Death of a Lion and Birth of a Snake

Prologue

There's only a certain amount of suffering one goes through before they reach their limit and break.

I like to think I've reached my limit a hundred times over.

A series of events vividly pound through my mind in succinct flashes of green and red and orange. Rushed and incoherent voices that urged an anxiety in me to do something. "Harry! There isn't any time, hurry!" Something I never wanted to do. "Avada Kedavra!" Another flash of green and a heavy thump follows crudely after. My hands shake uncontrollably at the sight of the lifeless body laying not even a few meters away from me. Headmaster Dumbledore walks towards me with a twinkle in his eyes as he claps his hand on my back. "Good work my boy" But it's not over yet he claims. "However, there's still one horcrux left" He looks down at the scar adorning my forehead, the twinkle in his eyes narrow to a sharp glint. Because in order for the dark lord to be completely dead, is to destroy all his horcruxes. Meaning, I too Must die. "Don't worry my boy, this is for the greater good. I'll make this as quick as possible. You won't feel a thing." And he was right. A sharp flash of vibrant green fills my eyes, and my body is pushed to the ground while a burst of coldness latches on to my heaving chest and suddenly, the harsh beating of my heart stops.

Instead of the bloody battlefield, a stark blackness fills my vision first when I open my eyes again. It didn't take more than a second to realize how light my body had become. There seemed to be no gravity pushing down harshly against my sore body. It feels as if invisible fluffy clouds pushing me around as if floating down a calm riverbank. My movements, however, are sluggish and heavy, as if my veins were filled with sacks of beads that convinced my body they didn't need to move themselves. I had never felt such a calm and serene moment in my life that it scared me. There wasn't a time, where my chance at happiness came with a price. That lesson was first taught to me by the Dursleys at a young age through punishments and chores. That lesson was taught once again, when my escape from the Dursleys nine months out of a year had pushed me into another battlefield—a battlefield filled with lying headmasters, two-faced 'friends', and a loneliness that only seemed to grow as the years passed on as I drowned in it all.

Being stuck in the middle of a war was definitely not the idea I had in mind for my life. Becoming a martyr for said war was also not what I had in mind when I pushed tirelessly to survive. I honestly only wanted to live a peaceful and quiet life.

Drifting slowly and lazily, I contemplate a few things, mostly surrounding the events of my death.

Headmaster Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to the deed. Quite heroic he seemed, spouting nonsense of "for the greater good" and such. I like to think of it as his selfish excitement towards the amounts of fame he'd gain for defeating a 'Dark Lord' yet again. The amounts of money he had been stealing from the potter vaults, the shady lessons he had put me through, and even the part where he handed me over to an abusive home and even solicited their abusive behavior toward me would all be covered under the immense excitement and relief of Voldemort being defeated. I like to think that if I had connected the shadiness of it all from earlier on in the downward spiral, I might've survived the impending doom Fate had set out for me. Just...maybe.

"Indeed, you probably would have Young Master"

My head swivels frantically around the darkness in search of the new addition to my thoughts.

"Young Master? Excuse me, but who are you?" my hands begin to shake in fear of more impending doom.

At my question, hooded figure emerged with a deep, gravely chuckle from the darkness and stood a few meters in front me. In one of the figure's bony hands held an extravagant scythe that was intricately engraved with ancient runes and in the center of the blade, a deathly hollows symbol was engraved so deeply that it would be possible to see the symbol miles away from the scythe. Then it clicked. This was Death. And I've really died.

"You are not wrong, I am Death and you have really died, Young Master"

The figure, clad in wispy dark cloth that fluttered about in a delicate manner, looked down at me as I stared back silently confused.

"Why do you keep addressing me as Young Master?"

Death chuckled.

"Because you are my Master, Master of Death"