Harry Potter and The Twisted Laws

The Encounter

Christmas rolled over the Burrow, its lawn covered in thick snow, and lights decorated the crooked house. People and ghosts moved here and there in the small but warm living room, getting stuff ready for Christmas Eve.

★★★

It was Christmas Dinner, and about 10 people sat at the table, enjoying, and feasting together.

It was all good until the roaring fire of the cosy fireplace died, and a chill settled over the room. The room was now only lighted by candles.

Harry looked around, a sudden sense of dread washing over him.

The crackling warmth of the candle sputtered and died, leaving the room in darkness. The laughter and chatter faltered, and for a moment, the only sound was the whisper of the wind outside, pressing against the windows like a warning.

Harry's breath caught in his chest, a coldness creeping up his spine. His eyes flicked to Ginny, who looked up from her plate, frowning at the sudden drop in temperature. Fred's ghost, ever-present at the Burrow, seemed to flicker in and out of focus, his form wavering.

The people feasting muttered a word, the tips of their wands lighting up. "Lumos."

And then, with a whisper of air, the room went still.

A figure materialized by the doorway.

At first, it was nothing more than a shadow-a silhouette against the darkened hallway. But as it stepped into the light, it became clear. The figure was tall, cloaked in black, its face hidden by a hood. There was no gleam of eyes, no skin or flesh-just the darkness of the cloak, the void beneath it.

8 wands were pointed at the figure, but it just drawled inside the room. Silent as a tick.

"Who are you?" Bill asked, ready to curse any second.

The figure raised a finger, and all wands clattered to the ground, except Harry's.

He bowed his finger and everyone, except Harry, bowed.

Chaos fired up, everyone protesting as they were forced to bow.

Another finger movement and silence fell, as if the figure was controlling everyone, yet not Harry.

The figure made everyone stand up, bowing himself, to Harry. He croaked out a word, his voice sore as if the simple word was thorny for him. "Master."

Harry was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Master." The figure repeated, its voice hoarse and chilly.

"And may I ask, who are you?" Harry asked carefully.

"Death."

Harry's mind raced, "How can I believe you are Death?"

The hooded figure did not move, but the air around it seemed to shift, growing heavier, and colder.

A deep, bone-chilling silence fell over the room. Then, Death spoke.

"Do you wish for proof, Master?"

Before Harry could respond, Death slowly raised a hand. With a mere flick of its fingers, a beautiful flower that rested in a vase died.

Silence fell.

"Death..." Harry said carefully, his tone timid. "Why are you here?"

"To take Mr Frederick Gideon Weasley."

There was another silence. Harry looked around, and even in the darkness, he could see the tears in George's eyes - shining as they reflected light from outside. He could see the ghost of Fred, still in the air, as if frozen in place. For the first time, he saw fear on his face and something more... something like separation anxiety.