The Elder Wand – The Resurrection Stone – The Cloak of Invisibility

Death bestowed these gifts upon three brothers with the promise that whomsoever should possess all three would become the Master of Death.

Wizards coveted them.

They cheated, swindled, stole.

They killed.

And he laughed because he had failed to mention one single, overriding truth:

Death has no master.

...(X)...

Humans were simple creatures, so what did he really expect? Any dog will nip when backed into a corner, and Death had a habit of forcing every living thing up against a wall eventually. Like the petulant whelps they were, they had to be reminded of their place. Many had challenged him over the years, and many had failed. It was as it was intended to be.

These things always happened in threes. One who wanted to revive the dead; one who sought unlimited power; one who strove to ward off death.

Of the first three men who attempted to tame him with the Hallows, only one had any measurable degree of success, and even that was short-lived, as all things are. But these last three, well, they certainly had the gall, didn't they? They were as promising as they were disappointing, and when they had fallen, eventually destroying each other, Death felt his hope for humanity waning.

While it is true all good things must come to an end, eternity was a rather boring prospect, and he wasn't ready for this bit of entertainment to come to a close. Not quite yet.

So he formulated a plan. It was underhanded, but then again, he was Death. It was second nature for him. The details had taken some time to sort out, and Life wouldn't like it one bit. All the better. As if he spent his free time concerning himself with her convictions.

Death required no permission, and he offered no apologies. Already the cogs were in motion. Three souls were slotted to learn a valuable lesson that it would do well for humanity to never forget: Death cannot be conquered.

...(X)...

The fog shifted as he passed, bowing to his will, as all things did. It coiled behind him like a snake poised to strike, writhing as if it was actually alive. But of course that wasn't the case. Nothing in that forsaken land lived.

Limbo had always been a quiet sanctuary from Life and her pesky pets. That is, until six years ago when it had become infested with a rodent who refused to die. His soul—or what little was left of it—was stuck there, doomed to suffer for eternity as a reward for his transgressions. That meant Death was doomed, as well, to bear the moans and wails and cries. While Death had to admit that his own transgressions may be many, there were none so egregious as to warrant that sort of punishment.

Even as he sliced through the fog, as far away as he still was, he could hear the unearthly wail in the distance. It wore on his nerves. The blasted creature could at least have the decency to suffer in silence.

Death waved his bony hand impatiently, and the fog shifted out of his way, clearing a path to the wretched, fetus-like lump that was all that remained of the man who had insisted on calling himself Lord Voldemort. Some lord, indeed.

"It seems this is your lucky day," Death said, his words raspy and drawn out. The pitiful excuse for a soul at his feet didn't respond, so he gave him a good kick, sending him flying into the fog. Death followed, taking his time, relishing the click that his metatarsal bones made against the tile-like surface with each step.

The fog dissipated, exposing Tom Marvolo Riddle, curled into a fetal position precariously close to the edge of Limbo.

"I had quite the conundrum," Death said as he stepped beside the soul. He circled it slowly, bones clicking and robe creating a hushing sound as it ghosted along the ground. "You can't go forward, not with that pathetic thing you call a soul. No, you can't move on. And obviously, you can't stay here. If I have to endure so much as a single year more of this, Chaos help me, I can't be held responsible for what I do. But, who's to say you can't go back?"

Death paused, waiting for a response, but there was nothing. Who knew if his words were even getting through at this point. What a waste. This soul had started with such potential—writhing with power and color. To come to this, a gray-and-black mottled mess that could hardly be called an aura, well, it was a travesty.

"You should consider yourself quite fortunate. After all, it's not often that a soul gets a second chance. Just do us both a favor this time and don't cock it up. I won't be so forgiving the next time. If it should come to it, I'll just pass on your broken soul and it should be nicely obliterated during the transition out of Limbo. Remember that when you decide what course this new life will take."

Death took a deep breath and let it go with a heavy sigh. His words were most likely in vain. Humans were terribly dull creatures that learned best from their mistakes, but there was no telling how many blunders they would make before the lesson finally lodged itself in their tiny, little brains. So be it, whatever the outcome.

Death drew back his foot and gave Riddle a sharp kick, sending him tumbling over the edge of Limbo. He twisted and spiraled as he fell, until he was finally swallowed by the opaque clouds beneath them.

At the very least, Death reassured himself, this should be interesting. Let the games begin.

...(X)...

The last thing Tom remembered was green—desperate, terrified green eyes; the green flash of a familiar spell; the Dark Mark blazing green in the sky overhead. And then black.

Everything after that was unbearable, indescribable pain, as though he were caught in a vortex of Fiendfyre that was simultaneously melting his skin and searing the wound all at the same time. There was no escaping it, no abating it. He was alone with his agony.

Then he was falling, and the pain was slowly stripped from his body as he descended. Something about a second chance. A clean slate. A fresh, new soul, and this time, he'd be more careful with it. This time, he'd be unstoppable. He'd make sure of that. Whatever his circumstances, there would surely be a way to make the most of it, a way to garner its advantages and mitigate its shortcomings. He had a whole lifetime of lessons cultivated behind him to put to use this time. Nothing could go wrong.

The falling was exhilarating, and anticipation broke over him in waves. He was ready for this. More than ready. Wizards would once again tremble and kneel before him. Willingly, gladly, he embraced the darkness as he fell into its soft cocoon.

...(X)...

[July 11, 2004]

The first thing Tom remembered was the oddest, most foreign sensation, like a tickle almost. What was it? Noise! That was it. Faint, at first, but gathering substance as he focused. He was hearing for the first time, and he almost regretted it. Merlin, he was annoying, but his lungs were acting on their own accord, and there was no stopping the shriek that radiated out of them.

A newborn. How could he have been so stupid? Every life started at birth. He should have known that. Still, it was a small oversight. What were a few years of growth in the overall life of a great wizard? It was a trivial matter. If anything, it gave him time to observe the state of the world and better prepare. Everyone overlooked and underestimated children. He couldn't have asked for a better way to blend in.

The darkness grayed as his eyelids fluttered. It took some effort and a lot of coaxing of a very uncooperative body to finally manage to force them open, and the reward was little more than a blurry mosaic of colors. What good was that? The light dimmed, and his vision was swarmed by something green.

"He's so, er, tiny," a voice directly over him said.

"Of course he is. He's a newborn, Harry," another replied.

Harry? So his father's name was Harry. A terrible Muggle name, but this wouldn't be the first time. He could get rid of him, in due time, as he had his first father, if it came to that.

Something bumped against his hand, and his fingers trapped it in a death grip. No! What ridiculous nonsense. Bloody reflexes. He scoffed at the idea of holding tight to someone's finger, but he couldn't coax his body to let go, either.

"He's just so...perfect." There was a sigh, and he caught a glimpse of red as something brushed against his cheek and a kiss was planted lightly on his head. Disgusting. The whole situation was absolutely abhorrent. It was only temporary, though, he reminded himself. He would grow quickly enough, gain his freedom—by force, if necessary—and set his plans into motion.

"Welcome to the family, James Sirius Potter," the man said. All he could see was green as someone's lips brushed his hand.

Wait, Potter? Surely he'd heard wrong. Newborn ears were unreliable, at best, and he still couldn't stop himself from making all sorts of unseemly noises. It was like his body had a mind of its own and did things just to spite him. So surely he was mistaken. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be.

But even as he squirmed and fussed, there was no dismissing it. Even he couldn't mistake those green eyes that hovered over him. Damn that bastard Death. Damn them all to hell. He'd make them all pay, if it was the last thing he did.

...(X)...

[October 13, 2004]

"C'mon, James, just hold still, will you?"

He most certainly would not. Of all the indignities he could face in life, even in a second life, to come to this, the Potter brat wiping his ass. He almost wanted to die again just to spare himself the humiliation. Almost. But that wouldn't serve his purpose very well, now would it?

So instead, he squirmed and kicked and fussed and did everything he could to be difficult. The moment the cold air touched his exposed skin, he stopped moving just long enough to concentrate on getting his body to cooperate. A familiar warmth ran through him, and he smiled inwardly—since his bloody mouth refused to cooperate—at Potter's exclamations.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!"

"Is everything all right in there?" a groggy voice called from the other room.

"Fine, Ginny, everything's fine. James just had a little accident is all. Go back to sleep."

A little accident Merlin's beard. He had made sure to pee on everything. It was a shame that magic made cleaning so easy. A quick scourgify and a new diaper, and things were all better, according to Potter. How he loathed that sickeningly sweet tone and the constant false reassurances. Most of all, he hated those emerald eyes, so full of love. It was unbearable. As soon as he was able, the first thing he would do was cut them out.

"Up we go, buddy," Harry said as he lifted James into his arms. It was warm, pressed against his chest like that, and something in the recesses of his brain craved the safety of it. Even more absurd, Potter's mere presence seemed to ease his restlessness. It was infuriating.

As if being helpless and useless wasn't bad enough, but to need to rely on Potter, now that was a nightmare. It was unforgivable. Worse yet, he had years of this ahead of him. Years.

"There you are," Harry whispered, setting him down gently in his crib and tucking a blanket over him. "Back to bed."

Standing over his crib, he realized just how exhausted Potter looked, with bags large enough to fit an army in dangling beneath his eyes. Good. Why wouldn't he? He'd certainly done everything he could to make their life a living hell, which included waking every half hour to an hour, just to see them drag themselves out of bed. They would break eventually. All things did. Until then, he enjoyed the power he had over them, despite the circumstances.

The light clicked off, and the door squeaked softly as it was pulled closed. He was alone, and he could just barely make out the sounds of Potter shuffling off to bed with hardly the energy to pick up his feet. Like music to his ears.

But he wasn't really alone. He knew it the moment the shadows on the ceiling started to writhe as if they had come to life. From somewhere outside his crib, there was the rattle of bones and then a low, raspy laugh that sounded like it was pried from dry, withered lungs. He had been wondering when he'd have the nerve to show his face again.

A hooded head appeared over him, and the wood of the crib creaked as a weight rested against it.

"I do hope you're enjoying your second chance. I tried to pick a good home for you. Solid wizarding family, half-blood and pureblood parents. Very powerful. War heroes, in fact. Thought you'd find that to your liking, Tom. Or should I call you James now?"

That bastard! It had all been intentional! He had been set up from the very start. He tried to force his body to cooperate, to find a way to express even the slightest hint of his rage, but all he managed to do was fart and fuss. It was only further confirmation of a conclusion he had reached long ago: babies were utterly useless creatures.

"What, are you not happy? Because all you have to do is say so. If you really want to go back, I can bring you to Limbo. Just say the words."

He fussed harder, but of course no words came out. Babies didn't talk, and they both knew it. Death cackled over him, a loud, roaring sound that died out like a passing wind as the room stilled and he found himself alone again. That was the last thing he wanted. He was enraged, infuriated, but there was no outlet for it, no way for him to express it.

Helpless, tired, incensed, miffed, and all together pissed off. He didn't know how to handle the tempest of emotions that overwhelmed him, so he did the only thing he was capable of: screamed at the top of his lungs.

The groans from the next room were a welcoming sound, at the very least. It was only fitting that everyone shared in his misery.

...(X)...

[February 27, 2005]

"Hey, hun?" Potter entered the kitchen, brows furrowed and wearing a frown.

"Hm?" The Weasley girl was only half-listening. She was busy attempting to feed him something that may have, at one point, remotely resembled food but now was some sort of conglomeration of disgustingness.

This was a game they played every morning. She would invent new and creative ways to try to get him to eat, and Tom would see how many things he could splatter with food. So far, he had covered himself, the chair, and an impressive amount of floor space. Not to mention a large clump that was already compacted into her hair. It was nothing to sniff at, to say the least. Quite possibly his best work yet.

"You haven't, uh, seen my wand by any chance, have you?" He pulled open the kitchen drawers one by one and rifled through them, coming up empty each time and moving on to the next one.

"Don't tell me you've lost something again. Harry, I swear." She set the spoon down with an exasperated sigh as she drew her own wand. "Accio Harry's wand."

There was the faint clatter of wood bumping against wood, and Potter dropped to his knees trying to find the source of the sound.

Tom had only recently mastered the technique of crawling—far from an amazing feat for a Dark Lord, but the Potters had made such a fuss about it just the same. He himself had capitalized on the discovery, and any time they made the mistake of leaving him alone, he hid whatever belongings were within his reach. It was the lowest, most humiliating form of subversion, but at least it would whet his appetite until he was old enough to exact his revenge in a more meaningful and appealing way.

Potter followed the sound into the living room, stopping beside the couch to listen for a moment before shoving his hand underneath it.

"Aha! Got it." Potter pulled both his wand and hand out and used his knees as leverage to stand. "Wedged underneath the couch."

"What's it doing under there?"

"Dunno." Potter shrugged as he tucked it safely into his robes. "I've learned not to ask questions anymore in this family. Because magic." He looped an arm around his wife's shoulders and planted a kiss in her hair, but not before checking first to make sure there was no food. "Take care and, uh, good luck."

Potter made his way to the high chair. This was the worst part of the day. Goodbye kisses. There was nothing in the world that made Tom want to vomit more, and one time he had, much to his pleasure, all over Potter's clean work robes.

"G'bye, James. Be good for Mummy today."

Potter was already bending down for a kiss. He had to think fast. It wasn't like there was much to work with, so he grabbed the plastic bowl he'd been eating out of and whacked Potter in the head with it, splattering the remainder of the goop down his robes.

"You can't be serious," he groaned.

"He's a baby. Relax." The Weasley girl waved her wand in a non-verbal scourgify and the mess disappeared, leaving Potter's robes looking fresh and new. Insufferable know-it-all. Never knew when to mind her own business. Should've killed her when he had the chance to, before the Potter brat could interfere.

"There, all better." She reached up to readjust his tie, and once she was content that it was properly done, she pulled it gently, forcing him to bend under the strain, until their lips met. Their frequent displays of affection were disgusting. Beyond disgusting. They made the mush they called food look appetizing in comparison. "I'll see you when you get home."

Tom slumped back in his seat as Potter made his way to the Floo and the Weasley girl turned a patient eye on the kitchen and the mess he'd made. For months now, he'd done his utmost to make their life a living hell, yet they still refused to break. That just meant he'd have to try harder.

...(X)...

[April 18, 2005]

The room was dark and quiet, aside from the soft lilting of his nighttime melodies the ginger had insisted were good for putting babies to bed. Sure, if the goal was to bore them to sleep, then they'd be perfect.

Even so, he was still wide awake, despite the fact that he'd been confined to his crib hours ago. But he'd had the most amazing revelation. Toes! He had them! Ten to be exact, at the very tip of his feet, wriggling like tiny snakes. Elusive creatures, too. Every time he got close to grabbing one, they squirmed further away. If he ever did manage to catch one...Wait, what?

"Seems you've found yourself a new hobby." Tom immediately recognized that raspy, hollow voice and sat up in his crib as the shadows over him began to solidify into a cloaked form. "Your toes, though? For a normal human brat, sure, but I half expected you'd be more fascinated to realize you have a nose."

He had a nose?! No, no. Everything in him fought against the juvenile impulse to seek it out. Being an infant was more difficult than he imagined. As time went on, for whatever reason, it was becoming harder to separate himself from his new life. Merlin be damned if he'd let it go that easily, though.

"It'll only get harder from here, James. I can call you that, can't I?" Death laughed and kept speaking without waiting for a response. "Of course I can. After all, that's who you are now, and that pitiful thing you used to call a soul had to be repaired. Couldn't put that in a human. It'd never be viable. So I patched it a bit, pulled pieces from here and there. So you're still you...mostly. Partially, at least, anyway. There wasn't much left to work with. Did I forget to mention that? Silly me."

Tom wrapped his pudgy fingers around the edge of his crib and pulled himself up onto wobbly legs with the intention of giving Death a piece of his mind. All that came out was a string of angry coos and fervent gibberish, along with, much to his dismay, a bit of drool.

"Can't talk yet, hm? Good. Then you can just shut up and listen."

One bony phalanx shot out of the robe and pressed firmly against Tom's chest—not enough to hurt but enough to knock him off-kilter. Not that it took much. He tumbled onto his back, legs kicking in the air like a bug. It took a minute before he was able to roll back onto his stomach and sit up again.

"I thought you'd like to know that you won't be alone for too much longer. I'm sure this must be torture for you, bearing the brunt of the Potters' attention all by your lonesome. Being the compassionate soul that I am, I've decided to send you someone to ease your suffering."

Tom could tell from the ensuing cackle that he wouldn't like whatever the idiot was blathering about, but what could he do? He still couldn't even shit in the toilet at this point. Taking on Death seemed a bit of a stretch...for now. One day, he assured himself. One day, this would all be worth it.

"I wouldn't get too comfy with whatever your intentions are for your future just yet," Death commented as if he could read minds. Maybe he could. Yet one more reason why he deserved to be overthrown. "Just be warned, James Sirius Potter, that change is coming soon enough."

The figure by his bedside started to waft away, form blurring into the natural shadows of his room until it was completely gone. As far as he could tell, change was a bad thing. There was no way to ward against it, for now, so he'd have to prepare for it any way he could. Whatever that bastard was planning, it wouldn't dissuade him in the least bit from accomplishing his goals.

Tom plopped onto his back and glared at the wriggling appendages at the end of his feet. Damn it all. He went back to playing with them, with less fervor this time. Not even they could dismiss the foreboding that had already begun to take hold in his mind.

...(X)...

[September 30, 2005]

"Mama!"

James screamed at the top of his lungs, rattling the blasted bars that kept him imprisoned in his crib. Where was that bloody wench? She was getting lazier and lazier as the days passed, it seemed. Negligence, that's what it was. Gross misconduct on her part. By now, he should have had breakfast, at the very least, but there he was marinating in his own wet and she had yet to drag herself out of bed.

"MAMA!"

He began to really pitch a fit, banging against anything he could reach. Where was she? Just as he was prepared to yell again, she waddled in, one hand on her extended stomach and the other on her lower back.

"Mummy's here, baby. It's okay." Well, it was about bloody time. She paused to yawn before adding, "Mummy's just not feeling well today is all."

Not that he cared, but she didn't look that great, either. She sure had let herself go. Her hair was tangled and matted as if it hadn't been washed in at least a week, and there were large, dark bruises under her eyes that popped against her pale skin. What's more, she had gotten extremely fat, which should have surprised no one, at the rate that she was eating.

"Food!" James demanded, holding his arms up to be picked up. With a little sigh, she acquiesced, shuffling into the kitchen with him perched on her hip. She strapped him into his high chair, and he kicked his feet while he waited.

They had been having the weirdest things for breakfast, disguised as perfectly normal dishes. Cereal, normally a solid choice, mixed with pretzels. Oatmeal with peanut butter in it. Every meal had become a game of Russian Roulette, and it seemed like he lost more times than he won.

"Here we are, James," Ginny said as she set the bowl down in front of him. Oatmeal again. Great. At least it looked safe this time.

"I know you're still too young to understand it, but we've had some exciting news lately, Daddy and I." Ginny pulled a chair over as she spoke, groaning as she lowered herself onto it. "I guess you've noticed Mummy's tummy getting a bit bigger, hm?"

A bit? That was the understatement of a century. She looked like she'd swallowed a Death Eater whole. If all of this had been her attempt to hide the weight gain, it had failed splendidly.

James had been so focused on guiding the spoon into his mouth that he didn't realized, at first, that she was staring at him. He nodded fervently as he scooped up another bite, focusing hard on willing his muscles to cooperate.

"Well, that's because Mummy's growing a baby in her tummy, and pretty soon, you're going to have a little brother. Isn't that exciting?"

The radiance of her smile was matched only by the depth of his scowl. She was pregnant? Well, how was he expected to have guessed that one? That changed everything. Another child would only serve as a hindrance and was sure to complicate things. No, this was assuredly not good news, despite her insistence.

James wasn't sure how to handle being blindsided by such a disturbing piece of information, so he overturned his bowl of oatmeal into her lap. At the very least, they would both have something to sulk over.

...(X)...

[February 15, 2006]

James stretched out across a row of chairs in the waiting room in St. Mungo's, tracing patterns on the ceiling that he was sure weren't really there. His tired mind saw them clear as day anyway, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. They had been there forever. The wait almost made him miss Limbo. At least there he'd had the benefit of being unable to keep track of time.

The hospital, admittedly, was no place for a child. His parents had warned him of that over and over, but he'd pitched such a fit when they attempted to leave him with Grandma and Grandpa that there was no choice but to bring him. Really, there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. He had to see for himself, as soon as he could, just what sort of collateral damage he was facing so he could start to decide on what course to take to remedy the situation.

Of course, that decision had been made some fifteen hours ago. What was taking so long? Birthing a child couldn't possibly be such a long process. Women had been doing it for ages. Surely they'd had time to figure it out by now.

James arched his back and tilted his head to get a look at the nurse sitting beside him like a gargoyle. He had made the first two nurses cry, and he had been rewarded with this bitter, calloused biddy. He could almost respect that, but if she whacked his legs one more time and ordered him to sit proper like a good, little boy, so help him.

The door to the room cracked open—finally!—and a familiar head peeked out. Even though he smiled, those green eyes betrayed the truth. He was exhausted and frazzled, though judging by all the shouting, he should consider himself lucky. James had half-expected him to end up brutalized, the way Ginny carried on.

"Hey, buddy." James sat up as Harry came and knelt in front of his chair. Now this was a gesture he could get used to. "Are you ready to meet your new brother?"

"Yeah!" James crawled down from the chair and allowed Harry to take his hand. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, the moment of truth.

His first impression was the tiniest bundle of cloth wrapped in Ginny's arms. It didn't look particularly threatening, but looks were deceiving, and he wouldn't let his guard down that easily. It wouldn't be the first time his plans were undone by a snot-nosed infant.

Harry lifted him onto the bed next to Ginny, and he tentatively poked at the bundle. It squirmed in response to his touch and issued an annoyed squeak.

"James, meet Albus Severus," Ginny whispered, readjusting the baby so he could get a better look.

It wasn't the sky-blue, unfocused eyes that made his blood run cold; it was what he recognized in them. A raspy cackle echoed in his mind, one only he seemed to be able to hear, confirming his suspicions.

This was a soul he knew well.

Albus Dumbledore.

Author's Note: This is dedicated to the lovely Xanda, who wanted a Harry/Tom in some sort of relationship (not necessarily romantic). It's not a pairing I generally write, so hopefully this lives up to your expectations. :) This will be a three-shot.

Prompts:

- Quidditch Pitch: "Never underestimate the power of human stupidity." ~ Robert A. Heinlein