Location: Somewhere hidden, beyond mortal reach — Daniel's house. Not a house… a sanctum of shadows, where even reality hesitates to breathe.
The walls hum with silence. The air itself feels ancient, touched by the abyss. Harry, small and wide-eyed, clutches a toy owl Daniel handed him — a symbol, not comfort.
Daniel, coat still heavy on his shoulders, gloves pristine, stands by the window, watching nothing and everything at once.
Narration:
The boy carried a scar… carved by prophecy, sealed by blood, whispered by fate. But fate, like all things… bowed to Death.
Harry:
"Where… am I?"
Daniel: (voice smooth as marble cracking)
"Home."
(pauses)
"Not the one of bricks and family portraits. The one where your name… your truth… isn't shackled."
The shadows shift — the door opens without sound.
Severus Snape steps in — robes billowing, expression carved from disdain… but his dark eyes falter slightly when they meet Daniel's. There's arrogance… but there's history. They've met before. They remember.
Snape:
"You keep curious company, Daniel."
Daniel: (smirk thin, deadly calm)
"Curiosity keeps the mind sharp… keeps the soul from getting dull."
(glances to Harry)
"And dull blades don't survive this world."
Snape eyes the boy. There's a flicker of recognition… and something like regret — buried deep.
Snape:
"The child's raw. Power… tangled. You intend to train him?"
Daniel: (steps forward, coat whispering like a funeral hymn)
"He carries storms under his skin, Severus. The kind your spells… your potions… only dance around."
(voice drops lower, colder)
"I'll temper the abyss. You… teach him control."
The room hums faintly — the power of Death, swirling like invisible smoke. Daniel clenches his fist — the shadows retract, the Reapers lurking just out of sight. He won't let the boy drown in that power… not yet.
Harry:
"What are those… things? The… shapes… following you?"
Daniel: (quiet, almost… gentle)
"Reapers. Pieces of me. Pieces of what you'll need to understand."
(tilts head)
"But not tonight."
Snape conjures his wand with a flick.
Snape:
"We begin simple. No legends. No fate. Just… discipline."
Hours pass.
The boy fumbles spells, his voice cracks — but his eyes sharpen, shoulders square. Every mistake is a lesson — every success, a reminder: his name isn't shackled to fate… not anymore.
Later — Daniel alone with Snape:
Snape:
"You could've let the prophecy play out… let the world chew him up like all the others."
Daniel:
"I've chewed up worlds, Severus. I decide when fate eats… and when it starves."
(eyes narrow)
"I made a promise to his mother. To myself. To the order of things."
(pause)
"And unlike wizards… Death doesn't break promises."
Snape:
"You think the world won't hunt him? That your shadows keep him safe forever?"
Daniel: (smile colder now)
"I don't think, Severus. I know."
(leans in, voice like winter steel)
"And when they come… let them taste the grave before they reach his skin."
The candles flicker, shadows lengthen. Harry sleeps in the next room — his dreams touched by fragments of memories, by glimpses of fate unraveling.
Daniel watches him… protective… detached… inevitable.
Narration:
The boy would walk among legends. Among liars, heroes, ghosts. But tonight…
(voice lowers)
Tonight, he sleeps under Death's roof — and no fate dares knock at the door.