Son of Magic

Chapter 2

June 23rd, 1941

Ministry of Magic

London, England

Harry Potter stumbled out of the other side of the veil, just barely able to avoid his face from ungracefully greeting the floor.

"There was no need for you to push me," he grumbled as he straightened out his black, silk shirt and emerald cloak. "I wouldn't have taken so long if you had just told me when exactly it was that you were sending me to."

As he said this, Harry was taking in his new but very familiar surroundings, and for some reason, a deep sense of foreboding started settling over him.

He subtly sniffed the air and frowned.

"Did you just sniff the air?" his intimidating companion asked him in a flat tone, appearing behind him with his dark hood still in place, as always.

Harry ignored him as he stepped off the dais and away from the veil, further into the chamber. He sniffed the air again and his frown twisted into a repulsed grimace.

The air smelled like ashes, dirt, pollution, and death.

It stank like the war they had just escaped from—only less toxic.

"You took me away from one war zone only to drop me into another? Why would you do that?" he asked him, his tone bordering on a whine.

"You never specified that it was a time of peace you wanted to go back to," Death shrugged nonchalantly, successfully hiding his devious glee.

"I would assume that since we were fleeing Doomsday, it was bloody well implied that we wanted some damn peace! Tell me we didn't land in the middle of Riddle's uprising or something as ridiculous as that,'' he pleaded, suspicion and panic already rising in his chest.

"We didn't," Death said, but before Harry could release a relieved breath, he added, "Not exactly."

Harry groaned and ran his fingers through his wind-swept hair. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"We're not technically during his uprising in the way that you mean," came another cryptic reply.

Instead of asking Death to clarify and risk getting another one of those cryptic replies, he mulled over his words a bit. After all, no one reaches his ancient age without learning how to crack a few riddles.

'Not in the way that you mean', he said, and however he turned that around the implication was there, but he couldn't possibly...

Death was his friend, his comrade, his best mate forever—literally.

He wouldn't do this to him, not after the last time they came back around to that decade.

Harry scoffed. Who exactly was he trying to kid?

As soon as he finished that last thought he blinked and was gone from sight.

The next second, Harry silently appeared in an alley a few blocks away from the Ministry of Magic.

Harry quickly took in his surroundings and immediately felt like crying.

So maybe Death was more treacherous than he thought.

He saw a newspaper flying his way and quickly reached out to snatch it. As he flipped it around, he noticed that it was a fairly clean copy, so it had to be recent.

He searched the corner for a date and cursed.

23rd June 1941.

Bugger.

"This is retaliation for that prank I pulled on you some hundred and fifty years ago, isn't it?"

The next second Death was standing next to him, practically buzzing with excitement.