Chapter Text
Prologue
Time was a fickle thing, as was death—but most people feared death far more than they did time, and that was the mistake most people, and even other gods, often made.
Harry was an exception, though. Death and its sisters seemed to possess an unusual obsession with him.
Even after the final battle, one would think their interest would have faded by now, but that was simply part of Potter luck.
London — 1899
Undertaker’s Shop
In the far corner of a dimly lit shop sat a man, fumbling with what appeared to be the head of a female doll. Upon closer inspection, however, it was revealed to be the broken head of a male one. The shop itself was littered with opened and unopened coffins, and at present, it was filled with dolls that looked a little too realistic to be comforting.
The jingle of the bell above the door sounded as it was pushed open.
“Welcome. What can I do for you? Are you here to try out one of my beautiful coffins?”
“Undertaker! Darling, wonderful to see you again.”
The peppy voice was heard before its owner even came into view.
Standing by the door was a woman dressed in a flowing sundress. Her bright nature shone so vividly that, by her mere presence, the once-gloomy shop seemed to glow—as if lit by a thousand fireflies.
“Fate, Doll Baby! What a splendid surprise,” the Undertaker exclaimed. “What are you doing in this part of the universe? I thought you and your siblings were on vacation with the baby Death.”
“Oh, the vacation was wonderful, darling,” Fate replied, her face pulling into a sulky pout, “but it seems it hasn’t had the desired effect. Harry still isn’t looking lively at all.”
“That’s why I came here,” she continued. “I was wondering if you could keep an eye on him for us. You see, Death decided to send him here to see if it might cheer him up a little.”
The Undertaker paused, his face pulling into a thoughtful expression. After a moment, it broke into a wide grin.
“Of course, Doll Baby! Send the baby Death here! Oh, he’ll love it for sure—and it’s perfect timing, too. There have been talks going around about some rather mysterious happenings…”
His voice trailed off, the words dying on his tongue even as his smile remained firmly in place.
“Really? Oh, wonderful!” Fate exclaimed happily. “I’ll tell Death to send him to the Reapers’ Agency first so he can retrieve his death scythe for this world. I’m sure he’ll want it back.”
“Of course, my dear. I shall wait for his visit—but tell him to come soon. It gets awfully boring here sometimes,” the Undertaker replied with equal enthusiasm.
“I will, darling. Now I must go and tell them you’ve agreed. I’ll see you when I can—and I hope you get a lovely customer to dress up next time.”
Death’s Realm
By the illusion of a great castle sat a man whose face looked as though it had been crafted by an angel. Raven-colored hair fell down his back, bound by a single red ribbon, and his eyes—green as the Killing Curse, if not brighter—shone with knowledge one could only hope to possess.
“Master, it is time to leave now,” a soft, rumbling voice whispered into the stillness.
“Then shall we depart, my dear?” the man replied, turning from the darkness with a smile, his green eyes lit with delight. “Let us see if this new universe is as fun as you say.”
“Of course, Master.”
Death bowed, a hand pressed over his chest in respect.
“London, you said?” the man continued thoughtfully. “I wonder how different it will be from my world.”
With a soft chuckle, both figures disappeared, the magnificent castle melting away to reveal the ruins of what had once been beautiful.