a clear goal in mind and eternal rest in front of her, how could she not ignore them?
Finally at the edge of the Frozen Throne, after everything that had happened, the saronite spikes were the answer.
And so she jumped.
—0-0-0-0—
Everything was dark. She was weightless. There were no sounds, no colours, no smells.
Nothingness and emptiness was everything that she experienced.
Was that supposed to be her afterlife? Her eternal rest? After everything that had happened to her, after all this time, suffering just by being alive, she was now expected to spend all eternity in nothingness? Was it too much to be reunited with her mother, father, brother or, god-forbid, her sister Alleria?
“Your time to go there is not now, child”
A tall imposing figure was standing behind her. The torn black cloak was draped ominously around the figure of whatever that was talking to her.
“Then when is supposed to be my time?!” Sylvanas was not one to shout, but that was just absurd!
“You still have yet to fulfill your purpose in the living world. Only after Fate has been satisfied can you be brought to me.”
“Who are you?! Where are we?! Answer me!” she shouted. That was not supposed to be happening. No way was there something else that required her. She should be laid to rest!
“All will be explained in due time. For now, a bargain has been struck for you to be brought back. After all, the Val’kyr would need someone to lead them. For now, expect my chosen to greet you soon.”
She became weightless after that. A single Val'kyr was left at her place to stand next to the imposing figure.
Then she awoke again atop the Frozen Throne, Val’kyr all around her. Was she so far gone that even Death rejected her? And her chosen? Why did she suddenly have a strange image of a raven haired human stuck in her head?
—0-0-0-0—
Being the Master of Death meant a lot for Harry Potter. For him, that was not a title he inherited or perhaps stumbled upon it, instead he earned it.
After everything that had happened in the Magical world, he sowed fear in the hearts for all that dared to cross him.
After all, he was the one responsible for the deaths of the Leader of the Light and the Dark Lord that were once the major forces that drove Magical Britain to war. Everyone knew him as a ruthless leader or perhaps a fighter that left nothing to chance, he had complete mastery of the deaths of his foes.
But after all, he was just one person. And that is the main reason why for the last couple of years, he lived closed off, hidden in a house that was nowhere near Britain.
Voldemort was a rather big idiot. After his resurrection, the Dark Wanker became rather unhinged, his calculative mind was a thing of the past. There was only one goal in his mind and that was for Harry Potter to be dead at his feet.
A snort came out of the man that was currently remembering things, while being enroute to a thing that kept calling him.
He was no longer a scrawny little kid that did not know his place in the world. He was now a 6 '4'’ feet tall man, who was no longer unfed. He still appeared in his early twenties, but only he knew that this was not the case. Unfortunately, all that could have noticed that he stopped aging, were rather not available as Death had claimed them ten years prior.
For all of the power that You-know-who had, after his resurrection, he forgot the reason why Wizards and Muggles were separated. In his hubris, he started attacking them, since he was either mad that he could not get Potter, or just because his followers wanted some entertainment.
The bodies that piled behind him only grew in numbers. The government of Britain didn’t need to investigate too much to know what was happening. There were leads everywhere and when a rather noticeable portion of the population was showing up dead, from kids to elderly, this issue had to be taken seriously.
Who could have imagined that a rather big part of the wizarding society, that was actively discriminated against, and were treated just as second rate citizens, would actually inform the muggles of what was transpiring? People who disappeared at age eleven and then came back to society at age 18 trying whatever they can to gain some kind of education in order to reintegrate themselves to the muggle society. After all, these people were numerous.
When had he become that sarcastic that even he thought like that? He gave a quiet, amused laugh.
That was the proper beginning of a three front war where somehow Harry ended against all of the three sides. Who would have imagined. The revelation that Dumbledore was raising him just so that he can martyr himself at the end, so he can again swoop in and be the hero of the day with his grandfatherly act. Now that was quite the shocker. Him also stealing money from the Potter accounts to fund the Order? Now that was just expected of Harry Potter, after all he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Of course he would be okay with that.
Now was not the time to get lost down memory late though. He was finally at the Death’s Chamber.
For months now something was pulling him to this place. At moments, that was all he could think of. The room where his godfather died, where he first tried casting an Unforgivable. But why though?
The Ministry was abandoned. The smart wizards, started hiding again, tried to reintegrate themselves with muggles, but alas, the Purebloods were rather prideful. How could a muggle kill a Pureblood wizard? After all, shields could block physical objects, so guns were out of the question. But oh boy, are the muggles creative with the weapons and even the bio weapons they can create.
So he just walked in. In the room was just the Veil of Death. Was that what was calling him?
The closer he got, the more he wanted to go though. The voices that came out of the Vail were strangely alluring, calling and even pleading.
What was there for him in this world? An empty house, with just a couple of house elfs, no one was waiting for him. Maybe after all he could finally find what happened to Sirius all these years back. Would it even be possible?
And so he jumped in.
—0-0-0-0—
The sight that greeted him was rather interesting. Here he was, standing on a bridge and below him was a raging river.
Before he could think why this seemed rather familiar a tall imposing figure appeared beside him.
“We meet again, young Peverell.”
Well, that can mean only one thing. After all, it was called the Veil of Death for a reason.
“Death has came for me after all this time, it seems”
“Wrong, master. This is perhaps just a new beginning” the figure rasped.
“Death does not have a master. It cannot be controlled, as it is inevitable.” he argued. “Why would my death be just a beginning?”
“Wise words, young Peverell. Your Fate has been robbed from you. You were not supposed to end as you are now. And Fate always finds a way. You are the Chosen-One for the hard task ahead of you.”
“So I have no choice? What would that task be, what more can be required from me?”
“There are many worlds, Harry Potter. This has been but one of many, and you are needed in another. The balance between life and death is at stake and you, as my champion, are needed to restore it.”
“So no choice at all. How convenient. Again I’m just Fate’s plaything."He took a quick breath in order to calm himself. “I have no choice but to agree again to Fate’s machinations. Just answer me this, am I immortal?” This question has weighed on his mind for he has not aged a day since the collection of a certain set of items.
“The unification of the trinkets I foolishly granted the brothers leaves its mark. My mark. After all you are my champion now, young Peverell.”After a few beats of silence the personification of Death continued ”You shall be send to the world of Azeroth, where the enemies are numerous. Some even have the power to destroy the balance of the afterlife, namely the Burning Legion. There is someone already informed of your arrival, seek Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen. Be ready now my champion”
He didn’t get to ask anymore questions. It seemed like this was the end of the conversation and he had no way to ask more question. What was this Legion? Who was Sylvanas?
All he could feel right now, was the feeling of being transported, colours randomly appearing everywhere around him, as if he was sucked into a tube with no way of stopping.
Suddenly everything stopped and he was mid air. Seems like Death had a sense of humour.