-3000 B.C-
The blank void stretches on for infinity. The room stretches in a way no mortal could understand, one could walk for all of eternity in one direction and never reach the end, similarly, one could walk in said direction for five minutes and somehow find themselves on the other side of where they started. The place could confuse one's mind until they were nothing more than babbling children, struggling to comprehend it's depth. There were no colors in this place, just as there were no shapes and no way to tell if the blank nothingness was a room, a castle, a mansion, or a tiny box. It was an endless expanse of white, and everything blended together so much so that the floor looked like the ceiling, and one would not be able to tell up from down unless they were standing on the floor.
This was what one called 'Purgatory'.
This was where the Beings resided.
Thousands of miles in the void---or perhaps they stood only feet away from you---the Beings sat together. Here, where the Beings lounged, the nothingness void warped into a lush room. The furniture was scarce, but what they did have was beautiful and extravagant. Pillars of white, marbled with the tiniest specks of grey and black (the only color in the entire realm) lined the room. In the center of this 'room', sat two lush chairs, completely opposite to each other, both in design and position, centered around a small table and an elegant chess set.
The chair on the right was as white as the rest of the void, and it would have blended into the blank nothingness if not for the defining texture that forced it to stand out against the blank canvas. It was beautiful, carved of what one would consider marble, and the chair legs, arm rests, and back of the chair were all sculpted in what appeared to be root patterns. If one looked closer, they'd see tiny carved foliage at the top of the back of the chair, making the chair look as though it were a carved tree.
The chair on the left, however, looked so different it was almost comical. It was startling dark---an opposing void of black nothingness that stood out against the white. The chair seemed to be made of living shadows that twisted and squirmed, as though it was fighting it's form. The chair gave off an ominous presence that seemed to heavy the atmosphere around it, mirroring it's owner who currently sat in it.
Said owner was currently pouting, the Being's form was half covered by the shadows of the chair He sat in, His head resting on His hand as He stared at the chess set in front of Him with despair.
A high pitched laugh echoed across the blank nothingness and the Being only pouted further.
"Stop pouting," the other Being said, a bemused expression resting on Her ethereal features. "It is unbecoming of you."
"Everyone is afraid of me," the Being whined, His features pulling into a closed scowl. "It's not fair. I'm getting bored!"
"Then play a game with me," the second Being suggested, gently lifting the black pawn and holding it out to Her counterpart. "I'll provide you with entertainment."
The first Being leveled Her with a deadpanned stare. "Why do you always get to have fun?" the Being asked, resigning Himself to another game as He reluctantly took the chess piece. "The mortals love you. They build shrines for you! Never me, and that's not fair!"
"They've built shrines for you, Dear Brother." She said, moving Her white pawn to attack His.
"Out of fear." the Being said bitterly, watching with disinterest as She took His rook.
"So?" She said, looking at Him with a raised eyebrow. "Is that not what you wanted?"
The Being said nothing for a very long time. The game commenced silently, just as several other had, and He wanted with a blank expression as His Dear Sister took His king, ending the chess game.
Death looked at His Dear Sister for a long while, long enough for Fate to reset Her chess board before He spoke again.
"I'm still bored."
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-200 A.D-
The room stood, just as it always had, unchanged. The passing of time was insignificant in this place, and it did not follow a linear fashion. What may have been yesterday could feel like a thousand lifetimes ago, likewise, what may have happened a century ago would feel like it had occurred mere seconds prior.
Here, in this room, the extravagant furniture still stood, the two Beings still sat, and the game of chess still continued.
"A new civilization has arisen," Death said, moving His pawn two spaces forward, inching His way closer to His Dear Sister's bishop. Fate hummed to show Her interest. "They call themselves 'Mayan'. I find them rather entertaining."
"Does it have anything to do with their sacrifices?" Fate asked, looking at Her Dear Brother with a raised eyebrow. Death said nothing, choosing to continue the game.
As Death moves his rook closer to the bishop, Fate makes Her move. Death watches with resignation as She conquers his last rook and sets Her sights on His king. Death knows that He won't win, but He had gotten closer to beating Her than He had in centuries, so He counted it as a personal victory.
"I hear they sacrifice quite often," Fate muses, moving Her bishop so that it might conquer His pawn. "You seem to visit them frequently. Are they entertaining, Dear Brother?"
Death watches as His second to last pawn is taken by His Dear Sister's bishop. "Far more entertaining than being beaten by you again and again, Dear Sister." Death acknowledges.
Fate's bishop, after finishing off His last pawn, is pushed closer towards the only piece guarding His king: His queen. "And yet you continue to play." Fate points out, gleefully attacking His queen.
"Alas, I fear I am holding on to the hope that I might beat you one day, Dear Sister." Death says, smiling triumphantly when His queen takes Her bishop. He vanishes the bishop with a pointed smile.
"If you wish to beat me, Dear Brother," Fate says, moving an unnoticed rook into the perfect position to attack His king. Death's triumphant expression bleeds off His face. "You'll need to become better at strategy. Check."
Death moves His queen, unable to attack the rook, and resigning His last bit of protection to be taken by Fate's rook. "I am quite good at strategy," Death muses. "No mortal could beat me."
"Is that why you visit the mortal realm so frequently?" Fate asks, moving the rook to conquer the queen. "To best them at chess? Check." Fate's rook stands in perfect position to take Death's king.
"I go for entertainment," Death says, moving His king out of the trajectory of Fate's rook, unknowingly placing Himself in the perfect position for Fate's knight to conquer Him. "The mortals can be quite entertaining, even if it gets old rather quick."
Fate merely smirks at Him. "Your entertainment will come, Dear Brother, do not fret." She then gleefully takes his king, ending the game. "Checkmate."
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-January 7 1605-
The room holds only one occupant, and She sits in Her chair with an air of as She looks at the half-played chess set in front of Her. Her opponent had left quite suddenly in the middle of Their game, and had yet to return. She looked up, however, when the chair of shadows writhed about, changing shape to form Her Dear Brother's figure, appearing from the shadows.
He does not sit in His chair to continue the game, however, choosing instead to pace around the room of emptiness. Fate watches with disinterest as Her Dear Brother mutters angrily to Himself.
"Has something happened?" Fate finally asks, eliciting another round of angry mutters.
"No! And that's the problem!" Death cries, throwing His hands up in the air with a frustrated huff.
"You are upset... because nothing has happened?" Fate asks, eyeing Her Dear Brother speculatively.
"Quite so," Death says, continuing to pace about Their space. "Nothing has happened in centuries. I. Am. Bored."
Fate sighs. "Is that all? I feared something was wrong."
"Something is wrong! Did you not hear me? I'm bored!" Death hissed. Fate moved Her knight, continuing the game that Death had walked out on minutes earlier. (Or perhaps He'd left decades ago, Fate wasn't quite sure.)
"You are always bored, Dear Brother," Fate said, ignoring Death's irritated huffs. "What about the reformation? I hear it's quite messy."
Death scoffs. "This is not the first time religion has been reformed," He said. "I doubt it will be the last."
"It will not," Fate confirmed. "But it is still entertaining, is it not?"
Death shrugs. "You've seen it once, you've seen it a thousand times."
"If you're not going to watch the Protestant Reformation, then come, sit. It's your turn." Fate says, holding out a black knight towards Her Dear Brother's brooding form. Death eyes the chest piece with distaste.
"You're going to win anyway, Dear Sister. Why do you insist we play?"
Fate merely grins at him. "Because it's not about the winning, Dear Brother, it's about the strategy."
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-August 15 1900-
Over the years, Death has grown more and more restless. It was not uncommon to see His shadowy form pacing about the blank room, near silent mutters escaping His mouth. Over the years, Fate had grown accustomed to Her Dear Brother's woes, yet She hated to see Him so discontent.
Fate sighed softly as She watched Her Dear Brother melt into the room via His shadow chair again, ignoring the laid out chess set in favor of pacing about the room madly, His arms waving about to accompany His furious mutters.
"Come, sit with me Dear Brother." She called out to Him.
Death eyes Her suspiciously. "Why?"
"My Dear Brother," Fate says softly. "I've noticed your restlessness, and I have answered you."
Death raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Quite," Fate said. "I've given you a place... very soon in the future you shall have a companion."
"A companion?" Death says, surprise taking over His face and lacing His words. Fate nods.
"I believe the reason as to your boredom is because you are lonely."
Death laughed, the sound of thousands of voices overlapping each other while chuckling bounced off the pillar walls. "I am Death, how can I be lonely?"
Fate only moved her pawn two spaces before gesturing towards Death to make His move. "All become lonely, Dear Brother, even you."
Death paused at this, and he slowly leaned forward to look at his pieces. Of his eight pawns, only five remained, and they were scattered about the board. This game had been long abandoned---several decades if His math was correct, but Fate did not seem bothered by the wait. Then again, time was such a finicky thing here.
"A companion, you say?" He asks, His head tilting as He considers it. What a strange idea it is; to have a companion. Whatever would they do? What would be their purpose?
Fate nods once again. "He shall be borne soon. He will be special, different. Your companion shall surprise you but he shall complement you in every way." Fate says, watching as Death moves His rook to conquer Her knight, a mere two spaces away from His king. "Someone made just for you."
Death smiles slowly, true glee overtaking Him at the thought. Perhaps Fate was right, perhaps He was lonely. He'd often see mortals spending time with their families and friends---Death had always thought it endearing, the way they would hang onto other mortals tightly, only to grieve when He inevitably came to reap them.
Death had never considered having something like that for Himself. It had always been Him and His Dear Sister. He had never given much thought to it, but now that He consciously thought about it, He was quite lonely.
Having a companion to spend the rest of eternity with sounded quite nice, actually.
"Then I await his birth eagerly."
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-February 18 1942-
"How dare he do such a thing!" Death snarls, His form starting to dissipate from the rage. While Death had a mortal form, here, in this place, He chose not to use it. His actual form was that of shadows. His figure was skeletal, and even His face was that of a skull, the empty eye sockets glowing a bright green light, but His body was covered in inky black nothingness---a blank void that mirrored His own realm, opposite to His Dear Sister's realm that was a white void. The shadows that covered Him twisted and writhed about with rage, appearing to unravel. His chair mirrored His form.
Fate watches as He stomps about the room with seething fury. "What has happened?" She asks. Death whirls around to face Her, and accusing, bony finger points at Her.
"Do not act as though you don't know!" He hisses.
"Quite," Fate says simply. "Of course I am aware of what has angered you so. I was merely being polite."
"Did you not think it prudent to tell me?" Death demanded. "This was something I should've known about!"
"I disagree." Fate countered, waving Her hand and resetting the chess set in front of Her for a new game. Death eyed the board with anger.
"I do not wish to play a game right now," He said, his hands clenching into fists. "I am far too angry."
Fate merely levels Him with a deadpanned stare. He stares at Her for a long second (or perhaps it was hours?) before He sighs and relent, sitting down in His still-writhing-with-anger chair and wordlessly moves a pawn forward.
"It needed to happen." Fate says finally, ignoring Her Dear Brother's sharp inhale. They didn't need to breathe, but on this occasion, Death was far too upset to care.
"It needed to happen?" Death repeats incredulously. "It is the ultimate offense! What he's done---"
"It was necessary."
"It is blasphemy!"
"Tom Riddle will soon do incredible things," Fate says simply, taking His knight with Her bishop. "His slights will be forgiven because he is following my plan, just as he was meant to."
"You planned for him to split his soul?!" Death cried, aghast.
"You will understand soon." Fate said, watching with glee as, in His anger, Death makes a careless move that leaves His king defenseless.
"I think not!" Death says with great offense.
Fate merely moves Her bishop into position. "Check." She says, watching as Her Dear Brother snarls. "And I assure you, Dear Brother, you will."
And as She moves to checkmate, Death snarls and continues to rage about the great offense done to Him, She smirks.
It is all coming together.
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-July 31 1980-
The hospital room is bright and full of people rushing about, frantically calling for a healer as the woman falls into labor. Beside her, her husband holds her hand and whispers words of encouragement while fear floods his face. A man pushes through the crowd, calling out, "Okay, Mrs. Potter, get ready to push."
As the nurses surround the woman, the healer kneels before her, and her husband presses a teary-eyed kiss to her forehead. She lets out an ear shattering scream as the pain overwhelms her, and she begins to push.
In the panic, no one notices the sudden chill in the room---or if they do, they think nothing of it. No one takes notice of the breeze that appeared out of nowhere in the closed room, no windows open. As the woman with apple-red hair screams, two figures appear in the room, invisible to the mortal eye.
"Why have you called me here?" Death asks, looking at His Dear Sister in slight confusion. None of the mortals can hear them, but Death watches with mild amusement as the healer's skin prickles with goose flesh.
"I have called you here because I know you won't want to miss this." Fate says cryptically.
Death eyes the scene before him with a raised eyebrow. "And what exactly is this?"
"Gimme one last push, Mrs. Potter! I can see the head!" the healer cries, and the red haired woman lets out another cry as she pushes. The man beside her pets her sweaty hair and offers her words of encouragement and praises.
"This is the birth of your destined Master." Fate says, watching with a smirk as Her Dear Brother freezes with shock before a look of pure joy spreads across His face.
Death had given up three of His most prized possessions a few centuries ago in the hopes of speeding up the process of finding His companion. Fate had said nothing to discourage Him, even though She knew that none of the mortals who fought for Death's favor would become His Master.
Fate had made complex plans and had already foreseen who would be His companion. He was born for this, His genes carefully selected through centuries of ancestors, all for the sole purpose of being Death's companion. Death's belongings would not be gathered by just anyone, no, they would be gathered by Death's destined Master.
"My... My Master?" Death asked, His voice raw and vulnerable.
Fate smiled at the raw emotion that passed over Her Dear Brother's face. "Yes, Dear Brother," She said softly. "He will become your Master."
A piercing cry echoed through the hospital room as cheers erupted from the nurses and doctor, and a triumphant, yet exhausted smile rested on the woman's face. Death watched a baby boy was held up towards the man, and cradled in a soft cloth.
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," the healer said with a smile. "It's a healthy baby boy!"
The man lets out a relieved, teary laugh and looks at the bundle with awe. Death is in a similar state, His empty sockets glowing brightly as they fixate on the bundle in the mortal's arms. The man hands the bundle to the woman who lays in the bed and she smiles down at the newborn.
"Harry," she says, her voice full of love and adoration. "His name is Harry James Potter."
"Harry James Potter," Death breathes, His voice full of wonder. "He's perfect."
Death watches as he takes his first breath, watches as he lets out his first cry, watches as his master is named---Harry James Potter---and he watches as he is surrounded by the love of his parents.
Death lets a single tear drip down His face.
Finally, He won't be alone anymore.
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-January 3 1984-
It happened while They sat around the table, another game of chess in the process. Death had attached an anchor to Harry after he'd been born, that way, he'd be aware of anything serious that happened to his Master and future companion. It was during this game of chess when Death felt the tugging of his anchor.
Death feels His Master's soul bleed closer to His realm and excitement courses through Him. Finally! His Master is coming!
Death let's out an excited shout before He melts into the shadows of His chair. Had He stayed for just a second longer, He would've seen Fate's surprised face and confusion.
Death appears from the shadows in front of number 4 Privet Drive, His glowing eyes taking in the scene before Him with greed. His Master's house lay in rubble at His feet, blood and bodies lay splayed about in the mess. In the center of it all, His Master laid in a pool of his own blood, said crimson liquid still leaking out of his throat sluggishly.
Death scowls when He sees the only other living being in the field. Tom Marvolo Riddle stands in the rubble, his eyes wide with horror as they gaze upon the dying figure on the ground. Death watches with annoyance as the man kneels before His Master---He was still bitter about the horcruxes---and struggles to staunch the blood flow.
His efforts are for naught, as Death feels His Master's soul enter His realm.
Standing above his now cooling body, His Master is hunched in on himself, his soul staring with wide eyes at his dead body and the grieving figure above it. Death's smile widens as He approaches the newly dead soul.
His Master turns to face Him with wide eyes, and His Master let's out a soft whimper at the sight of Him. Death winces, but He knows He must look scary to His young Master---who died quite young, now that Death thought about it.
"Who... Who... are you?" His Master asks, his soul trembling. "Why is... Papa cryin'?"
Death allows His mortal form to take over, covering His grand skeletal and shadowy form in the hopes of putting His young Master at ease. Death pulls His Master into a tight embrace, and Death relishes in the feeling of completeness He never knew He was missing.
"I am Death," He said, running His fingers through His Master's inky black hair.
"Am... Am I dead?" His Master asks, eyes wide.
"You are, but do not be afraid. You are safe now." Death coos, running His hands down His Master's back soothingly.
Before His Master has the chance to say more, a horrific scream fills the silence of the night. Death turns His head just in time to see Tom Riddle---"The Immortal Lord" as His Dear Sister calls him---complete a ritual that Death had hoped would never be performed again.
Death lets out a rage filled scream as His Master's soul is forcibly tugged away from Him and forced back into his broken body. Death watches with horror as His Master is ripped away from Him and forced back to life. The Immortal Lord embraces His stolen Master and promises to keep him safe, and a rage Death has never known fills Him.
He stays long enough to hear His Master sob out, "Papa?" before He can bear to watch no longer.
He appears in the blank void, furious. He intends to scream at His Dear Sister, to hurl accusations at the Being who swore that He would have a Master only to freeze at the sight that greeted Him.
Fate's chess pieces lay scattered on the floor.
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-November 20 1991-
Death enters the void, confusion swirling around inside Him after the conversation He just had. It was a normal conversation, and it shouldn't have filled Him with all these conflicting emotions, and yet it did. He didn't know how to describe the feelings that rose inside His chest.
He had assumed that He would feel enraged after His meeting with the Immortal Lord, and yet all He felt was a mess of affection, amusement and longing. All of these emotions made no sense, and He struggled to find the reason as to why He felt this way.
He looked up when He felt eyes burning into His back. He is greeted by the sight of a smirking Fate.
"What is it?" He asks.
"My pieces have returned to their place." She says. Death looks at her sharply. Fate's pieces never returned to their place on the board after His Master's forceful resurrection. Yet, if what His Dear Sister said is true then...
"How am I to get my companion when my Master resides in Magic's domain?" he demands. Fate just cackles.
"Why do you assume your Master is your Companion?"
Death is silent for a long time as Fate laughs. When Fate finally calms down she lifts a black pawn off the board and holds it out to Death.
"Come, Dear Brother, play another round with me."
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END OF PART ONE
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