From the moment of conception you have worried about death. It was the first concept that you had ever been taught in the orphanage. Death was the one who had taken your mother and father away. Death was the reason that you lived where you lived, the reason you thought the way you thought, the reason you did the things you did. You were always more aware of Him than your fellow orphans, though.
In every face you saw Him. Everything was a sign of His existence. Eating, drinking, and even breathing were all marks of his domain. If one did not do such basic things, they would go away just like your parents. No one could escape Him, it was impossible. Even you would someday be no more than a body decaying under the earth’s soil, or so you thought.
Everything changed when the Professor came. He taught you many things throughout your acedemic career; however, no lesson was more important than the first. You can remember that day so clearly. He burned your dresser, yet it did not turn to ash. Of all his teachings, that particular lesson was the one that was meant solely for you. He thought he was teaching you of its existence, of your true capabilities, but it was more than that. As you watched the bright flames lick your wooden dresser, you were looking at a bigger picture. That dresser should have been dead, in its own sense. That’s what fire did to wood, it killed it; however, the dresser lived to store more clothes. If magic could save the dresser’s life, than why couldn’t it prolong yours?
Time passed, and you learned what it felt like to have a home. You no longer watched stranger’s faces and saw their inevitable end. Instead, you worried about other things. You became aware that you, rather then them, were forever a dying man. Every day that passed was one day closer to your last. You became frantic, as a teenager you were in prime health. The longer you waited though, the more aged you beacame.
You scoured the library searching for something useful, only to find nothing. Then one day, you ventured into the forbidden section, and you found what you needed. Around the same time, you learned something else. Death had sent many children to the orphanage that you grew up in, but He did not put you there. Your father still breathed sweet but magicless breath. You found the opportunity perfect.
From that moment on, you became His servant, aiding many on the path to His domain. You did not see the harm in your deeds. After all, every man must die at some point. What does it matter if they died today or tomorrow? In return, you took years from these supposed sins. You sealed piece after piece of yourself away for safe keeping.
When you sealed that sixth piece away, you looked yourself in the mirror and you found joy. The face that peered back was no longer that of a mortal man. You were more than that. You were forever.
When your servant told you that a boy would kill you, you laughed. You did not understand how a powerless child could ever stand a chance against you, an immortal; however, you needed to be sure. Even then, somewhere deep down, you knew that it would never last. Thus you went for the child, taking his father’s life first, and then his mother’s. When you turned to take the boy's, something went terribly wrong. The Killing Curse didn't work correctly. Instead it rebounded hitting you square.
You survived, the hidden pieces of your soul keeping you tied to the earthly universe, but only just. Years you lived in a realm all of your own, between His land and that of the living. All the same, Death could not have you. Fourteen years later you were restored to your full self, freed from that horrid state of half living.
Before you had been sure that you had won, positive of your imminent take over. When you came back though, there was a new figure in play. It was as if Death himself refused to take this boy into the afterlife. No attempt made on his life ever succeeded. All the while, he started to crumble you, taking your soul piece by piece. You felt for the first time in years the plague of fatigue, weakness, and fear.
Finally, in one last crescendo of fury you had fired what you had thought was the final curse to end the boy’s life. Yet Death had rejected him. He stands in front of you at this very moment, defying the laws of mortality. You are circling each other speaking dangerous words.
You feel it in your bones like a plague. You are once again mortal. Suddenly, everything around you feels temporary. The steady heart beat that is raging in your chest picks up, and you stare at the boy with madness in your eyes. Disbelief owns you for a moment before you realize exactly what the next couple of minutes hold for you. Briefly, you consider running to preserve your life for a few precious days or weeks, but you can’t. The hate radiating off your audience is holding you to this spot, at this time.
For the first time, you contemplate Death. You wonder what will become of you once you disappear forever from the earth. You speculate whether there is truly a hell or a heaven, and you hope vehemently that there isn’t. There is no doubt in your mind that Hell will not treat you well. Then your thoughts travel back to another option. What if there is nothing else? What if this is it? You decide that this would be the best way. If you were to cease to exist all together, then no one could hurt you. There wouldn’t be an eternity of pain and suffering. You would simply be no more.
But that scares you too. You have spent a lifetime building your name and power insuring that no one ever forgets you. To no longer exist would mean to eventually be forgotten. You imagine the complete blackness of nonexistence and you feel terror encompassing your heart. No, there has to be more than that.
The fear motivates you. Even if you are a mortal, that doesn’t mean you have to die today. If you kill the boy then you could win the war still. You could take back everything single handedly, without the aid of your Death Eaters. Then once the danger has passed, you could sever your soul once more and begin the process to immortality once again.
In one last breath of power, the Killing Curse explodes from your wand. You feel the cry rip through your throat as the green flash radiates from your wand. This has to work. Failure is not an option.
You know that the spell will rebound before it does. The wand that you are holding sends the chilling feeling of weakness up your arm and through your body immediately after the incantation leaves your lips.
Death is staring at you with triumph decorating his features. It never occurred to you that He might look human. His hair is as black as night, and his expression as cold as stone. You know that face. You have been freighting over it for seventeen years now, yet never before did you think of it this way. After a life time of aiding Death in His methods, today, your last day, is the first time you meet Him face to face.
Of all things, the part that surprises you the most is his eyes. Death has bright emerald green eyes littered with four lifetimes worth of pain and grief. You feel your last breath whisp through your teeth, and you know it in your core. You were always so puny in front of these green eyes, so inferior, but only now do you realize it. Death has no servants, no one to aid in his methods. He is no one’s equal. Everyone will eventually succumb to this fate.
And now as the world turns black, and the eyes disappear from your vision, only one thought remains:
This is it. This is Death.