Summary: After a particularly harsh beating, Harry wakes up and meets Death, a wisecracking, bored being that can't wait to wreak havoc with his new master.
Additional notes: another plot bunny, crack (that may be treated seriously, but unsure)
Content warnings: physical violence, temporary death
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
The same could not be said about young Harry Potter, their nephew. He was an odd child, very odd, but it wasn't because of his quieter and calmer nature or how he seemed wiser beyond his age. It was because he was... different. Although young, Harry didn't know just yet that he was a wizard, and that set him apart from the Dursleys in of itself.
But that little difference was enough for his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to treat him with the deepest loathing.
A shrill voice woke Harry up as usual. It was his aunt, who was reminding him to make breakfast and not to burn it. As if his uncle needed an excuse to beat him black and blue again.
Wincing, the ten-year-old got up and went into the kitchen. Normally, making breakfast wouldn't be so difficult, but he was very sore from the previous night, in which his cousin, Dudley, had gotten Harry in trouble by crying about him doing something freakish, and had a hard time staying awake.
This, unsurprisingly, led to the inevitable.
"Mum!" Dudley screamed. "I'm hungry!"
"Hurry up!" Aunt Petunia snapped at Harry.
Harry bit his tongue to keep from retorting that he couldn't speed up time. Although that would have been nice, he reflected wistfully. It would mean Dudley would get his food faster and Harry would move on from there.
Suddenly, the eggs, which had only just been put in the pan, transformed in front of his very eyes; they were now finished cooking.
Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia had turned around just at that moment and saw this. She shrieked in terror, and Uncle Vernon lumbered over as quickly as his large body would allow him.
"What is it, Pet?"
Aunt Petunia raised a shaking finger at Harry, whose eyes were wide with horror.
"What did you do, boy?!" Uncle Vernon demanded.
"I— I didn't— nothing. The eggs just cooked themselves."
That had been the wrong thing to say. Uncle Vernon's face went purple with rage. "Eggs don't cook themselves! Come here!"
He grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him out of the kitchen. Aunt Petunia went to console Dudley, telling him that he would get his eggs in a moment. Dudley pretended to cry plaintively, but Harry glimpsed the smug gleam in his eyes, knowing that Harry was in trouble again.
Uncle Vernon threw him onto the floor and slammed a large, meaty fist into his already damaged body.
Harry barely held in the gasp of pain; that would only anger his uncle further and prolong the punishment.
But as the hits kept coming and changed from fists to belt, he couldn't keep it in any longer and began crying, begging for him to stop.
"Little freak can't even take a few hits!" Uncle Vernon sneered, stomping down harshly on Harry's ankle.
