Location: Daniel's Domain — Hidden from mortals, buried in veils no spell can breach.
The house breathes like a tomb — walls lined with ancient symbols, shadows coiled like patient serpents. The air tastes like finality. And in the center of it — Harry Potter… growing, stumbling, learning.
Scene: Training Room
The floor's cold stone — worn from the grind of magic and footsteps of the inevitable.
Severus Snape, robes sharp as his tongue, circles Harry like a vulture sizing prey — but there's no malice… only ruthless necessity.
Snape:
"Again."
Harry:
"I… I can't—"
Snape: (cutting, venom smooth)
"Can't? You survived the Dark Lord, boy. You survived the night fate spat your name across the stars — you can stand straight and cast."
Daniel leans against the doorway — coat heavy, eyes unreadable — a ghost at the edges of the scene.
Daniel:
"Don't coddle him, Severus. Pain forges resilience… not lullabies."
Harry, trembling, lifts his wand — lips forming the spell — his voice cracks, but the spell fires, raw, chaotic energy bursting across the room.
Snape's wand snaps up — precise, brutal — counters the blast, sending Harry to the floor.
Snape:
"Pathetic. You want to walk the world with that surname, Potter? With that scar? You'll need more than pity… more than luck."
Harry wipes blood from his lip — eyes hardening, the spark igniting behind green irises that have seen too much for their age.
Daniel steps closer — the shadows recoiling, the reapers swirling faintly in his wake.
Daniel:
"He's your responsibility here, Severus. I know the others…"
(voice dips lower)
"Your idiotic godfather. The mutt who stinks of regret. They play hero… pretend their past mistakes don't reek."
(pauses, voice like carved obsidian)
"The Order? Naïve children chasing prophecy with blindfolds on."
Snape, mouth tight, but nods. There's history — bitterness — but also… truth.
Snape:
"And if the Order comes here? Their righteous crusade?"
Daniel:
"They won't. You know why."
(leans in, voice like frostbite)
"Even the one who hides behind 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'… knows better than to breathe my direction."
The room falls silent — heavy with unspoken warnings, layered with deadly certainty.
Snape:
"Your word's iron, Daniel… but words fracture under war."
Daniel: (soft laugh — cold, final)
"I'm not words, Severus. I'm what follows… after."
Harry picks himself up, bruises blooming under his shirt, magic crackling faintly around his fingertips. His eyes meet Daniel's — young, but burning with inherited defiance.
Daniel (to Harry):
"You'll bleed in here… trip, fall, curse me under your breath."
(pauses)
"But outside these walls… you'll walk as your mother wanted. As I promised."
The Reapers drift behind Daniel — faint silhouettes, whispering inevitability. Snape watches, no longer questioning — only preparing.
The training resumes — spells sharper, insults crueler — but every hour under Death's roof sculpts Harry into something legend wasn't ready for.
Narration:
Years would pass… wand in hand, scars deepening, destiny circling like vultures overhead. But when the world came knocking — when the Dark Lord whispered — the boy forged in shadows… would answer.
And Death… would smile.
Location: Edge of the Forbidden Forest — Weeks before Hogwarts.
The night coils like silk — dark, suffocating, alive with whispers only few can hear. The trees bend away from the boy standing there — or perhaps from what walks behind him.
Harry Potter, no longer the frail child hidden beneath blankets of pity, stands with his wand at his side — but it's his eyes that unsettle the world now… green, sharp, carrying centuries of pain disguised as youth.
Daniel, the coat heavier than shadows, steps beside him — the faint outline of Reapers dancing in the edges of vision.
Daniel:
"Feel it… the ground, the air — listen, Harry."
(pauses)
"Magic isn't kind. It's not meant to soothe. It's power. Raw. Ugly. Necessary."
Harry closes his eyes, breath steady — the forest hums under his skin. He raises his hand, and for a brief, terrifying second — the grass withers, the air thickens… the trees lean back.
Daniel's lips curve faintly — not quite pride, more… inevitability.
Daniel:
"Good. You're learning."
Harry lowers his hand — not fully understanding the consequence, but aware… aware of the pull inside him, the cold threaded through his veins, old as time itself.
Harry:
"It scares them… the others."
(voice sharp, no childish hesitation)
"Snape. Even Sirius. They flinch when I… when the shadows move."
Daniel chuckles — low, like the rattle of bones.
Daniel:
"They should."
(steps closer, eyes deep as graves)
"You're not them, Harry. You never were. You survived because your blood whispered to Death… and Death listened."
The Reapers stir — faint, coiled like loyal wolves behind Daniel — their presence lingering near Harry, but never touching without command.
Harry:
"When I go to Hogwarts… they'll see it, won't they? The cracks… the ghosts in my wake."
Daniel:
"They'll see what I allow."
(pauses, tone dark, absolute)
"And you'll allow nothing… unless it's by design."
The trees creak — the wind carries faint voices, echoes of the dead tangled in the branches.
Harry clenches his wand tighter — not in fear, but understanding. For the first time, the scars on his soul don't feel like weaknesses… they feel like armor.
Daniel:
"You'll walk those halls, Potter… but don't mistake proximity for belonging. They'll envy. They'll fear."
(voice lowers)
"And when they cross lines…"
(pauses, smirks coldly)
"You'll remind them whose shadow raised you."
Harry:
"And if they try to use me? Manipulate… like Dumbledore wanted?"
Daniel tilts his head — the Reapers curling closer, hunger in their silent shapes.
Daniel:
"They'll try."
(steps forward, voice dripping inevitability)
"But I promised your mother… they'd fail."
Silence stretches — the night breathing heavy, the forest bowed to the unseen force tethered to Harry now.
Daniel:
"Let them play with prophecies. Let them whisper of 'Chosen Ones'. You're beyond prophecy now, Harry."
(pauses, final, brutal)
"They just don't know it yet."
Harry exhales, eyes narrowing — the boy who lived… dying in fragments, replaced by something colder, sharper, inevitable.
Narration:
The world would watch a Potter walk into Hogwarts… but Death had already claimed him long before.
End Scene