Read up to 40 chapters ahead on Patreon - patreon.com/Dark_sym
This fic is completed in patreon
-----
"I AM DEATH," the Lady of Death said softly.
"Are you a God?" Ethan asked, startled.
He had already suspected he might be dead, but he never expected to stand before Death itself.
The woman shook her head.
"NO, I AM NOT A GOD OF DEATH. I AM THE EMBODIEMENT OF THE RULES OF DEATH. I AM THE END. I AM THE INEVITABLE. I AM DEATH ITSELF."
Her voice was light, yet it carried the weight of finality.
Ethan swallowed hard. He didn't fully understand, but he could feel the immense power radiating from her.
"I suppose you didn't bring me here for nothing," he said cautiously.
"A BEING HAS VIOLATED MY RULES," Lady Death said, her tone indifferent.
"A FALSE GOD HAS ENTERED THIS WORLD AND VIOLATED MY RULES. HE MUST BE DESTROYED."
Ethan hesitated before asking, "And what does that have to do with me?"
"I WANT YOU TO BE MY MESSENGER," she replied.
"BRING HIM TO ME. BRING ME BACK THAT TOM AND BRING BACK THAT FALSE GOD."
Ethan tensed at the name. "Voldemort."
Lady Death continued, "I AM BOUND BY THE LAWS I EMBODY. I CANNOT TAKE WHAT IS NOT FREELY GIVEN. HE HAS DEFIED ME, EVADED MY GRASP. BUT YOU—"
She gazed at him, her eyes dark as the abyss—"YOU ARE DIFFERENT. YOUR SOUL IS NOT TIED TO THIS WORLD"
Ethan frowned. "So... does that mean I get to live?"
"YOU CANNOT TRUELY SPEAK OF DEATH UNTIL YOUR SOUL IS GONE," she said.
"YOU ARE MEANT TO DIE—BUT NOT TODAY, NOT IN THIS WORLD."
Ethan sighed. He had never been one for riddles.
"So you want me to be your messenger. But let's be honest, I don't stand a chance against a so-called false god."
Lady Death extended her hand.
"GIVE ME YOUR SWORD."
Ethan hesitated, then handed over the Sword of the Lady of the Lake.
With a graceful motion, she tore a strip from the hem of her midnight-black gown.
The fabric shimmered unnaturally as she wrapped it around the blade.
The sword darkened, its edge tinged with an eerie, spectral black.
A strange energy pulsed from it—cold, ancient, absolute.
"I HAVE GIVEN THIS BLADE THE POWER TO WOUND BOTH THE BODY AND THE SOUL," Lady Death intoned.
"MY ESSENCE NOW DWELLS WITHIN IT. THIS SWORD IS YOURS. AND WITH IT, YOU SHALL BE MY MESSENGER."
Ethan grasped the hilt with both hands. The moment his fingers met the blade, a complex black mark seared itself onto his forearm.
"THIS IS THE MARK OF MY CHOSEN," Lady Death said.
"THIS SWORD IS OTH YOUR BURDEN AND YOUR REWARD."
Ethan barely had time to process this before his gaze flickered to the stone pier, where a twisted form lay motionless.
"And Voldemort?" he asked.
"HE IS ALREADY DEAD," Lady Death said.
"BUT HE ACCEPTED THE AID OF A FALSE GOD, TORE HIS CONTRACT WITH ME. I HAVE ALREADY TAKEN THE LAST REMNANT OF HIS SOUL FROM A BOY."
Ethan stiffened. "Harry..."
"THE CREATURE YOU CALL VOLDEMORT STILL MOVES, BUT ONLY BY THE WILL OF ANOTHER. HIS EXISTENCE IS A MOCKERY OF DEATH. A BLASPHEMY."
Ethan's grip tightened around the sword. He exhaled slowly.
Then, hesitantly, he asked, "I have a friend... He was badly wounded. He's dying. Can you save him?"
"DEATH CANNOT BE CHANGED—NOT EVEN BY ME, WHO IS DEATH ITSELF."
Lady Death replied swiftly.
Ethan exhaled. "Alright… so how do I go back?"
Lady Death clapped her hands, and from the darkness, a black steed galloped toward Ethan.
As it drew closer, Ethan squinted in confusion—then blinked.
It was Roach.
Roach, somehow, seemed just as excited to see him, nuzzling against his hand with surprising warmth.
"YOU CAN RIDE IT BACK," Lady Death said.
"IT WILL CARRY YOU ACROSS THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH."
"WE WILL MEET AGAIN STRAYED SOUL"
----
The news of Ethan's death sent shockwaves through Hogwarts.
Classes were suspended, exams postponed, and the Triwizard Tournament was halted indefinitely.
Over the next two days, frantic parents arrived, pulling their children from the school, unwilling to risk further loss.
His funeral was held by the Black Lake. Dozens of chairs had been arranged in neat rows, but many people chose to stand, unable to sit still in their grief.
Hagrid and Madame Maxime clung to each other, their sobs shaking the air.
Hagrid's deep, guttural cries echoed across the water, and Madame Maxime, usually so composed, wept openly beside him.
Tonks sat apart, her usually vibrant hair a dull, lifeless gray.
She was pale, trembling, barely able to stifle her sobs despite the quiet reassurances of her colleagues from the Ministry.
Hermione's eyes were red and swollen. She had cried for days, unable to accept what had happened.
Even now, she pressed a soaked handkerchief to her face, fresh tears slipping through.
The Weasleys sat beside her, offering silent comfort.
Mr. Weasley sighed heavily, his expression weary.
Beside him, Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her own tear-filled eyes, unable to hold back her sorrow.
Fred and George, usually full of mischief, sat still, staring blankly at the Gwent cards in their hands.
"I never thought he would die," Sirius murmured, exhaling a long sigh.
Nearby, Harry sat hunched over, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Everyone near me suffers. First my parents… and now, Professor Ethan."
"You can't think like that, Harry," Sirius said firmly.
"Your parents, Ethan… They didn't die because of you. They died for their ideals, for what they believed in. They made their choice."
Harry didn't respond. He only nodded—reluctantly, absently.
Behind them, a soft, dreamy voice spoke.
"Why is Professor Ethan lying in that coffin?"
Hermione turned, startled, and found Luna standing behind her, peering at the casket with wide, curious eyes.
"Luna… Professor Ethan is gone," Hermione said, her voice cracking.
But Luna only tilted her head.
"No, he isn't. He's just lying there. I can see it clearly!"
Hermione let out a choked sob. "Luna, please—don't—"
Tears spilled over again, and she turned away.
A haunting melody drifted from the lake, carried by voices that did not belong to humans.
The merpeople had gathered in the water, their pale faces breaking the surface as they sang in a language no one could understand.
Their purple hair swayed in the currents, their sorrowful song weaving through the mourners like a lament of the deep.
From the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, centaurs watched in solemn silence.
They, too, had come to pay their respects.
More students began to cry.
Then, from the back of the gathering, a lone figure stepped forward—disheveled, weary, utterly changed.
Cornelius Fudge.
The former Minister of Magic looked hollow, his once-arrogant posture slumped with exhaustion.
No guards, no aides—he had come alone.
Just days ago, he had resigned. Ethan's death had shattered him. He had been wrong about everything.
Now, he could only stare at the casket, lost in his thoughts.
Others spoke, ministers and professors offering solemn words, but the crowd was quiet. No one wanted to speak. No one wanted to move.
And then—
A strange wind swept over the lake. Leaves rustled, the air shifted.
Luna gasped, then shot to her feet, her face lighting up.
"Professor Ethan is back!" she said, delighted.
Heads turned. Some students exchanged confused glances.
People knew Luna had been close to Ethan.
They also knew Luna saw the world differently.
Most of them, though, assumed this was grief unmooring her mind.
And yet—
Something felt different.
Something stirred in the wind.
And for the first time since Ethan had died—
Hope flickered in the air.