Disclaimer: I neither own Harry Potter or Supernatural.

Warnings: AU, and may at a later date have Slash, if I decide to continue it. And I think I need a Beta, because I am certain there are errors here and there.

Misc: War is Female in this, and I refer to Pestilence as both, well, Pestilence and Conquest - as they are one in the same. Also, important A/N at the bottom.

Any questions, feel free to ask - I'll try my best to answer them.

Everyone dies in the end.

It's one of those facts of life - the sky is blue, the grass is green and, no matter how hard you try to fight it, you will die in the end. Some people live for an oh-so-long time, living their life out to the fullest before passing away with little more than a content smile on their face and surrounded by their loved ones. Some people barely live at all, their life burning out like a candle in a snowstorm, long before their time.

Harry, for all that he had and hadn't lived, was well acquainted with Death. He had died before, that much he was certain of, and life afterwards had never really been normal, for what it was worth. He had seen his mother die, had heard his father perish, and he understood what Death truly was when the kind old snake in the garden was cleaved in two by his Uncle.

With Death, came his brother Famine.

As a child, he had hungered. Always hungry, sat all alone in his cupboard (but at least it was his, that voice murmured in the back of his mind, and the Dursley's could never take that away from him), he had wondered and wished and prayed for something to satiate that unquenchable desire that always lingered in the bottom of his stomach, but relief never came. Even at Hogwarts, that craving never truly vanished, and like his older brother Death he too left his mark on one young Harry Potter.

And so, as he grew up, he knew Famine.

Curious about her brothers, their sister War touched Harry's life.

Swift, yet deceptively tender, War draped her bloody wings around Harry, the fighting and the hate and the fear residing in her feathers soon becoming the only constant in his young life. Magic, for all that he loathed and loved it, soon became the one thing that he trusted most – his blade against the tides of War. And this blade he sharpened, with the aid of Dumbledore, transfiguration and charms and hexes and curses whetstones, until finally it was enough to set him free.

Under siege, beleaguered and tired and worn, Harry Potter knew War. But War had changed him, scarred him; to the point where he was more soldier than child and more murderer than saint.

Conquest (or was it Pestilence) soon took her place, watching with a glimmer of something in his eyes as the boy-who-lived became the man-who-survived, and with a smile that was almost proud he watched as Death reaped his soul.

Harry had always been acutely aware of something watching him, but he only truly became aware when he learnt of the Four Horseman. So, alone and tired yet oh-so achingly close to Victory, they appeared to him, on that train station, when he needed them most.

For they knew Harry Potter just as well as he knew them, saw him for what he was, and they wanted him.

They always would look after their Master.

"…Jesus, what hit me?" Harry groaned, cradling his aching head.

"Voldemort."

Harry blinked, once, twice, before scrambling to his feet, staring at the owner of the voice in abject confusion. The man was tall, and very, very old – he reminded him of a Pureblood Aristocrat, all high cheekbones and prim clothes and overwhelming condescension. Last thing he remembered was being blasted in the face with the killing curse, willingly, so Harry was quite surprised to find himself in the presence of someone else and still very much alive and kicking.

He even kicked out a little bit to test it.

"Oh, sorry honey, but you are very much dead." This time the old, gaunt man hadn't opened his mouth – instead, the sound was coming directly behind him.

Twirling on the ball of his foot, Harry came face to face with what was without question the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Long, flowing auburn hair, ruby red lips and decked out in a sinful red dress, her hazel eyes glittered in glee as she watched him scour her form. She smirked, revealing a pearly canine, before nodding to the old man.

"War, I thought we decided we were going to go in order?" Harry just looked at the small man who appeared next to the beauty (War, her name was War) with unhidden amusement. Something told him that the man didn't need the wheelchair he rode around in, but he quickly dismissed him, uncomfortable with the memories of hunger that just looking at him dug up, turning his attention back to the lady.

"Ladies first." Was her nonchalant response. Harry didn't know if he should be proud or scared with the hungry look she was giving him.

"Shut up kiddies, you're both pretty." Absentmindedly wondering if there were any more people arriving, the boy-who-lived turned back to face the old man, who was now with another man.

"Not that this isn't fun and all," Harry said, sarcasm oozing from his words, "but who, exactly, are you?"

"What." The newcomer said, grinning. "What we are."

"Fine then, what are you?" He had never been patient, and it seemed like that particular trait remained in death.

"We're the Four Horsemen." Harry just nodded, unsure of whether or not he should know these people. They apparently were expecting more of a reaction, if the slightly crest-fallen look on their faces was anything to go by, so to avoid hurting their feelings he clapped for them.

"I'm Pestilence, or Conquest." The scary looking male said from Death's side, waving. "The old man next to my elder sister is Famine, and the pretty lady is called War."

Harry just continued clapping.

"I think you broke him, Death." War made her way past the savior, her auburn tresses trailing behind her as she made to stand next to her brother.

Death just sighed. "I didn't break anything. That dubious honour falls on your lap, sister." It was said so venomously that War flinched. "After all, if you hadn't been so exuberant with the boy then he would have come out the war mentally secure."

"So we now have a potentially insane, and incredibly sarcastic master?" Famine wheeled over to his family, watching the Potter scion in fascination.

Harry Potter just clapped harder, as if that would make the anthropomorphic personifications of evil disappear.

"Looks that way. All I did was kill the boy. War, it was you that broke him." The brothers three stared at their sister accusingly.

"Fine, I'll fix him." She sauntered up to the war veteran, and, with barely veiled amusement slapped the boy across the face. "That usually works on humans. Much better than counselling, I say."

At the very least, Harry stopped clapping, his hand reaching up to gingerly rub where he had been struck.

"So…you're the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse?" Harry asked, the slap dredging up faint memories of one of the few times he had been in church, when the Dursley's had asked the vicar to exorcise the magic from within.

"Indeed." Death answered, bored. "And you are our master."

"Eh?" Whatever Harry was expecting, that certainly wasn't it. "I think you have the wrong guy. Wouldn't that usually be Satan?"

"Sparkles is only our master when he binds us, forcefully. You, Greenie, are our master because we choose you." Pestilence was still grinning at him with that scary grin of his. "Except Death. You bound him when you collected his three little treasures."

"Wait…" The newly minted Master of Death trailed of, awareness looming over his head like the Sword of Damocles, "Beedle the Bard wasn't a massive fraud when he wrote up that fairytale?"

"The Deathly Hallows was real, so why wouldn't the consequences be real as well?" Death replied, far from amused. "They weren't supposed to be gathered, but, you managed it. And loathe as I am to admit it I would rather it be you than Lucifer."

"We're following out of familial obligation." The only woman elaborated, and for the first time Harry noticed the ruby red wings folded on her back.

And, as he looked around, he could see the other Horsemen's wings; Pestilence's viridian, Famine's stygian and Death's molten-silver. Without Harry actually being everywhere, his hand reached out, away from his stinging cheeks, and he hesitantly stroked Death's wings.

"Aww, isn't that so cute?" War teased, ruffling her eldest brother's hair.

As if burned, Harry retracted his hand, stepping backwards in horror as he stared at the appendage.

"If you're done?" Death questioned, ignoring the apologies that were spewing from his Master's lips. Seeing that they weren't ending anytime soon, he forged on. "Now that you are our master now, you have some responsibilities to take care of."

"In most cases, it'll be a bit like a game," Harry snorted at Pestilence, "hey, don't look at me like that, seriously."

"I just find it hard to believe that being the Master of the Horsemen will be a game. I'm still not even sure if I want to be your master." He forcefully poked the man on the chest, ignoring how much he wanted a cheeseburger at that very moment.

"It's either you, or Sparkles, and I'd much rather it be you." War leaned forward, hands resting on his chest.

"If you don't, I'll give you Killamydia." Harry mouthed the word to himself, confused, whilst Pestilence was laughing hysterically to himself, as if he told the funniest joke in the universe. "Chlamydia. God, does no-one appreciate humour anymore?"

"No." Death said. "You just aren't funny."

"Fine. I get it." Harry fell on his back, staring at the great big nothing above him, wondering if it was even worth trying to argue with the Horsemen. "So, why bother telling me now? Isn't it a bit late, now that I'm dead?"

Death just gave him a bored look, and a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh. Right. Master of Death and all." Harry chuckled humorlessly. "So what do I need to do to return to the land of the living?"

"No-thing," Famine sing-songed, "because you aren't going back to that world."

For the second time this evening – not that Harry was sure it was even evening – he proved his eloquence.

"Eh?"

"…You really don't belong there." War stage-whispered, "After all, that's a god-less universe, and going back there would make the natural balance explode."

"But what about Hermione, Ron, Ginny? What about my friends, my family? What about Voldemort?" Eyes glinting dangerously, he hissed the words at his subjects, who stared back unamused.

"Hermione and Ron are married now – three children, one's named after you – Ginny eloped with Dean Thomas and went to Barbados, and Voldemort died the second you did." Death rattled off, grinning vindictively whilst reporting news of Voldemort's death. "I snagged his soul the minute that Horcrux split from you."

"Ahh. So they get a happy ending then?" Harry mulled it over. "So what do I need to do?"

"Take on some of my duties. Send the souls of the deceased to their final resting place, ensure that people don't die before their time," at this, Death glared at his family, as if it was their fault (though, as Harry thought about it, it was actually there fault), "and just maintain the balance."

"Alongside that, you've just got to get in our way." War smiled devilishly. "Stop my wars, heal the sickness spread by Pestilence, and feed those racked by Famine."

"Like I said, it'll be a game." Pestilence echoed.

"You don't want us running rampant, do you? Think of all the people we'll end up killing if you don't accept?" Famine cackled.

Death offered his hand pointedly.

Mentally cursing his hero-complex, he nervously eyed the offered hand, and reached out and grasped it.

Then his world fell apart, light blinding, dark consuming, world shaking.

All he knew was pain.

Groaning in pain, he stumbled to his feet, trying his best to gauge where exactly he was.

His bare feet click-clacked on the wooden floor, the sound reaching high up into the rafters, light streaming in from the beautiful glass windows, images of angels engraved like mosaics. Orderly pews lined up horizontally, symmetrical along both sides, and it dawned on him that he was in a church.

Harry took a moment to appreciate the irony in that statement. Then he took a moment to wonder how the Horsemen of the Apocalypse were able to walk into a church.

Then he shrugged it off. He'll think about it after a good, long, hard sleep.

"Hello?" Shocked that someone managed to sneak up on him, he turned around, facing a decidedly unkempt looking man in a tracksuit and grey hoodie.

"Hello." Harry waved cheerfully. Then, he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Chuck, lost, just watched as the strange teen slept on the floor of the church, wondering what to do with him.

Harry just slept on, peaceful, and wholly unaware of the four rings he now owned.

Fin~

Yeah, I'm honestly not sure if I should consider continuing this, or leaving it as a one-shot. I like it, a lot, and I'll probs continue it if a lot of people want me to. Anyway, any questions just feel free to ask - in either a PM or a review, and I'll answer them asap. If I continue, chapters will usually be around 3000+ words, and will have slash (though pairing is undecided atm - maybe Harry/Dean, Harry/Sam, or some variation like that (though Harry/Fem!War is a pairing that sounds hilarious to me).

I hope you enjoyed :D.

Till next time,

Signed, HalcyonNight.