Harry Potter and The Secret of his Soul

Death had watched his favored human live a life manipulated and used by others and in the end, die the death of a martyr for other people. A selfless life built on lies. A short life, lived for others.

Unacceptable.

Death was furious with the people that made the boy suffer, used him until they could use him no more. So he set up the perfect counter. Vengeance. And he knew just the person to make the plans of those shameless people crash and burn.

An ancient witch, born of an ancient people. Her magic born from a contract with the most wicked being of them all and her life one of power, endless glory and pleasure. She lived the longest of lives, selfish and cruel, but happy. The very opposite of his poor, dumb little favorite. She was from a different earth than his little boy, but she knew him. To her he was a book, a movie, a story. She had yet another few centuries of time, but Death helped himself along and ripped the ancient witch from the land of the living in advance, before making her a deal.

The Boy Who Lived, lived again. But this time, his soul was ancient, merciless, cruel. A soul that would live for itself, a long and happy life, never used, never stepped on by others.

Death could finally watch in satisfaction as his favorite boy rose above the masses in the most unscrupulous, dubious ways and led a long life, sitting on his throne of enemy bones standing in a sea of their blood.