~*One of Those Days*~

Written by: Cisselah

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,

Nothing but bones,

The sad effect of sadder groans:

Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing

by: George Herbert, Death

Death did not get screwed over (Death always gets the last laugh, after all), so when Death finally did get screwed over -royally- Death was not pleased. Not pleased at all...

If life was a bitch, then Death was even worse.

On a good day, Death had the humor of a sarcastic teenage boy undergoing puberty in an all-male environment. On a bad day, he made Adolf Hitler seem like a floating rubber duck in a sea full of sea monsters.

The bad days were just piling up.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised when the worst day -The Day- arrived, it had after all been prophesied by that crazy girl that called herself an Oracle a while back (Although Death had always considered Divination a big bunch of Bullshit). But it had been the 1900's, the best century of them all so far with bloody wars, famine and mad, mass murdering dictators with hilarious mustaches... Oh yes, the 1900's had been his favorite century so far.

Until that blasted brat had to screw it all up.

He had been so excited with all the death going on that The Day had hit him like a train in the face. And even worse, The Day had turned into Those Days. Yes, those... As in plural... Still, he should have seen the train coming (It was a train for Death's sake! It's not like it could have sneaked up on him) and he probably would have if he hadn't been so delightedly watching funny men in uniforms kill each other over sausages. And then suddenly it was there...

The Day. The event. The ultimate Screwing-Death-Over. He had still been recovering from the embarrassment of the last screw over (Thank you Ignotus, thank you very much!) when to his displeasure the next one came along like a great big joke.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been some old guy with a white beard, but no... It just had to be wizard. And not just any wizard, but Antioch's kid. Or maybe his kid's kid or kid's kid's kid. Anyway, the kid had the stone.

His stone... The get-out-of-Death-stone.

And God's be damned if he hadn't turned it into a Horcrux. It was the hugest freaking middle finger Death had experienced in his entire life (no pun intended) and it was pointing right up his ass in such a way that he just couldn't ignore it. And like the sarcastic, bad-tempered teen he was (Don't even start) he decided to go for the subtle approach.

He made the poor girl a ghost.

To his defense, she really was an annoying creature (Bloody creature kept wailing about how some chick teased her for her glasses) and he was absolutely certain that she would either bore the kid to death or make him commit suicide. And then his ass was Death's.

But no... Of course the idiotic girl had to follow some witch around moaning about her glasses and face and pimples instead of haunting her evil killer.

Humans...

His pride beaten, Death made it his mission to ignore the little twerp, and he would have continued to do so for all eternity if the kid hadn't decided to come back for another round.

Another one of those blasted things.

And it didn't stop there -no- but he just had to -had to- make more of them. Six of them to be exact. Six freaking flipping abominations. Six huge screw ups. Six pointy middle fingers that stared him in the eye wherever he went. And not just that, but the kid just had to start a freaking war and become one of those mad, mass murdering dictators with hilarious mustaches (Even though he supposed that it was more of a mad, mass murdering dictator with a hilarious nose) that Death had admired so much.

Bloody fucker pointed more middle fingers than an army of Germans.

So of course he just couldn't lie down and take it.

Now, Death was perhaps not the strongest duck in the pond (Tall, lanky and forever sixteen with pimples adoring his nose thanks to a joke one of the other dudes in the suits hadn't appreciated) but he had dropped one or two pianos in his years, so he figured it was just a matter of gnawing at the right strings.

He should have known Fate wanted a good fuck-over for the whole Peverell fiasco (But honestly! He had jut given the poor lads a gift!) so when Death came to get the whole bunch of followers (who the fucker had had the nerve to name Death Eaters) he found himself on the receiving end of yet anther middle finger.

Death decided that it was time to do shit the old fashion way.

He had always been better at cheating anyway.

So Death searched and found the most ungifted, idiotic, untalented woman in the Wizarding World who didn't have an ounce of Sight and Death fucked her over by possession. A nifty middle finger in the direction of Fate, if he could say it himself. He possessed her body and through her he told the white bearded dude that there was going to be a boy born when the seventh month dies (Hah, get it?) that would kill the Dark Lord who confidently had named himself Voldemort (Fled Death... Another fucking insult...). The dude almost wet his pants and hired the woman on the spot (Hah! In your face Fate-y Poo).

What he hadn't counted on was that the prophecy would be taken literally (Silly wizards) and the greasy old bat outside the door would relay the message to that fucker without a nose. What he hadn't predicted was that there would be two boys born that would fit in the prophecy and suddenly Fate was smiling again at the world, determined to erase Death's little fuckup from planet Earth.

Death was not amused. First of it all, the first boy was a clear fuck-up (Only good with the green life, Fate said dreamily as she spun her wicked thread) and secondly, the other boy was a descendent of Ignotus, the first motherfucker who had dared to screw Death over (And stolen his favorite cloak!). Now, this was a thing of honor, and despite Death's somewhat strange humor, like suicide for all five mass murdering bastards of the red/cross thingy or drowning a firefighter (That was one of his absolute favorites!), Death was a very proud creature and often reacted violently in the presence of The Middle Finger.

1900's had all been one giant middle finger.

So when the pale fucker who had screwed with Death more than any living creature ever dared to do decided to take a stroll down Godric's Hallow to kill Harry Potter, descendent of Ignotus (The first fucker), on All Hallow's Eve -Death's sacred day- Death decided that he had had enough. Angrily following the fucker, he encountered a dead dad in the staircase (Nice glasses) and a screaming woman upstairs pleading for her baby's life.

All the screaming gave him a headache.

And there came one of Those Days.

The fucker lifted his wand to curse the woman at the same moment as Death smiled.

Death's smile is not a pretty thing. It's not a thing of sunshine and rainbows and fluffy puppies that you want to hug tightly. It's a thing of horror and devastation and ice-cold, burning fear that literally rips the flesh of the weak.

The biggest fucker of them all cursed the screaming woman, efficiently shut her up and continued forward to the crying baby. His eyes glittered of victory.

"Avada Kedavra" The biggest fucker of them all said.

Death giggled.

One second The biggest fucker of them all was honestly confused and the next he was in horror feeling his soul rip up once more (Although he seemed unaware of that fact). Screaming loudly his skin started to smoke and he incinerated. Before Death had time to react, The fuckers soul had seen him and disappeared with a shriek.

Death was very pleased with himself. He giggled and whooped and danced around in a circle in his undivided joy. In his heavenly joy he totally forgot his job (Bah! Screw that!) and not a single being died on Earth for a total of forty-six minutes (That all stopped when the poor old man on Baker's Street got hit with a piano falling from he fourteenth floor on his way to buy a packet of condoms for his nephew). Overjoyed and victorious Death paraded down the streets only stopping once to kill a bunch of morons in an explosion made by some little rat gnawing of more than he could chew. In overall, Death was happy.

Fate on the other hand, had no idea what hit her. One minute the Riddle-boy's world-domination-plans was going on just fine and the next she was up to her eyes in paperwork.

And so began the Great War between Death and Fate.

First of there was the stone of resurrection (Dreadful thing he had given to Penelope back in the old days when he was still getting used to his testosterone driven body).

Secondly there was the basilisk, which was a close call (If that flying turkey hadn't saved the scrawny kid -what was his name now again?- Death's pride would never have recovered).

Then there was the Great Victory of Time Turners (A clever trick, even though Death had had to bribe Father Time with chocolate cookies to borrow one)

After that there was the dragon, the lake and the labyrinth (Don't even start) and finally Fate's first victory; Bringing the Fucker back to life.

Death was unpleasantly surprised by that one, as he always was when one of Those Days decided to sneak by.

After cursing and sulking for a while they played on until one day Fate decided to bring some old woman with grizzly hair in the game. And bugger, if she wasn't the biggest bitch fo them all, named after a star or a planet or something alien. Anyway, Death watched with narrowed eyes as she turned left and right and made crude gestures and baby sounds.

And finally came the greatest battle of them all.

Death was lying in the bathtub when all of a sudden he noticed the scrawny kid whose name he couldn't really remember (Henry? Harper? Huntington?) getting hit by a familiar green light in the face.

Fate was rolling on the floor laughing when he finally showed up, wearing only the soap bubbles he had bathed with (What!? Ignotus took his cloak!) only to realize that the whole thing was over.

Capiche. Ca-boom.

Game Over.

...

Not a fucking chance in hell, Death thought angrily and yanked his hand into the kid's body, forcibly pulling his soul back in this world all while giving the scrawny idiot some vision of the bearded dude in an empty train station (The train had already hit him in the face after all). And being Death, he couldn't help but to tell the kid that he had a choice to whether or not he wanted to come back.

Hah! It made his day to see the kid pondering about it. You don't really have a choice, he wanted to say. 'Cause you're my bitch.

And then, believe it or not, the words stumbling out of Death's mouth wasn't Death's but the bumbling old fool with the beard.

Keep my cloak, my ass!

And then it was pretty much finished. The kid rose from the dead, killed the fucker and got the girl (Who had a really nice rack, by the way).

Death on the other hand, was not so amused.

Naked, angry and being scolded by some dudes in suits because he broke the rules and cheated Fate (Who had no right whatsoever to keep him from getting his revenge on That Fucker!), Death was suddenly sulking again, his scythe now confiscated and his cloak still in the hands of the ruddy little bugger who took all the fame for his work.

Fate was pissed and Father Time mightily angry that they had broken all his time turners in an attempt to throw each other's pawns into walls and icky puddles of unidentified goo.

And on top of it all, the rude little kid with the glasses had managed to become the Master of Death.

It was just one of Those Days.

Like it? Love it? Hate it? I'd like to get some comments, you know.

Anyway, you like this little cupcake, 'cause it's all for you guys who actually read my stuff. A special thanks to those who comment, you know who you are...

Hugs and Kisses

A.C