Master of Death

Death is a Troll

He watched the Headmaster claim all three of his artifacts, becoming his Master. It drew a dark growl that curdled milk from his chest as the visions fell away. Fate, seemed to be the only one enjoying the outcome, the know it all rubbing it in their faces that she saw this happening and would enjoy every minute of it. However, Death rarely got to play a prank on her, Chaos already gave him an opening. He smiled at the child in his arms.

Come,~Little~~Master,~let~us~leave~this~derelict~place...

I~know~somewhere~you~will~be~safe...

Though~I~hope~you~do~not~mind~my~rather~clumsy~parenting,~it~has~been~several~eons~since~I~last~cared~for~a~baby...

The child slept on, having heard nothing he said as he touched his mind and looked through his blood memories. As he did so, he become mortal flesh, adopting features of close familial ties to the child.

“Ah... So you are my dear friend's descendant? Well then I cannot allow what my sister plans for you to come to pass... now I know a place where you will be perfectly safe. But first I will need to do a few things, Little Master...” with that shadows enveloped them just as someone came into the room and they were gone...

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He chuckled darkly as he visited the wand maker, Ollivander. The man nearly had a heart attack upon seeing him there. The man stammered and sweated, trying to find a reason as to why he was there since obviously it was not his time to die.

“Be at peace, dear child... I am only here for a wand... Holly, 10ins, phoenix feather, nice and supple. The brother wand to the yew, 13ins, phoenix feather wand you sold to a young man who had the potential to save you but fell from grace.” He told him.

“Yes, my Lord Death, right away!” He quickly ran to the front of his home and shop, clattering filled the silence, a few muffled curses before he came back in, walking briskly and dropping to his knees as he ducked his head low, the wand box open and showing him the wand he asked for.

“Excellent...” He took it and it sparkled in his hand, but he had no need for it, no use for it. His magic was as old as he was, long since mastered and infinite. “Here....” A sack full of Thestral hair appeared, almost as big as he was tall. “I'm sure you will make very good use of this, sell whatever you do not need or cannot use.”

“Thank you, my Lord!” He grovelled. “Is there anything else I may do for you?”

“Yes... I bind this meeting to your soul, Garrick Ollivander, keep it secret, keep it hidden. Should you fail this task, I will come to drag your soul to the deepest pits of the Underworld.” He growled.

“Yes my Lord. I will never willingly tell... but it does not mean others will not try and pry it from my lips through other means.” Ollivander agreed, pale from the threat, but steady in his acceptance.

“...Yes... However, that will not happen since as soon as I leave, you will not even remember this meeting until the time, that which I deem my charge ready to return... good night Ollivander...” He disappeared, the man's eyes going vacant before he startled.

“Oh my, I must have spaced... best make sure I did not forget to lock the front!” He scurried off, to the front and mumbling as he cleaned up the mess and checked his door to see it was indeed locked.

From the shadows Death nodded as the man clearly did not recall what happened nor did he second guess why there was a mess. He had another couple of stops to make before they were ready to go...

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He easily tore through the spells and traps that littered the little shack on the cliff. He knelt down and waved his hand over the floor boards and out of them floated a golden ring upon which sat his Stone. He purged the curse from it and chuckled as he slipped it onto his left index finger, the ring recognizing him as the rightful master. His Cloak was already donned over his mortal form and his Wand was in a holster on his thigh. Now all three of his treasures were back with him, though he could no longer use them for himself. He glanced down at the child, still sleeping safely tucked into his human arms. He frowned, not use to flesh, it was so constrictive and his pallor was deathly pale, but oddly it held a pinkness to suggest good health. The baby was nearly as pale, though it looked exquisite on him since he was really alive.