Herald of Death

Chapter 1

Harry Potter and Justice League do not belong to me. Nor does the DC Universe.

English is not my mother tongue.

Chapter 1

In the void between worlds, where there is neither light nor darkness, only the eternal silence of the Infinite, Harry Potter waited. Here, in the point of non-existence where the echoes of time are lost, he always felt suspended between the real and the unreal. It was not the first time he had waited there; he knew absolute absence as if it were an old friend. And perhaps, in a certain sense, it was.

He closed his eyes—not that it made any difference in that space without substance. He was waiting for Death. The true Death, the Death of the Endless, whose touch was cold as the waters of the Styx and whose voice was sweet like a secret. Death, who was a person, a concept, a primordial force—and also the only constant in his new existence.

Memories flooded him. He had walked through so many worlds since he became the "Master of Death." The irony made him smile; he was no master, after all. He was a servant, an agent of balance, an extension of her will. The title that so impressed others was, in fact, a kind of shackle, a bond with something that transcended even the concept of power.

Harry remembered the moment when he began to understand his condition—the moment when he realized he wasn't aging. Years passed, but his face remained young, his unruly hair as rebellious as ever. He watched his friends grow old, one by one, until they began to leave, like leaves falling from a tree at the breath of the wind. First, it was Hagrid, then Kingsley, Hermione, and Ron... Ginny, his dear Ginny. His children, Sirius and Luna, grown and beloved, were no longer there.

When Teddy died, Harry could no longer bear it. He crossed the Veil in the Department of Mysteries—the translucent barrier that always held so much fascination and fear. He sought an end, wishing to find peace alongside those who had departed. But Death refused him. Instead, he found her on the other side, smiling as always, with that almost understanding, almost pitying smile.

"You are mine now, Harry Potter," she had said in a soft voice, carrying the weight of countless centuries. "The Deathly Hallows don't make you a god, don't make you a lord. They made you my servant. You cannot die, for you are the one who must ensure that death occurs when and where it is needed."

Since then, he had walked between worlds. He saw cities of marble raised by beings who thought themselves immortal; he watched civilizations decay into ruins while mortals tried to cheat the inevitable. He witnessed the destruction of a planet inhabited only by shadows; he saw a shimmering forest of crystal where the trees whispered stories of lost ages. And in every world, he found those who tried to cheat Death, who challenged the natural cycle, attempting to extend their lives, destroying the balance of the cosmos.

In one world, Harry found a sorceress who had bathed in the waters of a mystical lake, believing it would make her eternal. Instead, she became an insubstantial reflection, trapped between the mirrors of time. Harry watched as she screamed in terror upon realizing she would live forever in her own illusion, until he finally brought her the relief of oblivion. In another, he found a city of men who had learned to fuse their souls with machines, extending their consciousnesses for countless centuries. They were blind to the suffering of the mortals around them, consuming entire worlds in the quest for immortality. Harry brought Death to them, one by one, separating flesh from metal until their souls were returned to the eternal cycle.

In each mission, in each execution of the inevitable, Harry understood more of the task that had been given to him. He grasped the necessity of balance, of fair measure, of the final point that gave meaning to the text of existence. In every farewell, he felt a small part of himself being carved away, shaped by eternity.