Cake or Death

It really should have been an easy job. Three at once, in and out and call it a night. What it shouldn't have been was the beginning of more than a decade of frustration.

OKAY, he said. JAMES POTTER. CHECK. LILY POTTER. CHECK. YOU FOLKS READY TO GO, THEN?

"No!" cried the woman. "We can't leave Harry all alone with him. He's only a baby!"

NOT TO WORRY, MISS. HE'LL BE ALONG IN A MINUTE.

"But he hasn't even lived yet," she sobbed.

NO, NOT THE BABY. HE'S STILL GOT TIME. THE OTHER.

"Like the prophecy says, Lily. Harry will defeat him."

"But he's only a baby," she sobbed. "How can he defeat anyone?"

I DO NOT KNOW, BUT THE OTHER PERSON I'M SUPPOSED TO MEET, IN ADDITION TO YOURSELVES, IS NAMED TOM. TOM RIDDLE. YOU MAY ALSO KNOW HIM AS VOLDEMORT. NOT HARRY.

"See, Lily," said James soothingly. "The prophecy."

"Thank God," sobbed Lily. "Harry will be all right then?" she asked, turning to Death.

IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO TELL WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS, said Death, somewhat taken aback by the way she seemed to be turning to him for comfort.

"But Harry will live?" she insisted.

WELL, HE IS NOT ON MY SCHEDULE FOR TODAY. He was relieved that she seemed satisfied by that. LET ME JUST FINISH UP HERE- He turned back to the shambles that had recently been the Potters' home. WAIT. WHERE IS HE?

For the house was empty except for the wailing infant Harry lying beside his mother's body.

The Potters had begun their journey into the beyond, and were not there to answer Death. Not that they would have had any answers, because Tom Riddle or Voldemort or whatever other name he might go by had vanished.

Death was most vexed. NO ONE WAS EXEMPT FROM HIM. Certainly not wankers like this one who ran away.

*****

Ten years had done nothing to improve Death's temper. He did not like to be thwarted.

Not that it had ever happened before, but everyone knew there was a first time for everything. He got the call from the old wizard Flamel, who had legitimately been putting him off for centuries. "Perenelle and I are ready to go now-ish," he said. "Whenever you can fit us into your schedule is fine."

Death checked his appointment book. HOW'S A WEEK FROM NEXT THURSDAY? AFTER TEATIME?

"That would be fine. Why don't you come early and join us for a bit of a nosh?"

Perenelle Flamel made the best cream cakes in the Northern Hemisphere. LOVE TO. SEE YOU THEN.

*****

"Are we your only outstanding appointments, then?" asked Mrs. Flamel as she loaded Binky's saddlebags with the remainder of the cakes. She insisted that Death take them on the grounds that she and Nicholas certainly wouldn't be finishing them up later, as they were about to give up any "later" that they might have had coming.

NO. I'VE STILL GOT ONE OUT THERE. GOES BY THE RIDICULOUS NAME OF 'VOLDEMORT.' RUDE BLOKE, DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO APPLY FOR AN EXTENSION LIKE YOU FOLKS DID. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT MAKES HIM THINK HE WOULD QUALIFY.

"Well, he tried to steal our Sorcerer's Stone," said Mr. Flamel. "That's what finally made us decide that it's time for us to move on. It is time, isn't it?"

Death produced a pair of hourglasses and peered at them. RIGHT. READY TO GO, THEN? He took out his scythe and sent the Flamels on their way.

"Make sure you eat all that cake, dear," called Perenelle as she faded away into the ether.

"And good luck with that Voldemort fellow," added Nicholas before they were both gone.

Death didn't need luck, but it was always nice to be wished well.

*****

It can be assumed that the reader is quite familiar with what happened next¹

And Death finally met Voldemort face to face.

IS IT NOT TRUE THAT YOU HAVE SAID THAT YOUR GOAL IS TO DEFEAT ME?

"It is. And I have defeated you more than once. And will again, as soon as my loyal followers-"

DEATH CANNOT BE DEFEATED! POSTPONED, PERHAPS, BUT NOT DEFEATED.

"Care to test that theory? A small wager, perhaps?"

DEATH DOES NOT WAGER. Really, this Voldemort fellow was terribly annoying.

"My research indicates that you do. Sometimes people who should die do not."

IT WAS NOT THEIR TIME.

"Sure looked like it from the other side." Voldemort put out a hand and hit his palm with this closed fist. "I demand my right to a wager for my life."

YOU CAN'T JUST DEMAND-

Voldemort ignored his protests. "One, two, three, go." He stuck out his closed fist. Death, caught off guard, instinctively put out two fingers so bony they were actually nothing but bones. "Ha!" said Voldemort triumphantly. "Rock beats scissors."

BEST TWO OF THREE. THAT'S HOW THE GAME WORKS. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT.

"Fine. Ready?"

ONE, TWO, THREE, GO! Death threw out his closed fist and Voldemort did the same. TIE. GO AGAIN. ONE, TWO, THREE, GO. Death put out his open hand. PAPER COVERS ROCK. YOU ARE RATHER PREDICTABLE, MR. RIDDLE.

"Don't call me that." Voldemort scowled. "It's not over yet. One, two, three, go."

So far, all had gone according to Voldemort's plan. Death thought he would always play rock, and would be sure to play paper himself this time, when Voldemort would play scissors. It couldn't fail. He looked at Death's hand to see if his clever ruse had worked.

He saw the bony fist and turned to flee.

Death caught him by the cloak. I TOLD YOU. NO ONE DEFEATS DEATH.

"I will return. My followers know what to do," insisted Voldemort, even as he faded away.

Really, Voldemort was one of the most annoyingly stubborn people Death had ever met. Hopefully, his followers didn't really know anything about reincarnation. Or at least would wait until Death came back from a much-needed holiday. He was exhausted.

¹In the unlikely event that the reader is unfamiliar with the events of the so-called "Final Battle", please refer to external accounts. Anything with a title beginning "Harry Potter and the..." is an excellent reference.