Author's Note: I want to thank everyone so much for all your support! I'm just amazed by how many people have read this, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the follows and the reviews. :) Reviews are what keep me going as a fanfiction writer. This has been a lovely journey but, sadly, this is the last chapter as the challenge only allows me to write 15,000 words.

Thanks to everyone who read this all the way through! Special thanks to my fellow Hufflepuffs at Hogwarts Houses Challenges who have helped me beta these chapters: HurricaneRelic, Energetic Red, and GallonsoftheStuff.

If you've enjoyed this story, I invite you to check out some of my others or follow me for whatever crazy plot bunnies come a-hopping my way. ;)

Word Count: 5,000

Chaves was reluctant to believe his eyes, but then again, if not Death, who else could animate a corpse? And Lady Ravenclaw was most assuredly deceased; he had made sure of it.

"If you are who you say." Chaves paused as a fresh spasm of pain tore through him. Once it subsided and he was able to regain his breath, he continued, "Then what do you want from me? And why call me by a name that is not my own?"

"You mean Harry Potter? Oh, but it is yours. It belonged to you before you even became a Slytherin. Before your mother's dying wish brought you here. Before someone else's wish brought me here."

"Why have you come?"

Chaves' head was throbbing as if there was something inside it vying to hatch from his skull, and all this talk of former lives did little to quell it. The room swam as his body trembled in pain, and he braced himself against the door frame until it passed.

When his vision cleared, he was greeted by the sight of Lady Ravenclaw's corpse twisting its blue-tinged lips into a grotesque grin.

"You seem to have a penchant for granting others' wishes, but there remains one wish you cannot grant: your own."

"Tell me how."

"Heartborne will find the way."

"What does that mean?"

"If you come find me, I'll tell you. But I have to warn you, I'm not particularly easy to find."

The jaw parted unnaturally and released a hollow, echoing laugh that caused Chaves to shudder. It lasted for an eternity, fraying every last nerve, and when Chaves thought he could endure it no longer without going mad, the laughter stopped.

Lady Ravenclaw's corpse slumped back onto the pillow and resumed its restful position. The room stilled as if nothing had happened, but Chaves knew better than that. He had been issued a challenge, and there was no choice but to accept. He felt it deep in his soul; this was his destiny.

...oOo...

Chaves had half a mind to steal away like a wisp of breath in the darkness: unseen and unheard. Watching the sleeping figure rise and fall with respiration, he knew that was never an option. They both deserved more than that.

Chaves stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at the sleeping frame. The boy had inherited the messy, black Slytherin hair, but he had his mother's fierce, gray eyes. Chaves sat on the edge of the bed and shook him lightly. Cepheus groaned and pulled his blanket up higher, burying his head in the crook of his arm. Chaves smiled. The boy had inherited his mother's aversion to waking early, as well.

"Wake, Cepheus, just for a moment," Chaves whispered, shaking him once more. One eyelid slowly lifted to reveal a bloodshot eye.

"Father?" came the groggy, sleep-laden reply.

"Listen close, little snake. You are nearly of age, and next year, you shall begin your Hogwarts training. Every great wizard needs a great wand, no?" Chaves pulled a long, thin box from his robes and held it out.

Cepheus' eyes widened, and he shed his blanket as quickly as he did sleep as he bolted upright in bed. He reached out with trembling hands and took the box. He paused with his hand on the top of it, glancing once at Chaves for reassurance, who nodded his approval.

When Cepheus opened the box and pulled out the wand, a grin stretched across his face and a familiar fire burned in his eyes.

"I can have this?"

"It belonged to my father, and now, it belongs to you. Sixteen inches, yew, Runespoor fang core. I dare say it will serve you well. I have no doubts that you will be a great wizard."

Cepheus' smile faltered, and he laid the wand gently back in its box.

"Are you leaving, Father?"

"Yes."

"I wish you would stay with us."

"I knew you would say that, and I shall. Here," Chaves pointed to his son's heart as he spoke, "and in here." He pulled a locket from his robes, a beautiful gold piece with emeralds in the shape of an 'S', and placed it in Cepheus' hand, closing the boy's fingers around it. "I taught you the language of serpents, little snake, and if you ask it, this locket will open for you. Inside are our memories together, so you may have a piece of me wherever you go."

Cepheus wrapped his arms around his father's neck, and Chaves pulled him tight and whispered in his ear, "Be brave, little snake. Your future is bright."

Chaves tucked him back in quietly and made his way to the front door, where his wife was waiting.

"You will not change your mind?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I will not. I cannot. We promised, years ago, to be together until death parted us." Chaves pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair.

"This is not quite what I expected," she said into his robes.

"Nor I, but this is where fate has led us."

"Then go." Amaltheia stepped back, and Chaves reluctantly let her slip away. "Go chase your destiny, my love. We are strong and shall be just fine."

With one last look to commit it all to memory—the way her hair gleamed in the moonlight, the glint of steel in her eyes, the power in her voice—Chaves disappeared out into the night. Falling in love was the easiest thing he had ever done; leaving it all behind was the hardest.

...oOo...

The thirteenth century was a bloody time. Bad for wizards, who were forced into hiding to avoid the lynchings. Even worse for non-magical folk, who died by the drove in whatever useless battle du jour was being toted to the masses as the end-all, be-all. Good, however, for those seeking Death.

Chaves learned to melt into shadow and steal snippets of conversation from careless passersby. Someone would see an eerie shadow creeping along, the flutter of a robe perchance, the rattle of bones, a disconcerting laugh. The whispers of Death traveled eastward, and so did Chaves, always one step behind.

That was how he came to slip into the fields around Flanders under the cloak of darkness. The grass was already moistened by the cool night, and the air was ladened with the metallic odor of blood.

Much to his disappointment, Chaves noticed no creeping shadows or fluttering robes as he picked his way through the maze of bodies. There was nothing moving save him and the dredges of society whose task it was to bury the dead. He trudged deeper into the field, listening to the whisper of the high grass as he walked.

"Bothersome battles," he muttered when his robe snagged on some unseen menace in the darkness. He tugged it several times, cursing under his breath, before it finally yanked free. He smoothed his robes back into place, but when he went to continue on his way, something caught his ankle.

Chaves looked down in the milky-white eyes of a grinning corpse whose muddy, gray fingers were squeezing into the flesh of his leg. Instinctively, he kicked at it, wresting his ankle free.

"I thought I was the one you were looking for, but if you want to be like that, maybe I should just leave."

"No, wait," Chaves said, but before he could get another word out, the corpse slumped back onto the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut. A laugh slithered out from its motionless mouth, softly at first and crescendoing to a deep, rumbling cackle. It echoed around the battlefield as corpse after corpse began to emit the same laugh.

The shrieks of the humans joined the cacophony, and they tripped over each other as they fled back towards Bouvines and the safety of the militia. Chaves pushed further into the field, chasing the sound.

"You challenged me to find you, and I have!" Chaves called out, turning in circles for some sign of movement that might give away Death's position. "You owe me answers!"

To his left, a soldier sat up, and his head twisted around as if there were no bones in its body, even though Chaves could hear them snapping with the motion.

"I owe you nothing," the corpse snarled, the last word echoing around the field.

Chaves raced towards it, but by the time he got there, it was little more than a husk slumped against the ground. He was starting to believe that cornering Death was akin to bottling sunlight. Several meters away to the right, another corpse sat up with jerky movements.

"Besides, you haven't really found me, now have you?" the voice taunted. Chaves charged the corpse again, but once more, Death was gone by the time he got there.

From behind him, the voice said, "It's more like I've found you. But that's not really much of a challenge, now, is it?"

Chaves whirled around just in time to watch the abandoned corpse fall back into the tall grass.

"How can I be expected to find you if whenever I get close you turn tail and run like a coward?"

A corpse several meters in front of him stood up, the shadows writhing around it in seething tendrils. He had struck a chord, it seemed, but it worked in his favor.

"In fifty years' time, I will bestow three gifts on wizard-kind. One," the corpse held up a blood-stained finger, "a hair from a Thestral buried in ancient wood. Two, the eye of a deceased phoenix turned to stone. Three, a piece of fabric torn from my robe. I will give them to three brothers crossing the River Thames. If you can find all three, then, and only then, I will tell you how to grant your wish."

"Fifty years? But that is..."

"A blink of an eye for someone who can't die. Actions have consequences. You'll learn to live with them. Until then, heartborne will find the way."

Before Chaves could object, a gust of wind kicked up and the corpse collapsed to the ground. He was alone again, amidst a field of dead, but at least he was closer to his destiny. Even if he didn't understand Death's message—and perhaps it was not such a bad thing to have a weak understanding of Death after all—at least there was a course for the future.

In fifty years' time, he would have to scour the countryside along the River Thames, but he would find those brothers. He was sure of it.

...oOo...

When rumors began cropping up about a wizard claiming to possess Death's wand, Chaves originally dismissed them. No wizard could possibly be that dimwitted.

As he sat listening to the drunken tirade unfolding at the other end of the pub, Chaves began to realize that perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his assessment. Stupidity, it seemed, knew no bounds.

"Is there no one, n-n-no one," the wizard paused as he fought to regain his balance, "who would dare challenge me, the great Antioch Peverell?"

He scanned the room with amusement, placing his hands on his hips as he staggered around the pub.

"Come on, now. Surely there must be one of you who is not quite as lily-livered as the rest. Just because I am unbeatable does not mean you should not try."

"Unbeatable? Ye can barely stand," scoffed a wizard from the Highlands. "Ye cannae even walk. How do ye intend to fight?"

"That is my business." The words were punctuated by a hiccup, and Antioch covered his mouth briefly as he tried to hold down his liquor. "Now, will you fight me or not?"

The Highlander stood to meet the challenge, pulling himself up to his full six-foot-something frame. He easily dwarfed Antioch, who seemed nonplussed by the fact. Either that, or he was unable to comprehend it. Chaves wasn't sure which, but he perked up as Antioch pulled his wand from his robe.

It was unlike any Chaves had ever seen—a little under half a yard long, white, with etchings down the length of it. Was that the Thestral hair buried in ancient wood that Death had spoken of? Chaves scooted closer to the fight, moving his chair against a wall and putting up a shield just in case.

The Highlander moved first, and his skill in dueling was evident. Three spells erupted from his wand in quick succession—blue, white, and red. The first two were easily recognizable and mostly harmless, but the third would do some damage. At the very least, it should have forced Antioch further off-balance...but it didn't. The spells were absorbed, in harmless flashes, by his shield.

"That cannae be!" The Highlander knitted his brows and clutched his wand tighter.

Chaves agreed. It shouldn't be possible. Not for any normal wand, at least, but he was sure that was no normal wand. That was Death's wand. It had to be.

"I told you, no man can defeat me! I possess the strongest wand ever made in the heavens and on Earth. Allow me to demonstrate its power."

With a flourish of his wand, Antioch sent a blast of yellow light shooting across the room. There was no denying its impressive strength, but it was also way off the mark. It passed the Highlander to his left and sank into the back wall of the pub, boring a hole out into the night.

"'Ey!" The pub owner rounded the bar, waving his wand at Antioch. "I dare say that you have had plenty to drink." He flicked his wand toward the hole, and the shattered wood leapt back into place." "Upstairs with you to sleep off your stupor before you destroy something that I am unable to fix."

The barkeep shooed him towards the rickety staircase in the corner of the room, and Antioch hobble his way up it, muttering about his undeniable might. Chaves watched him go and waited another fifteen minutes before casting a cloaking spell and following him up.

Antioch seemed to have barely made it into the straw cot that passed as a bed before his inebriation got the best of him, judging by the way he was splayed across it on his back. For such an powerful wizard, he sure was sloppy. Unbeatable? Hardly.

Chaves drew his wand and, with a flick of his wrist and a flash of red, cleaved a crimson line across his throat. The dolt didn't even have the sense to wake as his life gushed from him, staining the straw beneath him.

Chaves plucked the wand from Antioch's robes. It was beautiful up close, truly a masterpiece as far as wands go, but it could never replace his own, so he tucked it away for safekeeping.

"Chaves Harry Potter Slytherin," said a familiar voice, and he glanced up to find Antioch sitting up in bed, head lolling sideways at a weird angle. "Killing indiscriminately hardly seems like you."

"I have done no such thing. I heard the Highlander wishing that he had the opportunity to 'prove that dirty cur wrong,' I believe he put it. He seems to have learned his lesson."

The lips parted into a grin as Death spoke. "So you've managed to retrieve one of my Hallows, but there's still two more. Do you really think you can find the other two?"

"In time."

Chaves cast another cloaking spell and slipped back downstairs and into the night, followed by the echo of Death cackling wildly from the room upstairs.

...oOo...

"Peverell, you say? Hm." The doctor scratched at his beard as he tried to recall. Chaves' search had led him to a small, out-of-the-way village, the sort where the doctor was the most likely to know everyone, so that was the first person he thought to ask.

"He has two brothers. That is all I know."

"Peverell. Now, why does that name—Cadmus!" The doctor struck his palm with his fist as his memory finally sparked to life. "Cadmus Peverell is the man you seek. I have not seen him since Rohesia died, though."

"Rohesia?"

"His wife. Died giving him a son. Poor Cadmus was never the same. I imagine he remains there, in that same house, just outside of town. I can give you directions."

"Please."

Chaves left the doctor's house taking the dirt path out of town towards what used to be hills, according to the residents. In the past years, it had begun to grow wild, and a generous thicket now obstructed the sparse houses that had remained there.

The cottage was right where it had always been and, just as the doctor said, Cadmus Peverell was inside. But the atmosphere grew heavy as Chaves approached, and he knew there was Dark magic afoot. He was well enough versed with it to feel its familiar, clammy touch and the suffocating heaviness of it.

With a very brief knocked, he threw open the door. In the corner, Cadmus jumped up, nearly spilling the potion that he clutched in his trembling hands.

"W-who are you?" he asked, setting the potion on a side table, looking like a hare cornered by a wolf.

"Lord Chaves Slytherin. Forgive me for the rude intrusion. However, I believe you have something I am searching for, and I have come a long way for it."

"Oh?"

"A stone. I have no doubt you know the one."

Cadmus' countenance suddenly darkened, and a chill crept into the air. So he did have the stone after all. That was good news.

"Forsake whatever infernal quest you are on. The Stone will not bring you what you seek. Leave now while you still can."

"The Stone is not as you had imagined? Is that why you were intending to drink poison when I arrived?" Chaves motioned to the desk, and Cadmus' eyes flicked toward it nervously. "To be with Rohesia?"

"What do you know of her?" Cadmus' hands balled into fists and his posture went rigid. It seemed wise to tread lightly.

"I heard from the doctor. Sorry for your loss."

"The doctor. Of course." Cadmus scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I knew I should have used a memory charm. Non-magicals talk too much."

Cadmus paused and inspected Chaves head to toe. After the second sweep, he said, "I suppose it would not hurt, given that you already know."

He pulled something small out of his pocket and cupped it in his palm. With one more brief hesitation, he held it out. It looked like a small, black pebble, smooth and round. With his other hand, Cadmus turned the stone three times.

A form materialized between them, a young woman with long, chestnut locks and a round, pleasant face. Chaves stepped closer to touch her, but his hand passed right through, leaving behind a cold, tingling sensation on his skin. She was here, but she was still there, too—beyond the veil.

"I can bring her back, yes, and we can be together, but we can never truly be together. The veil still divides us, even now. I cannot stand to be so close and have such a distance between us. Do you understand?" Cadmus' voice rose as he started to pace the room, shoving aside any furniture that got in his way. Rohesia looked on with sad eyes as he upended a stand.

"So you drink the poison and you are reunited, at last, with your wife, but what of your son?"

"My son." Cadmus slowed in his tirade and paused as the realization settled in his mind. "My son is too young yet to remember his father, and he will never know of his mother. He would do well with another family. A good wizarding family somewhere."

Cadmus smiled as if something had just dawned on him, and he crossed the room in a few large steps.

"You want this, yes? You came for the Stone," he said, shaking it at Chaves.

"I did."

"You may have it, if you grant me one request."

"Name it."

"Find my son a home where he will be safe. If you can do that, you may have the Stone and my blessing with it."

"I will do as you ask."

"Then take it." Cadmus laid the stone in Chaves' hand. It was oddly warm to the touch and seemed to emanate a powerful magic of its own. "Take it and be on your way. Leave me to die in peace."

Chaves ducked out of the house with the Stone pressed firmly into his palm. He would have to deal with the young Peverell before searching for the third Hallow, but he had time.

"You won't find the third," a voice called after him as he began to make his way away from the Peverell residence. "He's hidden, even from me."

It was followed by a loud cackling that raised the hackles on the back of Chaves' neck, but he kept walking regardless. As close as he was, he refused to be dissuaded from pursuing his destiny.

...oOo...

"How did you find me?" Ignotus Peverell asked, lifting his hood slightly, just enough for Chaves to catch a glimpse of two twinkling, sapphire eyes set in a wrinkled, haggard face.

"I found your son and waited for him to lead me to you."

"You are some wizard. Smart and resourceful. Unfortunately, I cannot give you what you seek. The cloak is mine, and when I take it off, it will be to greet Death and pass it on to my son."

"I am not asking for the Cloak. All that I ask is that I be there when you pass it on. I, too, have a reason to greet Death."

There was silence from the chair opposite him, and for the first time, Chaves was discomforted by the fact that he couldn't see Ignotus' reaction. The response came a moment later.

"I will not ask your reasons. We all have our own. As long as you do not interfere with my family, I see no harm in your being there. In two weeks' time, meet me back here, in front of my home."

What he so fondly called a "home" was really little more than a shack, but it was neither the place nor time to argue semantics, so Chaves thanked him and took his leave. He bode his time for two weeks and then made his way back to the spot.

"Are you ready, Father?" the younger Master Peverell asked, wringing his shirt nervously.

"Of course. This time comes for all creatures. Death is only natural. Are you ready, Lord Slytherin, to find what you, too, have been seeking?"

"I am. More than ready."

In truth, Chaves was merely a mess of emotions. He was nervous, in some weird way, to meet Death face-to-face after the years of chasing the elusive creature. Yet, he was excited for this final chance at his destiny and eager to greet whatever the future was sure to bring.

"Then, it is time."

Ignotus pulled the Cloak off, revealing himself little by little as it pulled free of his diminished frame. It looked like moonlight woven together, fluid and shimmering, as it came into view. The Cloak of Invisibility.

A gust of wind kicked up, sending the dried and dying leaves flying around them and tugging at their robes.

"Well met, Ignotus Peverell," the shadows crooned with a kindness that Chaves was not accustomed to from that voice. The shadows swirled, slowly at first and then quicker, like a black tornado, and when they fell away, they revealed a black robe that hung in tatters on a skeletal frame. "Is it time already?"

"It is."

"Then come see what awaits you beyond the veil."

The robe slipped back to reveal stark-white phalanges as Death held out his hand. Without hesitation, Ignotus took it, and the shadows billowed around him until he dissolved into the night.

"I believe we have business to attend to, as well," Chaves said, stepping closer to Death. The darkness writhed around him, but Chaves refused to be intimidated. He had come much too far to let something so insignificant as being in the presence of a near-deity stop him.

"Do we? From where I stand, you don't seem to have held up your end of the bargain. Where are my Hallows? You haven't brought them to me."

"I believe what you said is that I had to find them, and I have. The wand is here, with me." Chaves patted the side of his robe where he always kept the wand hidden, though he had never found cause to use it. "And the Cloak, as you can see, is here."

He motioned back towards Ignotus' son, who was trembling with trepidation. The way the color had drained from his face, Chaves was almost amazed that he hadn't fainted on the spot.

"And my stone?"

"With its rightful owner, who will know the love of a mother and father who regret not being able to raise him together. As it turns out, beyond the veil is not so far a distance between a son and his parents as between a lover and his wife."

Death laughed, but it was gentler this time than it had ever been before.

"My, you do have a penchant for finding loopholes, don't you Chaves Harry Potter Slytherin?"

"My name is Chaves. Just Chaves. Or Lord Slytherin, if you prefer."

"I couldn't care less what you choose to call yourself. We're both here for a reason, so let's get this over with. You want something, yes?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you want this? Regardless of the consequences?"

"Yes."

"I want to hear you say it."

"I want to become the Wishmaster."

Death laughed coldly, and Chaves wondered if maybe he made a mistake. But no, he had dedicated his life to this, and he would see it through. Whatever the consequences. Whatever the sacrifice.

"I already told you, all those years ago when we first spoke. You've had the answer all along. Heartborne will find the way."

Before he could react, Death was reaching for him with his long, bony fingers. For just a second, Chaves caught a glimpse underneath the hood—a skull shimmering in the moonlight with its brow ridges knitted and its mouth pulled into an ominous grin.

Chills ran through his body as bone touched his skin—the paralyzing, clammy touch of Death. Then pain erupted in his chest, and Chaves realized that the bones were boring into his flesh. He tried to fight them, but he was frozen to the spot.

He was screaming, so loud that it reverberated in his head and swallowed all the sound from the world. The pain was unbearable, worse than sheering off part of his soul. It was like his heart was pumping razor blades that were lacerating him from the inside. And still the hand pressed deeper into his chest.

The pain blurred his vision until the world was little more than shadows and bleary flashes of light. He was still screaming, but over the screams he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

As the pain climaxed, Chaves felt fingers wrap around his beating heart. He could have sworn, in that moment, that it stopped and everything went silent. Then he felt himself free-falling into darkness.

...oOo...

Chaves is waiting in the shadows to grant the most important wish that had ever been cast into the universe. He had been waiting for it, had known it was coming, for a long time. This was the one wish, above all else, that had to be granted. It was already granted once; he just hadn't known it at the time.

It's funny, as he creeps unseen around the room, how much he looks like his father. Not the one who had raised him, but the one he never knew. He's there, eyes full of fear, disheveled black hair, bags under his eyes. If anyone deserved to have their wishes granted, it was the Potters.

When Lily runs upstairs, Chaves follows. As much as he looks like his father, he has his mother's green eyes. He can see all the love and maternal warmth he missed in his life in that one, brief moment as she stares into the crib, running a finger down her infant son's cheek.

"You'll be safe, Harry," she whispers. "I promise."

Chaves wishes he could give her a sign, to let her know that her sacrifice will not—has never been—in vain, but that isn't how it happens. So he waits patiently for the moment he knows is nigh.

As a flash of green envelops the room, Chaves can hear her wish loud and clear. It's one he's all too happy to grant, one he was always meant to hear.

I wish for my love to protect my son from death. Instead of killing him, let the next curse send him back in time where he will find someone to raise him.

Chaves pulls his hourglass from his robe and pinches it between his fingers. When the second flash of green erupts from the wand, the hourglass begins to spin, and he is hurdling back in time, baby Harry in his arms, to the forest Salazar Slytherin found him in all those centuries ago.

Prompts

The Quidditch Pitch: "Wishmaster" by Nightwish

The Drabble Club: (Sentence) Falling in love was the easiest thing he had ever done.