"Okay, okay it's the hypotenuse… added to Merlin's Fifth Equation… gotta be mostly correct?" He fumbled around in the grass for a moment, his mind going blank as he repositioned the candle again. Belief, right, now was the perfect time for belief because he was messing up this very easy ritual.
"Oh Lord of Death and Creation, as your humble servant, um… shit… what was I supposed to say?" Why hadn't he written this down, he was rubbish without written directions! "Um, are you there, Death? It's me, Harry Potter, junior necromancer at your service. I was wondering if you could do me a favor? I'll continue to sacrifice shit in your name. Er, did you want my firstborn? Or is that just a muggle thing?"
"Goodness, you are a wreck, aren't you, living one?"
Harry screamed in terror, bolting out of his spot and nearly pissing himself with fear as he made eye contact - well, cloak contact with the hooded figure leaning over him.
"Seriously?!"
"You're the one defenseless in a field with your eyes closed. What did you expect?" The cloak said. Its voice was toneless and whispery. The figure was what Harry considered to be the most generic classic depiction of the Grim Reaper ever, complete with a skeleton hand clutching a scythe at its side. Harry went from terrified to baffled to shocked.
"You actually look like that?"
Death's laugh was a low creaking warble that that shook the ground with an earthquake.
"Of course not. Why would I look like this? Do you think it's cold Down Below? Do you think I need a cloak? I can take on any form I like, but you didn't think I was real, so I picked something obvious and indisputable. Now, you wished to speak with me, living one?"
There were a great deal of questions Harry found himself with now. But he figured he ought to stay on target before he panicked properly.
"Could you tell me what the tasks for the Triwizard Tournament will be?" Harry asked.
"Certainly. For the first, you shall face off against a dragon to collect one of its eggs. For the second, you shall race to the depths of the Black Lake and retrieve something that was stolen from you. And the third shall be a maze guarded by dangerous beasts and traps."
"Oh, thanks," Harry said in a baffled tone. "Uh, I'm pretty sure you weren't supposed to tell me anything that easily. Do you own my child's soul or not?'
"You'd be correct about the former. I do not, as a rule, hand out favors willy-nilly as the kids say these days. But I've already extracted my payment from you, Harry Potter."
"You did?"
"Yes. Or, I will extract it from you in time. You will be a most magnificent necromancer."
Death sat, its bones folding in with xylophonic pings as the being settled into a cross-legged position across from Harry. The hem of its hood was pushed aside by a rustle of air and revealed the smooth bone forming Death's skull. The black void where eyes should be tilted toward Harry, and he saw himself reflected in it. Him, old, weathered with laugh lines crinkled in the corners of his face.
It scooped up a pile of soft dirt in its skeletal hand and let it sift through the cracks in its fingers.
"You do not have to think of our exchange as a transaction, young one. You will pay your debts and I will repay you in kind. We will be partners in crime if you'd like to consider us thus. Coming soon, an opportunity will present itself. You have been bonding with our Cloak, haven't you? How would you like the other two Hallows?"
Harry blinked. He'd honestly forgotten that his Invisibility Cloak was an ancient artifact made by Death itself considering he used it primarily to sneak off for midnight snacks with his friends.
"You will lead them into a new era," Death continued ominously. "It is your destiny. And as your benevolent chosen deity, I would be honored to assist you in this matter."
"What do you mean?"
A bony hand reached through the hem of its robe and it trailed one finger from the top of his head down to his neck. He expected something magical and profound to happen at its touch, but the bone was like fine porcelain, dry and cold. He didn't feel blessed and/or cursed or whatever was supposed to happen.
"Fret not, young one. This is your birthright. I know you hear the war drum thumping in your soul, the part that recognizes your higher calling, the part that seeks more. I will help you with this. You may retrieve my Hallows, win your Tournament, and vanquish your Dark Lord. But after, I will have use of you."
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