Chapter Text
Living forever makes time and dying kind of non-issues, Hadriana, as she went by for the time being, mused.
How many years, lives, centuries, eons had she roamed the earth? She had stopped counting after the second time she was reborn as a woman, she thought.
She remembered how weird it was, at first, to be in a body of the other sex, how she had struggled for a while, as her memories came slowly back, how it took time for her to feel comfortable again in a new body.
It was a time where memories of her several pasts came slowly as she grew, when her mind was still fighting against this new norm for her… Well, as new as dying and being reborn endlessly can be for someone who still thought she was mortal.
Embracing her role as the Master of Death definitely was an uphill battle. She had been so stubborn in her beliefs, in her rejection of the role and what it entailed. She still was stubborn, to be honest, but at least, now, she knew what her role in this world was, and she embraced the responsibility.
After all, her “saving people thing” still existed now, even if tempered somewhat by centuries of wars and losses and failures.
Which was the reason of her presence here, in dreary England, following those who she knew followed the Dark Lord she had been prophesised to vanquish, once upon a time, when she knew nothing and followed the whims of old secretive men.
Well, at least now she knew better.
So, she followed a Knight, silent and invisible as the being that she was the so-called “master” of. Not that Death could really have a master. It would be as ludicrous as being master of any other forces of the Universe, really.
And yes, sure, Death was an actual Being, and she did converse with them any time she had left the land of the living after the first time the old man had hijacked his – her – limbo, but to be controlled by a mere human? A speck of star dust with as much strength and knowledge as an ant compared to a primordial force of the Universe? How nonsensical.
But, well, The Tale of the Three Brothers was, as the title so said, a tale, so of course the information should have been taken with a grain of salt, but alas, the Wixen Britain in her first life was not known for its good sense.
Ah! It looked like they had arrived at their destination. Lovely.
Now, to decide which approach to take…
Did she go for the dramatic entrance? Or let them get on with their meeting and interrupting them, also dramatically? Or maybe she ought to wait until the minions were gone and she could reveal herself to the inner circle and Riddle himself? Or wait until even the closest to him were gone and they were left alone?
Hm. So many choices, so little time to decide. Ah well… She was known for her impulsive decisions, wasn’t she?
She shrugged and entered the lovely ancestral mansion they were visiting that day after her oblivious escort.
It was a Nott property from what she could tell.
Being magic sensitive was quite the perk if she said so herself. Well, at least when you knew how to control it and you weren’t in a high magic density area, like, say, a very old castle that had been used as a school for a bit more than a thousand years and was probably more sentient than anyone would really think without said control.
“You’re late.”
Ah, back to the present then. And how that drawling tone was so very known to her. It was genetic then. Like the nearly white blonde silky hair that she was definitely not jealous of, no ma’am.
And, honestly, wasn’t it so ironic that blood purists like the Malfoys had Veela blood in their lines that was just so, soooo prettily apparent, even centuries later?
How lovely would it be to rub that fact in their cute little pale faces? She could not wait!
Well, for now, she had a future terrorist organization to crash and a Dark Lord to make go apoplectic. Wasn’t that always fun?
--
“Well. That was boring.”
Lord Voldemort, still known as Tom Riddle for now, tensed in surprise at the voice, before turning to her, assessing.
Bummer.
She would have loved to see him jump. Or try to curse her. Or something.
“And who might you be?”
Oh. His voice was deliciously smooth like the best dark chocolate.
That was definitely not the kind of voice she expected from Voldemort.
But he wasn’t really the snake faced abomination with its high pitched hissy voice that she somewhat still remembered, was he?
So yeah, he had a voice she’d like to do unmentionable things to.
She flicked her long, untamable, still unmanageable after centuries, cosmic joke of a mane. Apparently, alongside her eyes always being killing curse green, her hair would always be a curly mess that had a mind of its own.
Ah well… At least when it was this long it was less of a bother.
“You could say I’m a friend”, she responded with a teasing smile.
Riddle tilted his head, expression mild and bored, but ruby red eyes keen and magic all-encompassing, oppressive.
Hadriana heard a small whimper from one of his minions somewhere.
“A… friend, you say?”
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Yes.” She twirled a lock of her hair and sashayed closer to the Dark Lordling. He wasn’t yet a proper Dark Lord in magic nor in name.
“And what is the reason for your… visit, this evening?”
Oh, she just loved the way his quirked a brow just there.
She smiled impishly at him and said: “Well, you see, there is this thing that you did a few times over that I’m hoping to stop you from doing again. Also hoping it will stop you from going insane and destroying magic in the Isles alongside good old Dumbles in your pissing contest. Not that you have bad ideas. I mean, Magical Britain is honestly so backwards and stuck in the Dark Ages. Not that the actual so-called Dark Ages were so dark, if we’re being honest. So many great things happened during that time period, lots of advancements in humanity as a whole and all that. Just the creation of the magical schools and ways that magicals managed to develop town-wide enchantments and geomancy to hide from mundanes and thus slowly making things less dangerous… Oh, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, that happens.”
She bit her lip, not noticing the sharp focus on the gesture, and sighed.
“I’m not sure how to talk about what I want to talk to you about with your little minions present and you not freaking out and trying to kill me or something.” She tilted her head. “Not that it wouldn’t be fun to duel, but that should probably wait until after the things are said and a conversation is had, perhaps.”
Riddle’s lackeys were definitely thinking she was weird, what with their expressions, but she did not really care about their opinions. The handsome Riddle himself did not seem to be as lost as they were.
Indeed, it looked like he had actually understood what she was alluding to before her thoughts drifted if the way his magic was lashing out around them – still somewhat controlled, however – and the way the confused pleb was cowering at their lord.
“Leave.” And like the dogs they were, the inner circle left them alone, quick as wind, but not as pleasant or as distinguished as they thought they were. She could not wait to make fun of them next time she saw them.
With a little jump to her step, she approached Riddle, fearless – for what could an immortal really fear?
And the jerk smelled good too! Dang, the crush she had for teen Tom Riddle when she – they… he? Gender identity was weird like that – was in whatever year with the Diary and the basilisk. Oh! The Basilisk. She probably should go visit her. The Queen of Serpents. Good thing she was still a Parselmouth, which was actually a thing she inherited from genetics and not horcrux-induced nonsense like some old goat tried to convince her of as an impressionable, desperate, love-starved naïve little boy thrust into a wonderful, horrible, mangled world with the weight of the world on his shoulders and Death awaiting at the end of a very short, harrowing road.
Ah. She got distracted with thoughts of lingering trauma and days past and not happening and now the devilishly deliciously handsome man had her pinned on a wall with a wand at her throat and feral magic and a feral-er expression bearing down on her.
She hadn’t had so much fun in years honestly!
“Who are you and how do you know?” hissed the Dark Lord-to-be. And how strong he was! And how lovely and dark and heavy and heady was his magic? But now was not the time to fantasize. It wouldn’t do to let him think bad thoughts, would it?
“Well, do you want the short answer or the long-winded, probably confusing and confused one? It’s been a while since I thought about some things, you know, and some things are kind of hazy, even if the trauma is definitely helping keeping some things clear still. I should probably work on that at one point in the future… I mean, it’s been at least like twenty lifetimes or something.” She laid her head on the wall behind her, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “And I got side-tracked once again. Sorry. So, short or long answer?”
He scrutinized her for a long while, probably using his genius mind to decide stuff. And really, he had the loveliest red eyes, so she was content letting him think if she could just gaze at them to her heart’s content.
She let a lovesick kind of sigh escape from her lips, sharpening his focus, and the full force of his natural legilimency try to broach her mind.
And wasn’t that the most unpleasant feeling?
But she let him find bits of information that would be helpful, because, well, she wanted him to want to listen, and what better way than to show him what he would become? How he would fail? Felled by teenagers, leaving behind nothing but ash and sorrow and broken stones and hearts and minds. How the bleakness did not alleviate. How the balance was forever lost, and everything would decay and disappear. How he-they-she (but she was still a he then) saw it all and lost even more. How they endured and could not die when they tried, tried so hard to end the suffering. And the spectral train station, their limbo, and Death there to welcome them and starting over. Once. Twice. Endlessly.
He left her mind. He breathed “You’re immortal. Truly immortal.”
Awe, wonder, greed. Ah, she knew he wanted it.
“Yup. And the stories are true. Somewhat. Except the only person to ever be able to be the so-called Master of Death could only ever be someone of Peverell blood, and there was only ever one person to be able to become it, which, you’ve gathered, is me.”
The greed got stronger. Envy and jealousy.
“I’m also not totally human anymore? I think? Well, I’m a natural born necromancer too, which is also its own thing, to be quite honest with you, which I did not know until I tried to kill myself the first time after older insane snakey-you actually killed me for a bit, by the way. But that’s not what you’re interested in, nor what you need to know for now.”
“You want me to destroy my horcruxes.”
He was not convinced, he was afraid and his magic was lashing out even more. This would not do.
“Not destroy, no. I don’t want to kill parts of you. But I do want you to be whole again. First because you would be more grounded and stable in your moods, but also because your magic would stop lashing out at the smallest inconvenience, and you would be more powerful. Oh, by the way, I’m so impressed by how intelligent and observant you still are. Usually people go insane and get super paranoid just after the one, since it sever half your freaking soul, just so you know.”
“So what would you have me do?”
Oh, he was getting annoyed and impatient. Well, she should probably do something about it, shouldn’t she.
So she did the most logical thing and pushed the tip of his wand away from her, slipped under his arm, making sure to also brush against him, because he was hot and she was shameless, and then she went to sit on the arm of the throne-like chair that was definitely his, throwing the annoyed and confused dark lord an impish smile.
“Well, easy, Tom: we’re going to mend your soul.”
He scoffed.
“I will never feel regret for what I did.”
“Well, no. That’s rubbish, actually. But you have a necromancer.”
Well, seemed like he didn’t get it. She would have to explain further then. She always forgot that her family magic was quite old and unique and forgotten in this day and age.
“Natural necromancers are great at mending souls and the like, you know. And on top of that, your necromancer” – and she so did not miss the possessiveness in his eyes at that declaration – “is also an immortal being that has lived through centuries, learning to control and hone and refine her gifts. And let’s not forget that she’s also Death’s Chosen, so really, you couldn’t have found a better witch to help.”
He pondered for a bit, but, as she had expected, he accepted her offer.
Lovely!
This was the beginning of a wonderful friendship, she just knew it!
So they would go and fetch the horcruxes, which were not in the places they were at when she-they-he and her friends forever ago and never again went on that treasure hunt to destroy bits and pieces of souls and broke and mended more than what they thought they would.
And then she would piece him back together, and they would plan, and balance between dark and light would finally be had, and magic would thrive once again.
Before she left him for the night, he stopped her.
It confused her somewhat. They had talked and planned and plotted and he knew who she was and who she had been and would never be, so why would he stop her?
“You were a man?”
Oh, unexpected.
“I was. I’ve been a few time more.”
“If you so chose, you could stay in this body forever or change it at your whim. Correct?”
Well, this was confusing.
“Well… Yes?”
“Hm. I will stay a man.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Well, I suppose true immortality for one more person could be arranged if you do keep your end of the bargain… But you should know it does not come freely.”
He arched a sarcastic brow, followed by a drawling “I’m aware.”
“Hey, I just wanted to make it clear!”
“Duly noted.”
She pouted.
“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be going.”
Just as she was opening the door, he told her: “Your female form is pleasing to the eye.”
She missed a step and gaped at him.
“Did you just… try to flirt?”
“No.”
“Sure…”
And she left.
Well, this was fun. As expected. And now to put their plans into motion and whip magical Britain into better shape and launch it in the 20th century, kicking and screaming!