Chapters 181-190

A Deal With Death

‘Either we’re both suffering from a very elaborate hallucination, or Dumbledore was wrong about that one, too,’ Harry said, his voice shaking. ‘I guess we should have been more careful about not taking off that cloak.’

‘Harry,’ Severus said very softly. ‘Dear. Would you consider doing us a favour?’

Harry gulped. ‘Yes?’

‘Keep your mouth shut!’ Severus snarled. ‘Now!’ Then he took a step forwards while thrusting his left arm backwards, pushing Harry out of the way and effectively putting himself between Harry and Death.

‘Sir.’ Severus bowed deeply.

‘You know each other?’ Harry squeaked, his voice a fair imitation of Dobby.

‘He’s a bit stupid, isn’t he?’ Death remarked conversationally. ‘I used to imagine that The-Boy-Who-Lived was a bit smarter.’

Strangely enough, Snape didn’t agree. Instead he remained silent and shifted his weight unobtrusively, turning just a little, thus ensuring that he stayed right in front of Harry—even though that had to be an extremely uncomfortable position, with his arm wrenched backwards like that. Harry stayed where he was. (There wasn’t much else he could do, after all.) But he tried to take a closer look at the figure before them. Although he couldn’t see much, Harry imagined that within the shadows of the creature’s face a pair of unfathomable, lifeless black eyes were fixed on him.

‘Harry Potter,’ Death whispered. ‘How good to see you again. And I see you’ve got my cloak with you. How convenient.’

Harry shivered. So far he hadn’t paid attention to the temperature in this land of death and twilight. But now he was cold. Very, very cold. His breath formed a cloud in front of his face and he noticed white tendrils of frost creeping over Severus’ black hair. And there, in the darkness behind Death—what was that? A large, scruffy black dog, or just another shadow? Was that the hell-hound of Trelawney’s predictions, the real Grim? Or was it, could it possibly be…Sirius? But if it was Snuffles, he’d help them, wouldn’t he?

‘As for your question,’ Death continued, his voice an icy breeze. ‘Why wouldn’t I know one of my own? For all he’s a wizard, Severus is a Necromancer first. Talking of wizards—’ The dark figure moved forwards, and although Snape instantly took a step of his own—backwards—Harry felt a terrible weakness overcome him. He was so cold that his joints were growing stiff. It was hard to manage even that one faltering step backwards. His knees wouldn’t last much longer.

‘Is he—’ Harry gasped, ‘Is he for real?’

When Snape replied, he kept his voice so low that it was almost inaudible, ‘Does it matter if he’s a hallucination we happen to share, Death personified or the materialised dregs of the accumulated subconscious of all magical and Muggle souls that have passed through this archway over the course of millennia? He’s between us and that Gate!’

‘Actually,’ Death whispered and glided closer still. ‘This is how a German composer of the 18th and early 19th century envisioned me. One Franz Schubert. He died of typhoid with a dash of mercury poisoning, though even without that, his syphilis would have killed him off shortly. A very…uncomfortable death. Though he didn’t even seem to mind…’

Death smiled.

Harry slumped down onto the ground. He simply wasn’t strong enough to stay on his feet a moment longer. Still Severus shielded him with his body. Though Harry wondered how much help that would be if the figure before them really was Death Personified.

‘Wizards: the bane of my existence.’ Death sounded disgusted, and Harry realised that it was getting hard for him to breathe properly. ‘Philosopher Stones, Resurrection Stones, Hallows, Horcruxes and assorted bits of soul magic … Contrary to what some of you seem to think, this is not a train station. Muggles (with rare, very rare exceptions) at least have the good sense to stay put, once they have passed. And now hand over my cloak, if you please.’

Severus cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and thin, almost like he’d sounded when he first woke from the coma he’d endured following Nagini’s attack. ‘We’d be happy to hand over the cloak—were it not for the minor matter of a curse pertaining to your…domain, sir.’

‘Ah, yes. I listened to the old wizard’s explanation. It seems you need all three of my Hallows to stave off a cosmic calamity,’ Death purred. ‘You want to prevent the untimely demise of a few thousand Muggle-born wizards and witches, men, women and children and two magical explosions of possibly cataclysmic consequences. In other words, you want to answer the question of “Who is stronger than Death?” with “Me, evidently”. I must confess, I am intrigued.’

Harry lay helpless on the ground, shivering uncontrollably. For some reason he had to think of the flayed, shuddering baby-soul he had seen in that personal, train-station vision of death he’d visited three years ago. Suddenly he realised that the magical thongs that tethered him securely to Severus were gone. Panic washed over him. Don’t leave me here, he thought frantically. Don’t just leave me like this.

When Severus’ grasp around his hand tightened almost painfully, he almost sobbed with relief.

‘How about a deal?’ Death suggested. ‘But you must decide quickly. Mortals cannot bear my presence for very long without succumbing to my power. I let you go. I let you come back. You get rid of that little curse. Then you give me all three of my Hallows. And then—why, I just might let you go again.’

The hurdy-gurdy started playing again now, its strange droning, dissonant melody was grinding into Harry’s bones with each turn of the crank.

‘We have no choice,’ Severus whispered.

‘Yes,’ Harry wheezed. ‘It’s a deal. You can have a wand oath if you want.’

‘Ah,’ murmured Death. ‘That won’t be necessary. Remember, I have always known when you will return.’