Soo I recently read the Book Thief, and I though it was cool how it was narated by Death. And there's a lot of that in Harry Potter. So I'm gonna try to narate Harry's life from Death's point of view, Book Thief style.
I know this will shock you, but I don't own Harry Potter or Book Thief.
I saw the Boy Who Lived many times before I finally came to collect him.
The first time was one of those times when he was closest to dying. The souls of his parents were already in my arms. He was one year old, and I remember standing next to him in that room, watching Lord Voldemort preparing to curse him, feeling the grim sadness I always felt when a child died, thinking I would have to take his soul that night.
I had figured, of course, without his mother's protection.
***A FACT ABOUT ME***
I am unaffected by magic.
It cannot take souls once I have them,
though many have tried.
The most it can do is delay me.
I have no use for it.
Therefore, I do not always bother to learn about it.
Sometimes I regret it.
I didn't see him again until his first year at school. In a heroic attempt to protect a powerful magical object for someone who would use it to wreak havoc and violence, he ended up killing a man. A servant of the very man who had nearly called me to the boy ten years earlier. I could sense him hovering on the edge of life, but it was not his time. I picked up the man's soul and left.
It was only another year until I came upon him again. Once again, I came for a different soul, even when the boy was close to dying himself. It was hardly a trip- I came for a mere fragment of a soul rather than a whole one. It was a waste of time- I am needed every day, I make hundreds of trips, and here I was making tiring journey for only a fraction of a soul. The things humans do with magic.
I did not see him his third year. Instead, he was visited by Dementors. Unlike me, he could see them, physically feel their presence.
***A SMALL BUT WORTHY NOTE***
It is rather ironic,
but many humans picture me
as a dementor,
when we are really quite different beings.
I did see him his fourth year, though. What a year it was for him. He had been half expecting me to come for months now, and now I came, but not for him, for his fellow student. I can tell you, that was not an enjoyable trip. I loosened his soul, but as I glided away with it, I felt a strange tugging. His soul was not returning, but being...how do I describe it- copied? A poor copy, yes, but a copy of the soul I now held in my arms was speaking to the Boy Who Lived, along with some other souls I had collected longer ago.
Again, I returned his fifth year, not for him, but this time for someone close to him. Ironic, really - his attempt to prevent me taking his godfather only brought me to him. I think he still blames himself for that, but sometimes I just cannot be avoided.
By the time his sixth year came to a close, he was probably getting very tired of me. This time I took his mentor as he watched. It had been a busy year for me already, what with war breaking out. I took members from the Order as well as from the Ministry, as well as yet another shard of the Dark Lord. But this death had the biggest impact on him. I saw through his invisibility cloak, and though his face couldn't move, his eyes spoke volumes.
His seventh year was busy for both of us. I took both Order members and Death Eaters. I took some who had stared me down before, and some who were so young they were only beginning to understand me. Again, I took scraps of the soul of Lord Voldemort. Pointless journeys to retrieve fragments of him. He had wanted to evade me so badly.
He heard a story about me. My "Deathly Hallows." I assure you, the way I was portrayed in the story is not how I really am. I do not feel angry at those who find a way to "cheat" me. Though I cannot deny that Ignotus Peverell was a human who truly accepted me when I came for him.
I lied a little.
Almost no magic can stop me.
The Hallows are the only exception.
The battle that ended it all. One of my busiest days. I became bagged down with souls, making it even more difficult to get to all of the dead.
At some point that night, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, learned that he could no longer run from me. He prepared himself to walk straight into my arms. Not many have done that.
I had learned from last time. The magic of love once again protected him, but he didn't know that. I was going to speak to him myself, explain that he could choose whether to come with me or not. But the soul of his mentor put in a request to speak to him instead. I got the feeling there was unfinished business between them. While they spoke, I picked up another mangled piece of Lord Voldemort's soul. It had latched itself onto the Chosen One's.
Though that was not the last time I saw him, it was the last time I ever really came close to him. His job as an auror requires he be close to me at times. He has been injured, but not died yet.
***A THOUGHT ON THE BOY WHO LIVED***
He is one of the few people who,
when I finally come for him,
will, as the story said,
"Greet me as an old friend."
So what do you think? How'd I do?