Comes a Slytherin

3. Eye for an Eye

True to Dumbledore's offer, the two men left Hogwarts not long after dinner. Once in London, they split up to get their things in order to spend the next term at Hogwarts. They reunited at the Leaky Cauldron the day before the Hogwarts Express was due to return to the school.

Their first stop had been Gringott's. When he'd presented his key to vault number 23, their assistants bored tone suddenly became much more welcoming, or, as Duncan thought, rather worshipful.

When Duncan saw the pile of gold Galleons in the vault he could understand why. It was as if the vault was made of pure gold. The entire floor was covered in the coins; Duncan couldn't begin to imagine how much Methos must have been worth. He looked over at Methos who was busy grabbing a few handfuls into a pouch that he handed over to Duncan, before filling a second one for himself.

Once safely outside, Duncan asked Methos about the money.

"Well, when you haven't touched your account in seven hundred years you're bound to make a little bit of interest."

Duncan shook his head. "I'll say. Are you sure that you want to give me this much money? I can pay you back."

Methos shrugged. "Don't worry about it, it's not like I'm going to miss it." He was probably right. The handful of Galleons was probably a few months interest.

They next headed to Ollivander's. Not only did Duncan need a wand, but also Methos couldn't remember what he'd done with his. How Methos lost his wand, but kept track of an even smaller key Duncan wasn't sure of, but he didn't deign to ask. Methos probably didn't know himself.

The rest of the day proved to be equally free of hassles. Neither Immortal had problems finding a wand. It had been just as easy to find suitable robes to wear to the returning feast the next night, and Methos had even had the time to roam the shelves at Flourish and Blott's gathering quite a stack of texts to bring back to the school with them.

In no time at all, they had boarded the Hogwarts Express and found themselves seats near the front of the train, away from all the chaos of the happy chattering of students as they swapped stories of their holidays. Relaxing as the train chugged along the tracks, they took to discussing Duncan's last conversation with Joe.

"…And then he offered us the best of luck, and told us that if Harry's Watcher should ever need some stress relief to send him over to the bar and drinks would be on the house. For some odd reason, Joe seems to think that Harry will be a handful." Duncan smirked. "I can't imagine where he'd get that idea from."

"Nor can I, MacLeod. We are the paragon of virtue. As innocent as freshly fallen snow."

Duncan snorted and Methos laughed along.

"Speaking of Harry, tucked away in the corner of my apartment I found the sword I meant to give him."

"Oh? Let me see?"

Methos reached under his seat and pulled out a bundle wrapped loosely in fabric. Inside the folds of soft fabric lie two swords. One was his Ivanhoe, the one he'd been using for the past century. He pulled it aside, resting it atop of his coat. The other sword was much older, much cruder. Duncan could still see the hammer marks that lined the sword. The pommel was short and unexceptional; the leather wrapping it was worn with years of use. The only sign of decoration on it was a silver snake that rested on the edge of the pommel. The design was simple enough to not get in the way. Duncan had no doubt that this sword had seen its share of action.

"It's the sword I used during my tenure as Slytherin. It's not the nicest blade made, that's for certain…" Methos tilted the sword so the blade stuck up, the sun reflecting off the sharpened surface. "But the magical enchantments on it are priceless. Never have to sharpen the blade, and thanks to an Unbreakable Charm it can't be broken." He ran a finger across it, slicing it neatly, as if to prove his point. He sucked on the finger and seconds later you couldn't tell there had been any wound. "All it needs is to be cleaned. The balance is probably perfect. I never had a problem with it, he probably won't either."

"May I?" Duncan asked.

Methos nodded and passed the sword over.

Duncan held the sword in his hand for a few moments, testing the weight and the weight and the balance. He ran his fingers over the flat of the blade, appreciating the time that went into making the sword, even if it was crude by the standards of his own katana. He stood then, and though the compartment wasn't that big, Duncan had room enough to swing it a few times, getting a feel for the blade. He sat down, satisfied and handed the sword back over to Methos, saying "Harry'll love this," Duncan grinned at Methos, just as the door to the compartment opened.

"Love what? Who are you?" asked an unfamiliar feminine voice.

Both men turned to face two students standing in the doorway to their compartment. The girl had bushy hair that was tied up in a low ponytail, a Gryffindor. The boy had silver blond hair, cropped short and impeccably styled. Methos didn't need to see the crest to know that this person was a Slytherin. Both had on Head Student badges.

Methos took the sword back while getting unsubtle stares from the two students. "It's a gift, and before we tell you who we are, it would only be polite of you to tell us who you are, seeing as you have barged in on us without so much as a 'by your leave' or telling us your name. Head Students or not, that's still rather rude."

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"Draco Malfoy."

"We're looking for a toad that answers to the name of Trevor," Hermione added.
Neither Duncan nor Methos looked overly impressed with this statement.

"How could an escaped toad enter through a closed door?" Duncan asked politely.

The two students didn't really have an answer to that. They hadn't expected to find anyone but students, people who would have been mildly annoyed at most by the interruption, but all accustomed to Neville's inability to keep track of his pet.

"He could have entered the car before you shut the door," the girl said defensively.

"And if he had, we would have gone looking for its owner," Methos pointed out. "And besides, it doesn't take both the Head Boy and Head Girl to go looking for one pet."

"Neville—the boy who owns this frog—is my friend. Of course I'd help to look for him." Hermione replied.

"I'm just along for the amusement. Should I find the frog before anyone else…" Draco frowned slightly. "Why are you interrogating us? We've the right to go anywhere on this train we please to keep order. We still don't even know who you are."

"I'm Duncan MacLeod."

"Adam Pierson. We're on a special project for the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore knows to expect our arrival, as does young Mr. Potter."

There was an uneasy silence that was finally broken by Draco. "Very well. Come on, Granger. They obviously don't have that stupid toad here."

Hermione gave them one parting look as they left, still wondering just what an ugly sword had to do with one of her best friends, before shutting the door.

"Well, that was fun," Duncan commented.

"Indeed. Keep an eye on the blond one."

"Why? He seems a bit rude perhaps, but that's hardly a reason to watch him, Methos."

"He's a Malfoy," Methos stated simply, as if it should explain everything. "The Malfoy blood line has existed nearly as long as Slytherin has, and their history is entangled with my House to the point that you would think that they are my descendants. No pureblood line has had as many descendents in a single House as the Malfoy's do with Slytherin. If any students were to figure out this particular identity of mine, I would be willing to stake money that it would be Draco."

"Justifiable paranoia. I understand."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He looked down at his watch. "We should be getting to Hogwarts soon. We should robe up, once we get off the train it'll be time to eat."

* * *
With the clamor to first get carriages with their friends, and then prime seats in the Great Hall for dinner, both Immortals managed to make their way into the castle with a minimal amount of fuss.

As soon as everyone had assembled, Dumbledore rang his fork against his goblet. "May I have your attention please?" He waited a few moments before the chatter died out.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts for a new term, everyone."

Students applauded and cheered politely.

"I have an announcement to make. I would like to introduce you all to our new guests. They come to us from the Ministry and are here to help in the fight against Voldemort." To my far left is Duncan MacLeod, who is here to teach martial arts and self-defense to those in third year and up. Signs up for those who wish to learn will be on the door to the Great Hall starting tonight, and lessons will commence a week from today."

Students applauded and a few, particularly the Muggle-borns, talked excitedly with their neighbors over the thought of learning how to fight. Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.

"And sitting to his right is Adam Pierson. He's a specialist in obscure magic and hopes to further his luck with finding spells that will help bring down the Dark Lord." There was less applause for Adam, but he didn't mind. It meant that less students would bother him, although Methos did notice that Hermione was suddenly looking much more intently at him, in the way that a hungry lion looks at a piece of meat. He just hoped she wouldn't be too nosy.

As Methos looked away from the Gryffindor table and scanned the room, his eyes fell onto the Slytherin table, and onto Draco Malfoy. The blond boy was engaged with conversation with his classmates, although he did pause to go Methos a slight smirk. He shrugged it off and returned his attention to the mean, engaging Madame Pince in a conversation about the restricted section of the library.

* * *
Methos stood after dinner, feeling the magically-lightened weight of the two swords beneath his robes. He'd had Madame Malkin sew in reinforced straps to hold the blades, that combined with some weight-reducing spells and only if you looked closely could you tell that there were swords hidden by the robes at all. Although Duncan still wasn't thrilled by the thought of wearing them, the thought that he could carry his katana on him was enough to make him agree to wear them on a regular basis.

"Come on, Duncan, let's catch up with Harry before he hits the Gryffindor common room."

"You've got it?"

"Of course. The sooner Harry has this—and knows how to use it—the better I'll feel."

"Why Adam, are you getting soft in your old age?"

"Bite me, Highlander."

They found Harry a bit down the hallway, amidst his friends. Hermione Granger stood on one side, and an unfamiliar redhead stood on the other.

"Harry? May we talk with you for a moment?" Duncan called out.

"We won't keep you long, promise."

"All right then, but can I introduce my friends first?" Harry asked. It would be hard enough to keep the whole Immortal and that Adam-was-Slytherin thing secret; the more he could include his friends, the better.

"Of course Harry." Duncan smiled.

"This is Hermione Granger, and that's Ron Weasley."

The immortals shook hands with the two other students and Hermione colored slightly.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry about the way I behaved on the train. I won't do that again."

Duncan smiled kindly, "It's all right. We make mistakes."

She smiled politely and turned to Adam. "Is it true that you study obscure magic? And what exactly is obscure magic? Are they just generally unknown spells, or spells so old that people have forgotten about them?"

Ron whispered to Duncan. "Don't mind her. She loves any new source of knowledge. I think Mr. Pierson has himself a new worshipper." Ron shuddered. "I'm putting her out of my misery if she gets as gooey as she did over Lockhart."

"Lockhart?" asked Duncan.

While Ron started to explain to him the disaster that was the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Hermione began protesting that she didn't really like that guy, but was just trying to fit in with her classmates for once, Methos pulled Harry aside.

"You've got a free double period tomorrow after lunch?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. I've talked to Dumbledore and he's agreed to let us use a classroom for your training and what have you. It's on the second floor, in the east wing leading towards the greenhouses, third door on the left from the staircase. You're going to start training, so be sure to wear something comfortable under your robes."

"Seamus is going to be annoyed with me. I was supposed to help him prepare for a History of Magic quiz."

"Make up an excuse, I’m sure you've got a stockpile of them. The sooner you learn to fight the better. We'll schedule the rest of your practices later." He nodded towards Duncan, who was now trying to mediate a growing fight between Harry's friends. "I don't think he can hold them much longer."

It didn't take long for Harry to agree with Methos' assessment. "All right. I'll be there." He jogged the few steps to his friends. "Guys…calm down…really." Harry waved them off.

Methos and Duncan gracefully left, leaving Harry to deal with his two worked up friends.

* * *
After Harry closed the door to the classroom that had been claimed by the two Immortals, his eyes went wide at what he saw. The desk that a professor might have once used had been pushed to the side and was covered in books and bits of paper. Giant mats covered the main part of the floor, and only a few chairs remained along the sidewall. Things Harry had no way of recognizing were scattered about on the counters, waiting to be put away.

The most surprising thing in the room though, had nothing to do with the new furniture or lack there of. It was the two men in the middle. Duncan and Methos were sparring, and it was quite clear that Duncan was the superior of the two. His lines were more graceful, and seemed to intercept Methos' attacks more often then not. That wasn't to say that Methos wasn't holding his own—it took a significant amount for either one to gain an advantage, and both men were sweating and breathing heavily. But Duncan's skill won out over Methos' tenacity and Harry watched as Duncan's sword wound up pressing against Methos' neck.

"What does that make it, Methos? 25 to 2?"

"Ha. Bloody. Ha. Just help me up would you? There's a reason I don't fight that often."

Duncan grinned and pulled Methos to his feet, "Hey there, Harry." Duncan greeted the young Wizard warmly.

"Um. Wow. That was amazing!"

Methos picked up a hand towel and tossed a second one at Duncan. "And soon enough you'll be that good. Better then me at least."

Harry started to walk towards them, but was stopped quickly by Duncan. "Take off your shoes, please. It's disrespectful to walk on the mat with them. You might as well take off your robe too, you'll just get tangled up in it."

Harry looked confused, and Methos nodded that he should as Duncan asked before turning away to rummage around on the already cluttered desk.

Harry put his things into a cubby box and turned back around, walking towards where Duncan was now resting on the mat. "Is Duncan older then you, Methos?"

Although Methos' eyebrow rose in response to that question, he was far enough away that Harry couldn't see his reaction.

Duncan snorted. "Let's just say I was born in 1592."

Harry frowned. "So Methos…Adam…is obviously older then you are. Why is his fighting so much worse?"

"What makes you think that I can't fight as good as Duncan can?" Methos turned around, and leaned against the desk.

"Duncan seemed, well, more graceful then you. Like he was surer of his movements. I'm not sure. But from watching what little I saw, if I were to put money on the two of you, I'd bet on Duncan."

Methos grinned slightly. "Now ponder this. I'm obviously older then Duncan, at least by 700 years, yet I'm still alive. If my skills were that poor, how could I survive? Think about who I am, Harry." He walked over to one of the racks that was decorated with weaponry and picked up a sword.

Harry hemmed and hawed for a few moments. "You’re a Slytherin. They—or at least the smarter ones—don't like to show their hand unless they absolutely have to. If you pretend that you can't fight, then people think they can win—until it's too late." He looked up. "Does this mean you're as good as Duncan then, and you're really just letting him win? I mean, with that kind of record…"

Methos smirked, Duncan frowned and Harry looked amused at the two older men's reactions.

"So, Methos! You were going to give Harry something…" Duncan's voice sounded a little strained as he went to go put his shirt back on.

"Oh lighten up, Duncan," Methos chided as he swung the sword up in front of him and looked at Harry. "Remember that conversation we had the other day about Godric's sword?"

Harry nodded slightly.

"I told you that that sword was meant for display. You need something that will last you for decades—for centuries to come. I want you to have this. It's enchanted, and I'm sure you'll find that it comes in handy." He turned the sword so Harry could see the snake. "If you rub your finger along the length of the snake, the sword will conceal itself, making it even easier to carry inside your robes. And trust me, Harry you will carry it in your robes. I highly doubt an Immortal will bother to wait for you while you run up to Gryffindor Tower because you left your sword there."

Harry nodded. "I guess I can see that. How do I make it reappear?"

Methos smiled, "It will only reappear by repeating the motion. This means you don't need your wand—valuable seconds which may well save your life. I have to admit, I'm rather proud of the charm. Made life so much easier." He handed the sword over. "Go ahead. Try it."

Harry held the sword in both of his hands, getting used to the weight and the feel. Finally, he rubbed his thumb over the snake.

There was a quiet hiss. "Yes, Massster," and the sword disappeared. Harry nearly dropped the sword when he heard the voice.

Although Duncan looked disturbed by the hissing, Harry was more surprised by the fact that it said something intelligible. "Does it always do that?" Harry asked. "I mean, call you Master."

Methos shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about it. The sword isn't actually animate, just the snake when the charm is activated."

"Oh. Okay." After ending the charm, Harry swung it a few times. "This will take some getting used to." Harry examined the blade, and noted how it really didn't look anything like Godric's sword. It was heavier, the blade duller, and lacking the ornamentation that was so vivid on Gryffindor's sword. Most notably, it lacked the name of its owner. Even though he still knew next to nothing about swords, it was obvious that this sword was meant to be used. "Where did you get this?"

"Legend has it that the sword belonged to Death. I received it as a gift. It served Slytherin well, and now it will serve you well, Harry Potter."

Duncan stopped cold in his tracks and gave Methos a long, hard, look. "Death, Methos?"

He nodded slightly. "Yes, Duncan, your hearing is just fine."

"Death?" Harry echoed.

"It is a part of us all, Harry. Muggle and Wizard, mortal and Immortal. It is who we are." Although his tone was carefully cool, it was obvious even to Harry that there was more to his statement then what was on the surface.

"Thank you, Methos. I'll take good care of it, promise." Harry smiled, the expression showing some of the boys unease at the sudden tension in the room.

"Use it to stay alive, Harry, that's all I ask."

"May I talk to Methos in private, Harry?"

"But I thought we were going to start training today," Harry protested.

"We were…but now it'll have to wait until tomorrow. When are you free?" Duncan asked, never quite taking his eyes off of Methos.

"Um…about an hour before dinner, after Potions."

"Excellent. We'll meet in here then. Bring the sword with you."

"Yes, Duncan."

Methos looked at Harry. "I think I'd take this opportunity to leave early if I were you, Duncan can be quite the taskmaster." There was a false levity in his voice.

Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but despite his Gryffindor foolishness, he knew when it was time to retreat, and he took it. He quickly put on his shoes, and his robes, and picked up the sword, activating the charm to conceal it. With one last look, he fled the room, leaving the two angry Immortals staring at one another.

"Why didn't you tell me you used that sword when you were Death?"

Methos hissed, "Gee, Duncan, let me think. Could it be because I had no desire to be having this conversation?"

"Was it really necessary to bring up your past like that? Harry doesn't need to know that." The implication that he wished he didn't know about hung heavily between them.

"Do you really think that he'll even figure out what I meant by that, Duncan? When most people think of Death, they think about the Grim Reaper with pale horse and scythe, the incarnation of one of their greatest fears. They never stop to think that the legends might have a basis in reality."

"Then what's the point of even hinting at it?"

"He will think about death and mortality, Duncan. His own. His friends. Voldemort. He needs to accept who he is, who he has become. It's not going to be easy, and I imagine it might take a few more physical lessons to bring that home to him. I'm just starting the process. He is my student, I will do what I think is best for him."

"He's my student too, Methos, I'd beg your indulgence to consider that, or I won't teach him."

"You will teach him, Highlander. We both know that he's too young to be one of us. He's younger then Ritchie was when he died. Your conscience wouldn't let you walk away."

Impasse. Duncan knew that Methos was right. He still felt guilt over Richie's too early death at his own hands.

"And what happens if Harry does figure out who you were?"

"We'll just see, won't we? Somehow though, I have a feeling that he'd be more forgiving than you'll ever be. He knows that I'm Slytherin. He has a hint of my less then goody-two-shoe past. He's been fighting forces that are worse then I ever was since he was eleven. I think there's a chance he might actually understand that the past was the past. It'd be a refreshing change, actually."

Duncan wasn't going to give Methos the gratification of taking the bait.

He left, leaving the eldest immortal to himself.

* * *
It was difficult to not notice the tension between Duncan and Methos over the next several days. Their only conversations were so utterly polite that Harry wondered why they even bothered at all. Whatever Methos had meant by the Death comment, it was obviously a point of contention between the two Immortals and something worth investigating.

Finding the time to do so would prove to be difficult, Harry realized. Methos wanted to work him at least an hour a day. Duncan wanted at least two hours a day, one hour for martial arts and condition, and an hour for sword work. Between that, classes, Quidditch and homework, he barely had anytime to relax, let alone to try and figure out the riddle of "Death" that Methos had mentioned.

Four days later he found himself in the library, supposedly to do research for the latest essay from Professor Binns. He worked on it for about a half hour before he found his mind wandering too much to get any real work done on the paper. On a whim he started searching through the books on mythology, looking for anything that might lead him on the right track.

"Harry! How unusual to see you here on a Saturday."

"Oh, hey Hermione. I've just got so much stuff to do."

"The Ministry people keeping you busy?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'm learning loads from them, it just takes up a lot of time."

"You're not letting them interfere with your work, are you?" She gave him that Look that said that even if it was, he'd better not admit it.

"No, of course not, Hermione."

"Good. I'd hate for you to do poorly on the N.E.W.T.s because of them. What are you working on?"

Without really realizing what he was saying, Harry replied, "I'm looking for Death."

She gave Harry a strange look. "That's morbid. Why?"

Harry had to think fast for an explanation she would buy. "Trelawney wants me to research the meaning of the symbol of Death." He tried to look bitter, something that was all too easy to fake when it came to one of his least favorite professors, "After all, she's always predicting my demise."

Hermione made a face—her dislike of Trelawney hadn't diminished in the least since third year—but she'd been itching for something new to research and learn about. At least this would tide her over until something else caught her interest.

"All right, Harry. I'll give it a look for you."

"Thanks, Hermione! You're great! I owe you one."

"You owe me about twenty," Hermione teased.

Harry grinned. "I'll buy you a new book next time we go to Hogsmeade?"

Hermione grinned. "Deal."

Harry suddenly felt a lot better about the whole thing; after all, if the information was to be found, she would be the one to find it.

* * *
It had taken two days, but Methos finally managed Duncan to calm down over the whole Death issue. It had taken various threats to Duncan's manhood and proving that he had the ability to do exactly what he could claim he could, but considering he hadn't had to resort to manslaughter to get Duncan to stop brooding, Methos figured he'd done pretty well.

Although Harry had yet to find anything, Hermione was still diligently on the case for him, and he was able to relax and started to enjoy the sessions with Duncan and Methos. He knew that he had a long road ahead of him when it came to the fighting, but actually knowing how to use the sword was cool. Even so, it was the magic that grabbed Harry's attention. For one thing, the things Methos were teaching him weren't even based upon the Latin that all the other magics taught at Hogwarts were, but rather upon Late Egyptian. A few days after started the lessons, Binns began to lecture about the Egyptian wizards, but had explained that the inherent complexities of the unfamiliar tongue combined with more modern spells for the practical work meant that most of it had been rendered obsolete.

"But if it's obsolete, then why learn it?" Harry asked as they left lunch heading towards the room they practiced in.

"It's as you said, Harry, only most of it is obsolete. While transfigurations have been refined and potions safer, there's one area in which Egyptians have always outshined Greco-Roman wizardry. I'm sure you can guess what that might be."

"Curses." Harry supplied.

Methos nodded. "Exactly. Although the Muggles now claim that there were no curses on King Tut's tomb, I guarantee that there were when was first buried. No way the court wizards would have left the late Pharaoh unprotected. The dynasty had always been good to the magical community; they felt that they owed it to him to let him rest in the afterlife peacefully."

"How do you know this stuff? And since I'm learning how to speak this stuff, does this mean that I have to learn how to read hieroglyphics as well?"

Methos smiled mysteriously. "Slytherin was powerful for a reason, Harry. And if you want to learn to read it, I'm sure I can brush up on it, although I'm probably a bit rusty myself."

"It might not be bad," Harry mused, "I could actually read some of those spell books you have, instead of just relying on you to tell me the truth about what's contained in them."

"Do you really think I'd lead you astray, Harry?"

"You're a Slytherin, Methos," he explained, as if it was the most obvious explanation. "Besides, there might be more stuff in there that you left out."

Methos snorted. "All right. Just for that, I am going to make you learn. Just so I can prove to you that in fact, the books are rather dull. Not to mention, I can actually give you homework this way."

"Hey!"

Methos smirked. "You asked for it."

"Did not!"

The argument might have continued all the way up to the tower, had Hermione not come barreling towards the two immortals at just that moment, Ron trailing behind.

"Harry! I found something!" She was so excited about her discovery, that it took her a few more seconds to append a "Hello, Mr. Pierson" onto her statement.

"Library time, Ron?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Library time. I found this after." Ron's grin was even bigger then Harry's. He'd started to enjoy the musty old place since he'd convinced Hermione to kiss him amongst the old books during their sixth year. Perhaps not so surprisingly, Ron had suddenly become more useful in the research department. "You hadn't told me you were doing a project for that old bat!"

"Didn't I? Must have slipped my mind. So what did you find, Hermoine?" While Harry hadn't forgotten that she was researching Death for him, it had slipped into the back of his mind, with the pleasantness of the past few days of training.

"I did. Listen to this," Hermione commanded as she began to read:

Although many Muggles see Death as only a symbolic creature, an entity that will arise at the time of the Apocalypse, it has been known amongst wizards for thousands of years that in fact, Death has already existed, and he was one of the Four Horsemen.
The exact dates they rode are unknown, except that it was at least two thousand years ago, if not even longer. Together, they rode across and devastated the known world, including what we now know as Greece, Rome, Turkey, and the Middle East. Some speculate that they even made it as far as modern day India, although we cannot be certain. We are still even unsure if the riders of the Horseman changed every few years; although it is only logical to presume so, the physical descriptions by survivors never changed, and more convincing, people have sworn that they have delivered what should have been fatal injuries upon them, only to hear of their attacking a near village days later, suggesting that at the least they must have been wizards, for Muggle medicine at the time could not have healed such blows so quickly.
While we may never know how Death has survived, there is one thing we know for certain: no one who stood in his way lived to talk about it. To see Death's mask was to die; while the ones called War, Famine and Pestilence are known to have taken hundreds, if not thousands of slaves; if Death took slaves, they were so few as to go unrecorded.
During Death's reign, thousands died by his hand and hundreds of village went up under the torch. His ruthlessness was so well known that only the gods were more feared then he. Death indirectly influenced many aspects of life for Muggle and wizard kind alike thus not only standing for death, but for change. This dual aspect has lead to the use of Death in all aspects of Divination, from the reading of entrails to that of tarot cards.

"It goes on about what finding Death means, but that should satisfy Professor Trelawney, shouldn't it?"

Harry had watched Methos out of the corner of his eye as Hermione read. Methos' body stiffened, his face had become an unreadable mask.

"Yeah, Hermione. It's great. Thanks." He forced a smile and barely managed to make his voice sound appreciative.

She put the book in his hands. "No problem, Harry. I'm always glad to help."

Methos hissed. "How could you, Potter? Meet me after Quidditch practice." He turned on his heel and started walking away.

"What about practice right now?" Harry called out.

Methos kept walking away.

"How incredibly rude! You didn't even do anything, Harry!"

"It's all right Hermione…"

"No. It's not. He doesn't deserve to yell at you when you didn't do anything!"

Harry tried to protest more, but she had already taken off, "Mr. Pierson! Please stop!"

He didn't stop.

She ran up and stood in front of him, moving from side to side not letting him pass. "Hey! Stop, would you! Harry didn't do anything! You've no right to yell at him!"

Methos sneered and answered in a venomous voice. "You ignorant little Mudblood. You don't know anything about what Harry has, or hasn't done. And right now, you yelling at me over something you've no knowledge of isn't going to make anything better. If you're as smart as all the professors suggest you are, you'll step out of the way and let me go."

There were gasps from the few other students who'd manage to overhear the conversation. Hermione was stunned enough that Methos was able to easily slide past her. Ron looked ready to kill, and Harry had to grab his friend's arm to stop him from going after Adam.

"Ron. Let him go."

"How can you say that, Harry? After what he just said to Hermione!"

"Just trust me, Ron. Please. I promise, I'll find out what made him snap tonight!"
Ron growled, yanked his arm from Harry's grip, but let it fall to his side. Watching Methos retreat, he continued, "You'd better make him apologize."

"You know I can't promise you that."

"You'd damn well better try." Disgusted, he turned away. "He's no better then that git Malfoy. Come on, Hermione, let's go."

Hermione let herself be led away. Harry wanted to chase after them, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He hadn't realized that Methos would be so upset about telling Hermione about the Death thing; it seemed trivial really.

He stood in the halls, staring at the retreating forms of his friends. Why would he be upset that he'd asked Hermione for help? Remember the look on Duncan's face, how strangely he acted, the voice in his head began to say. Remember how short Methos was with Duncan when called on it. There was something more going on, he knew it. Death was an Immortal. But if he was an Immortal, how would Methos have come by his sword unless…Harry's eyes went wide, and he whispered to himself. "Unless Methos was Death."

The sword suddenly felt like lead. He had to apologize to Methos. If he'd had a past like that, he wouldn't want it be broadcast to the general public either.

* * *
The moonlight trickled in through the windows, and only a few faint torches burned on the wall as Harry entered the classroom.

"Adam?" Harry looked towards the desk. He could just see the immortal outlined leaning on the desk. "I really am sorry about what happened earlier. The way you mentioned Death…I had to know what you meant. I didn't mean for Hermione to get involved, really. It was an accident."

Methos made no indication that he cared about Harry's explanation at all, and simply replied, "Close the door, Harry, and lock it."

Harry did as he was asked, and he watched Methos quietly cast a sound-absorbing spell on the room.

"Come here, Harry."

Methos waited until Harry did as he was told, and with a smooth motion built from millennia of practice, quickly grabbed the throwing dagger laying by his side, and with deadly accuracy threw the dagger straight into Harry's heart.

Harry staggered; falling to his knees, blood starting to fill his mouth seconds later.

Methos moved to stand above Harry and looked down upon the stunned and dying student. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Harry coughed, spitting blood onto the worn stones.

"That's what I felt like when you told Ms. Granger about our conversation the other day. This isn't a game, Potter. This is life and death. I told you that everything that happened between us had to be kept in the strictest confidence. You failed me. That's unacceptable." Methos kneeled down by Harry, who was now weakly holding himself up on all fours. "I could take your head right now if I want to, and you couldn't stop me. I won't this time—next time, I might not be so generous." He yanked the knife out of Harry.

"Bastard."

Harry died.