It wasn't hard to sneak into the house. Walls didn't provide much in the way of protection from a ghost, after all. In fact, it was often times more difficult to interact with solid objects than bypass them anymore.
With that in mind, Radcliffe very carefully did not think about the fact that he was standing in the home's second story. He found that when you were Death's assistant, it was really just better to leave logic at the door or else you were likely to get hurt.
That said, he had not come here to wax lyrical about how solid he was or was not, and silently approached the small form sleeping on a low bed in the corner of the room. Radcliffe had never before visited the Graves household—have never been able to work up the courage to. It had always felt like something off-limits, something he could hear about but never touch. Even with Dee's prompting to "go look at his wonderful child," Radcliffe found himself reluctant to actually approach. Instead, he allowed his red eyes to wander around the child's bedroom, and silently marveled at how strangely tidy it all was. It had been a long time since he had been in the presence of children, but the utter lack of toys littering the floor was almost unsettling. Even a century later, he could remember his daughters leaving their dolls on the floor of the nursery, or his son not putting away a board game. This room barely looked lived in, much less the primary dwelling of a four-year-old.
From what he had heard from Dee during the personification's overjoyed rants, the boy was very serious and tidy, but even so, Radcliffe hadn't quite expected this. He supposed you couldn't really apply the same sort of logic as you would a human child to one that was the son of the personification of Death, but Radcliffe had thought there would at least be a little overlap.
A tiny, almost inaudible sigh escaped the Grim Reaper, and he crossed the last bit of distance to stand at the side of the bed. He flicked his hand, and the covers slid back just a tad to show the bed's occupant. A small, frail looking boy lay within, his face scrunched up in response to the blanket's sudden movement. Radcliffe tilted his head slightly and waited for the boy's, for Issac's, face to settle, and then just stared at him for a moment.
Issac looked nothing like his father. Both were pale, yes, but Issac had soft, wavy blond hair compared to Dee's stick-straight, bone white strands. The boy also had a delicate, almost fairy-like build to his face that was worlds away from Dee's high cheekbones and pronounced child. Radcliffe almost would have thought that the boy was someone else's child if not for the strong aura radiating off the boy even in his sleep. And besides, Radcliffe thought wryly, he was applying logic to Dee. He really was asking for a broken brain doing a silly thing like that.
Radcliffe took a step back and shook his head slightly and took a step back with the intent to return to the Land of the Dead, just in time for a voice to speak up from the doorway.
"You're him, aren't you? Damian?" Emily Graves whispered. Radcliffe valiantly resisted the urge to flinch or jump, and instead turned to fix his red-eyed stare on the blond woman behind him. Unlike Dee, Issac looked very much like a miniature, male version of his mother. Radcliffe's lips twitched and he slipped his hands into his pockets. He had never really met Emily before—properly at least—and he wondered just how much Dee talked about him that she could identify him on sight.
"I prefer Radcliffe, actually; Dee just can't take the hint," he murmured and shrugged his shoulders.
Emily's lips twitched and she nodded. "He is rather bad at that, isn't he?" she whispered and walked fully into the room. She soundlessly walked over to her son, and Radcliffe felt his essence swirl as she passed just a bit too close to his ethereal form. He took a step back and turned to watch her as she brushed the hair out of her son's face, and bent to place a kiss on his forehead. Radcliffe felt his chest constrict despite his lack of physical body and recalled his own wife, so many years ago tucking in their own children.
He wasn't allowed to dwell on his family that had now long crossed over, however. Emily stood back up and turned to look at the Reaper with a peculiar look on her face. Despite himself, Radcliffe felt his back straighten of its own accord, and a frown tugged at the corner of his lips. "What's wrong?" he demanded, but gently. She smiled weakly and shook her head before responding.
"Nothing, really. It's just..." she paused and seemed to think over her words carefully before she resumed speaking. "If something was to happen to Dee and I, you would look after Issac, wouldn't you?" she asked.
Radcliffe gave her a bemused look and tilted his head in search of a joke he did not quite understand. "You do realize that Dee is immortal, right?" he returned. Emily turned her head slightly to one side and let out a small, strained chuckle.
"Of course I do," she chided, "I just... have a bad feeling, at times. Maybe it's just a mother's paranoia, but watching him grow up, I'm just so afraid that we won't be around to see him reach adulthood. I just-" she continued haltingly, and Radcliffe took pity on her.
"Don't worry," he assured quietly, recalling his own fears regarding getting to see his children grow up. He very carefully avoided thinking about how his fears had been right. His oldest hadn't even been fifteen when Radcliffe had died. "I'll keep him safe."
Emily sagged with obvious relief and nodded. "Right. I-" she shook her head and chuckled again, this time more honestly. "Thank you for indulging me."
Radcliffe smiled and shook his head. His eyes strayed to the window, and noticed the lightening of the oncoming dawn. He had been away from the Land of the Dead longer than expected. "Don't worry about it, Ms. Graves," he whispered and took a step back, feeling the call of his home realm. "Goodnight."
He faded almost seamlessly between the worlds, back to the somber quiet of the Land of the Dead, but just before he vanished from the world of the living completely, he heard Emily reply, "And you as well, Mr. Radcliffe."