AN: It's been nearly 8 years' since my last foray into fanficcing. I hope you'll consider my work kindly, and treat my characters gently. But most of all, I hope you'll enjoy reading what I enjoyed writing.

Disclaimer: This work is solely for non-profit and for personal enjoyment. No character or premise infringement or abuse is intended. Original characters belong to me.

Summary: Two worlds are about to collide, violently. Wizards are losing the battle against the dark as they rely on a would-be saviour who's not sure he's up to the task or even if he wants to. Death walks the mortal realm in the shape of men and they bring with them secrets that even they are not aware of, secrets that could rewrite destiny. Demons plot and the Dark Lord Voldemort has only one goal; to rule all and conquer death. May the gods save them all.

[NOTE: This story is also cross-posted on AO3 under my pen-name there; "morpheusly". I will continue posting the next 2-3 chapters on but the story will be finished on AO3]

The Prelude to the End
From the thunder and the storm.

WATARI

Five years, two months and three days ago. Kyoto, Japan.

Death was oddly, not as scary as he had thought it would be.

He stared at his hands; long, slim and too pale from too many hours indoors and strangely calloused. Beakers, test tubes and stirring rods left a different imprint on skin than a calligraphy brush would, testament to the disappointment he was for a family that had wanted someone else for a son. A pianist's hands, mother had laughed, in one of the few memories he had of her that wasn't tainted with helpless hate and love intertwined.

The same hands that were, in the truest sense of cliche, quite transparent.

So. He was dead.

And a ghost.

"I am so sorry."

He startled like a hare caught in a magician's trap and a soundless gasp escaped. Eyes he had thought he had plumbed the depths of and could claim to know every thought and wish stared straight into his and his murderer saw him.

"You're not supposed to stay dead," his killer - I thought you were my friend! - said. "You're supposed to come back, and better than before. But don't worry, I'll-" Agony wracked his fleshless body and a scream escaped but he couldn't hear himself, could only hear the steady reassurance of the man whom he had trusted, had believed in, had killed him and—

Light.

A cessation of pain which was good, and he catalogued, distant and in a small corner of his mind that wasn't numb with shock and betrayal that he felt.

He felt, as he would have in a flesh, blood and bone body of which he was most assuredly lacked and wondered at the unfairness of it all.

He wasn't sure if time passed. He thought it did. His mortal shell, broken and bled out was gone and he wasn't in the lab anymore. He was in the treehouse a gardener had kindly built for him in the family garden when he was twelve years old and still had the optimism of youth to ignore the whispers of disappointment from those who were supposed to love him no matter what.

"Watari Yutaka, my apologies for the intrusion but I am Shinigami Tatsumi Seiichiro."

He raised his head from the cocoon of weary, strangely heavy arms to find a brunette in a business suit and glasses (rather good-looking, the sane part of his mind noted, and doesn't feel human). He paused, confused. How did he know the man before him, who had most politely trespassed into his treehouse, wasn't human, never mind the title he gave himself?

A reaper?

"Are you here to kill me?" He asked, a tinge of hope colouring a voice gone dull.

Tatsumi, as he had named himself, smiled. "Only if you prove to be recalcitrant and a threat to humans."

"Oh."

"Indeed." His intruder folded long legs into a neat seiza before him, legs tucked underneath. The formal sitting pose should have looked odd in the ramshackle and dilapidated treehouse but he had a feeling the man (death god?) could make anything look proper and right just by smiling politely. "Technically, Watari-san, I can't actually kill you as you are already dead. I believe you are quite aware of that fact."

It wasn't a question but he heard the slightest note of doubt in that confident voice and the urge to find a place to hide dimmed a little. He managed to crack a smile that felt odd on his face but somehow, reassured this Tatsumi Seiichiro who was also a shinigami. "Yeah," he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah. Kinda hard to...ignore that when I'm all...see-through and my body...my previous body, I mean, my shell? Do I call it my body or my shell I mean what's the right terminology for these things it's not like they teach this in school and what about this body now and—" He gesticulated wildly, gripped with the need to use the right label for what had happened because what had happened shouldn't have and oh God he was murdered!

"Breathe, that's it," a kind voice murmured in his ear and he found himself held tight against a chest, the cotton beneath his cheek soft and only slightly scratchy and death gods have a heartbeat?

"You have a heartbeat," he felt the need to point out.

Quiet laughter rumbled underneath and the last of the hysteria melted away. So did the shadows in the far corner that had risen up during his outburst, dark and aware.

"I am a shinigami, Watari-san," came the reply, amusement clear. "Not a zombie. And I am here with an offer for you."

He pulled away, not without reluctance, to look up in dark eyes that reminded him of shadows. "What offer?" he whispered, and fear and sudden exhilaration took roost in his chest.

"I am here to offer you the position of a death god, Watari-san."

Chapter One

"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."

HARRY

Now. Enfield, England.

"I don't think anyone's here, Professor," Harry said, voice quiet and even then it seemed his words were swallowed by the knickknacks and the velvet, never to be heard again.

Dumbledore, still and tall in the gloom of the sitting room said nothing. His wand, ebony dark was in his hand and nervous, Harry followed his example. They were supposed to meet an old acquaintance of the Headmaster, someone he wanted help to convince to take up the position of Potions professor for Hogwarts. The Boy Who Lived had his suspicions as to whom would take the cursed Defense role this year, if this mysterious Slughorn was to take Potions but a moment of weakness had Harry holding his tongue.

"Pro—" Harry fell silent at the twitch of Dumbledore's wand. A cascade of white, cold sparks trailed from the tip to blanket the room and lent brighter illumination where the glass lamp failed. It limned the couch, the mantel and the overstuffed bookshelves and died, leaving behind faint after images. But where the sparks fell on an empty portion of the floor near the fireplace, they hovered like frozen fireflies, and outlined a vaguely humanoid shape.

"It is as I feared, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, and slowly the fireflies faded.

"He was…" Harry swallowed. "He's dead?" It didn't take a genius to figure out what the sparks meant.

"Someone died, here and very recently yes," the Headmaster corrected him. "But I fear your hunch may be correct and we're too late."

Harry stared at where the dead body was supposed to be. "Voldemort?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps...let us be off then, dear boy. I shall let the Aurors know that there's suspected foul play. Be so good as to not mention to anyone you were here, hmm?" Kind, if distant blue eyes twinkled down at him, the glow a little more faded than usual. "It would cause unnecessary hardship for you, were the Aurors to think you were involved and your school year starting soon."

"Yes, Headmaster," he murmured and he kept the knowledge of Horace Slughorn and why Dumbledore desperately wanted him in the corner of his mind. Maybe one day he would find out what importance the man held, that Voldemort had him silenced. And maybe he would never. But the summer had taught him one thing at least; he could wait and bide his patience.

He had no other options for now anyway.

RIKU

One year ago. Osaka, Japan.

Riku thought that after three years, she'd get used to the madness that was Orientation Week but apparently, that particular immunity had skipped her and everyone else on campus and was probably in someone's basement, tied up and gagged.

Shrill laughter burst out again from the table next to her; Riku closed her eyes, and prayed to Kannon for mercy, and the patience to not strangle freshmen who did not know not to annoy their seniors.

"You've got that look on your face," a breathless voice intruded upon her hard-sought calm and only the fact that she loved the owner of said voice dearly prevented her from sending the mug of hot Americano into the air to land on her best friend's head.

She slammed her European Union law textbook shut instead. "What look, there is no look," she gritted out, and peered balefully at the face before her.

"That look," was pointed out and Uehara Ken tried to not breathe like he had ran across the entire campus and - she flicked a glance at his sandy shoes - crossed the forbidden long jump pit to get to the dubious sanctuary that was the university's lone Starbucks three minutes before the time they promised to meet. "That look that says you're pissed off and about to rain righteous hell on the unlucky fool. Or fools," he added, with a sidelong glance at the next table when that particular freshman decided to laugh. Again. Was Orientation that funny?

"God, I hate Orientation Week," Ken muttered, and pulled the brim of his baseball cap lower. He was already breathing fine, Riku noted with a complete lack of surprise. Damn all kendo players and their insane constitution.

"How many this time?"

"Eh?"

"Don't play dumb," the political science major informed her best friend kindly. "It doesn't suit you."

Ken huffed and leaned back in his seat to spread out disgustingly long legs which she took idle joy in kicking away. She ignored the yelp the kick produced, and how Ken stretching to ease a tight back pulled up his t-shirt and revealed a toned stomach she had long ceased daydreaming about. Kansai University's kendo team were prefectural champions for a reason, and their captain who was currently exhibiting his usual appalling Orientation Week luck was fine proof of the hard work they put into their physical conditioning.

"Three," Ken sighed, which Riku echoed and she threw a wadded up napkin at the next table.

"That's your senior," she informed the suddenly terrified girls. Was her smile that scary? "And an Orientation Leader. You want his picture, you ask for permission."

"Y-yes, m'am uh-sem—"

"Scram," she flicked manicured fingers and the table cleared in seconds.

"You are wonderfully terrifying," Ken told her. "I am so glad you're my friend."

Riku shook her head in faint amazement. "Maybe I destroyed a country in my past life, that's why I got saddled with you."

The laugh that got out of the twenty-six year old caught the attention of the barista, and of course it had to be the one who was mildly obsessed with Ken. With the ease of long practice, she got her stuff together and Ken towed away from the Starbucks before Matsutomi could screw up his courage. The barista was a little too obsessed with her friend and the last attempt to ask Ken out had resulted in a viral video that involved a flash mob and Ken swearing off of coffee for a month. A cranky Ken from the lack of caffeine so early in the morning was the one Ken she would gladly do without.

The Faculty of Medicine was conveniently next to the School of Legal and Political Studies to which she towed her agreeable friend along. To judge by how this was only the first week of the new academic year, and Ken already had three confessions (last year's garnered him six, but that at least took two weeks), Riku feared for her friend's innocence. So a chaperone she would be and thank the good gods that her European community law professor adored her and turned a blind eye to her sometimes erratic attendance.

"Honestly, why do you keep agreeing to become one of the leads, you idiot." They took a familiar path through her faculty's back ways and came out just after the main ground floor corridors of the med school. The hallways that were usually packed with lost newbies and frustrated seniors trying not to trample over the freshies was thankfully empty. Ken would be excused from the introductory classes that week, Riku was well aware, since he was expected to help the new freshmen to settle in.

Her best friend shrugged faintly and now, away from watching eyes, he let his broad shoulders slump a little in weariness. "I'm a sucker I guess," he muttered and Riku pretended he wasn't leaning into her a little. Men and their fragile egos, she shrugged philosophically.

"You're secretly a masochist, aren't you?" Riku mused and twisted to avoid the finger that tried to poke her.

"I've been doing kendo since primary school," Ken replied, dry as anything. "Of course I'm a masochist. What other martial art wants you to say 'thank you' when you get hit by the other guy?"

The poli-sci major shook her head and pretended to call someone on her phone. "Hey, did you hear? Uehara Ken is out of the masochist closet. He finally has the brains to go with that pretty face."

"Brains are useless when you're as pretty as I am," Ken deadpanned.

Riku broke into helpless giggles, just as he had intended and allowed Ken to sling an arm around her. "Ah, Ken-chan, you always know what to say."

"Because I'm awesome, Ms. Perfect," Ken said airily. "It offsets your OCD."

She made a tsk-ing sound and tried to grab his baseball cap. "Stop pretending you actually know medicine to diagnose non-existent conditions."

Ken batted her hand away affably; easy to do when she was a good head shorter than him, the bastard. "I'm taking advanced physiology and mental disorders; I'm practically a legitimate doctor."

"Say that in front of Kamimiya-sensei, I dare you."

"God no, I don't want to get assigned to sickbay, not with these many freshies around."

She raised an eyebrow. "This new batch seems more...keen than last year's?"

"Try 'more bloodthirsty', and me unable to escape," the kendo captain muttered. At her continued silence, he relented, a faint shudder running through him. "I promised Professor Itō I'd run the faculty introduction session, the degree intro for physiotherapy and a basics class for introduction to the Per-Henrik Ling system."

Riku stopped in her tracks, which forced Ken to stop and kendo fourth dan or not, he still stumbled in surprise. "Why the hell is Itō-sensei making you do all that?" she demanded. "He's not even your de—shit, he's still your dean?"

"Still my dean," he admitted, a little grimace on his face. "And my research supervisor."

"What happened to Matsuda-sensei?"

"Hasn't gotten back from his medical leave and the last email I got from him says it might be a long while yet," he admitted, unhappiness clear in the flat line of his mouth. "And we still have to organise the kendo and Kodokai demonstration sessions for club week and Itō-sensei is being all—" he waved his arms around, "Itō-sensei."

"Still creepy?"

"Massively creepy," Ken shuddered again. "I said yes to everything just to get out of his office as fast as I could."

Riku had to wince in shared sympathy. She couldn't understand why it took the university this long to find a new head for the medical faculty and why it had to be Prof. Itō Daisuke as the temporary head - he was already the dean for the Frontier Sciences faculty. But he was, and the man had taken a very focused interest in her friend. She would have teased him about catching an older man's eye, since most of the gays and practically half of the straight men and women of the student body were already half in love with him, but Ken genuinely found the professor disturbing. He could never properly explain why, despite attempts to. But all Riku needed to know was how shaken he'd be after a long catchup session with the dean, and she was ready to waylay the Professor herself if not for Ken begging her not to.

"Do you want me to try and ask my dad to step in?" she offered. It hadn't gone to the point of sexual harassment, that much she was pretty sure of ('Weird vibes. That guy has seriously weird vibes') but Riku knew her own father would be more than happy to help - the old man still harboured hopes she and Ken would fall madly in love, marry and produce grandchildren for him. Ah, papa, if only we liked each other that way, she sighed silently. And unfortunately, Ken's parents were long gone and in no position to help their son. And Ken himself was too active on campus, with his position as the university's kendo team captain and other key positions, it meant he interacted more with the faculty staff than the average student.

"Naw, don't bother Nakamura-san like that—"

"Idiot, he still wants you as his son-in-law."

"—I can handle Itō-sensei," he finished with a stubborn set to his chin that she knew very well.

"Alright, alright," she acquiesced, hands up in surrender. "Just make sure you bring me with you if he calls for you again and I'm around, even if I'm on the other side of campus. Hell, even if I'm in class."

"Terrifying and the bestest friend anyone could ever have," he declared solemnly.

"Damn right I am. Now, what program do you have to do now and who do I need to scare into non-stalker obedience for you?"

TAKAFUMI

One year ago. Tokyo, Japan.

"Tell me you didn't make mother cry."

Takafumi rattled the paper and ignored his older brother. For a while there was only the quiet clink of silverware and the careful scrape of a butter knife on toast. He finally gave in at a sigh outside of the flimsy barrier the morning's paper made. He lowered the Review, and eyed the man across the table. Takahiro was everything that could be expected of the heir and oldest son of the Utsunomiya family; smart, successful at everything he did, passionate about medicine and genuinely kind. If he didn't love his older brother and wasn't grateful that he escaped the position of heir by being the second child, it would be easy to be jealous of Takahiro.

Said heir returned his look with a patient one that could outlast stone, and the thirty-five year old gave in.

"She has her makeup on," Takafumi pointed out wryly. "Crying would spoil it."

"Don't be an ass, Taka-kun." His brother stopped, a buttered toast in his hand as he nodded a thanks to Daisuke as the butler poured hot coffee. "You know she fusses because she's worried." Takahiro paused again, uncharacteristic enough for his brother that Takafumi paid attention. "We all are. It's only a little less than five months since the accident."

He shifted, guilt pricking his conscience and stopped as a sharp pain twinged low on his back. Takafumi stifled the curse but his brother's sharp eyes missed nothing. Takahiro, without a word, tapped a finger near the bottle of painkillers he had been ignoring and he gave in.

"They make me feel stupid," he muttered even as he popped two of the pills.

"They also help bring down the swelling and allow your—"

"Muscles to relax and for faster healing of damaged tissue etc etc. It's almost like I'm a doctor and I know my medication, Dr. Utsunomiya," he teased gently and was rewarded with the familiar smile that had been decidedly missing since he woke up in a hospital bed, confused and in so much pain it had taken another dose of morphine before he could even remember his own name.

"My apologies, Dr. Utsunomiya," and his brother flicked a crumb at him.

Takafumi grinned and relented. "I may have annoyed mother," he confessed. "She wanted Nakanishi-san to drive me down to Osaka. I didn't want him to. My stuff is all at the apartment already and honestly," he sighed and stood up, carefully stretching stiff and aching muscles. "I don't think I can sit that long in the car anyway. Not just yet. Taking the Shinkansen would be better and Nakanishi can drive my car down when he's not so busy."

"Fair enough. You can at least walk around on the bullet train if you get tired," Takahiro acquiesced. "I'll talk to mother, don't worry."

"Thank you." He came around the table and gave Takahiro's shoulder a squeeze. "And don't worry, I'll take it easy and I won't skip my physio, alright? Honestly, doing a second Masters is a walk in the park compared to babysitting housemen. Next thing you know I'll be begging dad to let me come back on rotation at the hospital."

Takahiro snorted. "I'll believe that when it happens. And in the meantime, get yourself a girlfriend and make mother happy, alright? Or a boyfriend," his brother added at Takafumi's raised eyebrow. "Seriously. She's more than willing for you to embrace your deviant side. As long as you settle down and get her more grandkids, biologically or adopted, she's not fussed."

"What happened to mother and why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demanded, incredulous. "Because my physiotherapist is seriously cute."

Eyes a familiar hazel-green to his own darkened and his brother said, quietly, "You almost died, that's what happened."

The silence between them was short, and neither pointed it out. Takafumi said, roughly, "You guys can't get rid of me that easily you know. Someone needs to make sure you don't get all snobby from being the awesome successor to the Utsunomiya group."

"Yes, thank God for your hard head," his brother said gravely to which Takafumi merely rolled his eyes at. He leaned against the table by Takahiro's side, taking the proffered muffin with an absent thanks.

"I've been meaning to ask," Takahiro said, interrupting his idle review of his schedule for the day (Shinkansen to Shin-Osaka, take a local train to Suita station and then a cab). "Why Kansai Uni?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why KanDai? Why not?"

"There's ToDai," Takahiro pointed out reasonably. "Nearer and with an excellent medical faculty."

"They do," he replied, finishing the last of the muffin and stole his brother's napkin to wipe his hands, which Takahiro bore with the long-suffering patience of older brothers everywhere. "But like you said, it's near. And our family is too well-known. I'm never going to get a moment's peace if the students there realise who I am. Students and professors, and you know they'll find out."

"That's unfortunately true," Takahiro agreed with a small twist of his lips. "The nearest hospital branch we have around KanDai is nearer to Ibaraki, and we've always had a lower profile in the west." Takahiro threw him a look. "While I don't want you to stress yourself out, it'd be good to hear your thoughts on how we can strengthen our presence in that region."

Takafumi snorted, but nodded agreeably anyway. "And that is why you're dad's successor, not me."

"I'm power-hungry and you're just sex-hungry."

"I wish," Takafumi sighed, and smiled a thanks as Daisuke handed him a cup of coffee, liberally dashed with milk just the way he liked it. Daisuke murmured gentle reminders about not eating takeaways or combini food while he was on his own and Takafumi assured the older man he would behave. He was going to miss the old butler in the one year he'd spend in Osaka since he had also turned down his mother's offer to send Daisuke's apprentice with him. He had leased a small apartment (too small, mother had sighed) and having help around was unnecessary. He'd figure out how to feed himself even if it meant YouTube recipes and lots of izakaya in the first few months.

"The cramps are still bothering me a bit so no hanky-panky just yet."

"And Watanabe-san is completely out of the picture?"

"How on earth did you know about Watanabe?" He stared down at Takahiro in astonishment. Watanabe had been a fresh med grad who had been assigned to him before the accident. When things started heating up between him and the unfortunately very attractive younger man, he had bowed to reason and asked Watanabe to change mentors. Watanabe had taken it as a lack of commitment from him and promptly left the hospital in a righteous sulk. Just a month later he had the accident and last he heard, Watanabe had gotten an apprenticeship in Hokkaido.

Takahiro gave him a look. "I am your older brother. And the nurses are terrible gossip," he added with a grin. "Nurse Sawada was quite peeved that Watanabe didn't even bother to visit you when you were recovering. I had to stop her from calling up the head nurse in Watanabe's hospital."

He let out a helpless laugh at that, even as the tips of his ears warmed a little, with embarrassment and dare he admit, a little pleasure that the formidable Nurse Sawada felt so. "He's completely out," he assured Takahiro. "Even blocked my mobile number," he finished cheerfully. "His loss I guess. God knows I can't stand it when they get dramatic like that."

"And here I thought homosexual relationships were supposed to be more straightforward than heterosexual ones," Takahiro murmured in an aside to Daisuke. The old butler nodded solemnly.

"Oh, trust me, the drama is the same. Except with different equipment," he added with a grin.

"Enough," Takahiro laughed, waving his napkin in surrender. "Get going you, before you miss your train. And I have a board meeting and a lunch date with Chieko. She sends her love by the way and remember, we expect you home every month if possible, for dinner."

"Monthly dinner checkups it is," he agreed easily. "Unless I happen to snag a very hot senior at KanDai and in that case I might be too busy sha—"

"Out!"

LUCIUS

Now. Spinner's End, Cokeworth, England.

Lucius stared at the humble abode Severus called a home and felt his lips curl in distaste. That a Potions Master of Snape's caliber did not have a dwelling as befitting his mastery was a disgrace but that, the Malfoy lord had to admit, was a useless battle to fight. Many a year had it been that he had tried to convince the dour man to move to a better address but the Slytherin head had a stubborn streak worthy of a Gryffindor.

The abandoned mill with its brick chimney stretched to the grey, gloomy sky like a dead giant, a reminder of the pathetic lives Muggles led. How they survived, nay, flourish in such decay mystified him. Perhaps it was a form of magic? He sneered at the thought. Muggles with magic. A more perverted idea than the thought of Snape living among such squalor. But, he noted, it did mean that none of the Death Eaters ever suggested using Spinner's End as a base, pampered as they were. So perhaps Snape had the right idea...

"You're dawdling," came the cool admonishment by his side, nothing more than a murmur that would have been swallowed up by an errant breeze. A light touch at his side recalled the patriarch to his—no, their mission, and Lucius gave a soundless sigh.

"Perhaps," he admitted. He slanted a narrow glance to his wife and was gratified to see her usual unperturbed facade in place. No matter what may happen, no matter what Narcissa may feel, the world would not know it. She was a Malfoy; they were Malfoys and they would present a united front. "We are sure of this?" Rare it was for Lucius to admit to uncertainty when not behind the spelled walls and wards of the Manor but their ancestral fortress was no longer a Malfoy's safe haven from the crude and dirt of the riff-raff. He now held the keys to the Manor and the mere thought of it caused Lucius to grit his teeth, for soft leather to creak in protest as clenched hands laid bare his impotent frustration.

Another light touch on his tense fist, and Lucius breathed in the crisp, smog-tainted air and didn't let the revulsion show.

"Our heir is everything," Narcissa murmured, eyes distant. "Draco is everything. I will not let him be shackled to a monster." She turned to face him, uncaring for the front door that had creaked open and a dark figure that waited with arms crossed. "You promised me, Lucius. We have made our mistakes and we are paying for it. But I will not let the burden of that fall on to Draco."

He stared deep into her eyes and saw nothing but the steel-grey determination that had her whispering her plans to him in the darkest of nights, behind blooded candles and wards that buzzed in the ether so that He could not overhear.

"We risk losing everything," he warned her again, soft, but there was no plea in it, only a last reminder of what this path, among many, will lead them to.

"Gold? House elves? Pretty dresses?" She scoffed and another butterfly touch on his cheek. Lucius treasured that rare show of public affection and a small, but genuine smile broke free. "We are Malfoys. He sees only the wealth we want him, and the world to see. Let him take away the vaults in Gringotts, the warded strongroom. Let them think they have laid waste to our wealth and then…"

The smile turned cruel then, and anticipatory, and Narcissa answered it with one of her own. "And then we destroy them," Lucius purred.

"And then we destroy them," Narcissa agreed, serene. "Shall we?"

He bowed, and offered the lady Malfoy his arm. She took it with a graceful curtsy that was completely out off place at Spinner's End but oh so right and together, the Malfoys faced the future they hoped to change.

To be continued...