Contrary to Harry's expectations, even without lights or candles, the small room adorned with a summoning circle glowed as brightly as daylight.
At the center of the circle stood a chestnut-colored chair, upon which sat an elegant woman dressed in a black overcoat, holding a cane. She appeared elderly, yet the marks of time could not diminish her refined and noble aura. Seeing Harry push open the door, she gave an elegant smile.
"We meet again, Potter," she said.
"Good evening, madam," Harry replied with a slight bow.
Dumbledore and Mr. Flamel stood behind him, exchanging glances. No one had ever seen Death in person; their knowledge was limited to fleeting mentions in ancient texts or legends. They had heard Harry's descriptions of Death, but seeing her incarnation still left them astonished.
Harry was different. He had encountered Death in Cassandra's dreamscape, so he was mentally prepared. Cassandra, too, was no stranger to Death—she had played hide-and-seek with her in dreams for nearly a century and had managed to outrun her.
"It seems my little friends aren't particularly welcoming," Death remarked, her gaze sweeping over Dumbledore and Mr. Flamel behind Harry, then to Veratia and Cassandra further back, and finally to Newt, who kept his head down, avoiding her eyes.
Harry flashed a charming yet polite smile, trying to appear friendly. He couldn't afford to let Death misunderstand their intentions—that was his reasoning.
"You're mistaken, madam," he said. "In truth, we have a matter we wish to seek your help with."
"Oh, I don't think it's a misunderstanding," Death replied, glancing down at the circle. "If this summoning circle weren't incomplete, the version of me summoned to the mortal realm might already be bound. And I hardly think this is the attitude of someone seeking assistance, do you, Potter?"
"If I may be so bold as to ask…" Mr. Flamel suddenly stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with fervor. "As an alchemist, I find it impossible to resist the pursuit of knowledge… Do you know how to complete this circle?"
Death didn't answer immediately. Instead, she cast a meaningful glance at Veratia and Cassandra before saying leisurely, "Even after all these years, you mortals remain as arrogant as your ancestors. Is this your idea of hospitality? Summoning Death on All Hallows' Eve without a single offering?"
Harry tried to protest. "It's November 2nd today, madam…" But Death raised her wrist and tapped it lightly. "That's merely mortal time."
Seeing Death's air of having the upper hand, Harry leaned toward Veratia and Cassandra and whispered, "An offering? What do you think an offering for Death should be?"
"Probably a person," Cassandra whispered back, her voice low. "You know, the freshly killed kind…"
Now that she mentioned it, Harry thought it made sense. What else would Death want as an offering, if not a freshly killed life?
"We can't exactly fulfill that request…" Harry muttered to Cassandra. "We can't just find someone to kill for her, can we? That's a bit too…"
"Perhaps we could find a few dark wizards from Azkaban?" Veratia suggested from the side. "If your conscience is troubling you, Harry, we could go that route. What do you think?"
"I don't think that's a wise choice, Miss Grindelwald," Death interjected, cutting off their hushed conversation. "I'd prefer you offer me a feast of fine food rather than arrogantly assuming, like your ancestors, that I require a human sacrifice."
So that was it…
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. It seemed this Death wasn't as unapproachable as the legends suggested. After all, it was just a matter of preparing a good meal, and Hogwarts had no shortage of culinary delights—thanks to the house-elves.
"Please wait a moment," Dumbledore said, visibly relieved. "I'll have Hogwarts' house-elves prepare a delicious feast for you."
With that, Dumbledore whisked out of Mr. Flamel's alchemy chamber like a gust of wind.
The room fell into a prolonged silence, with no one daring to break it. Cassandra, in particular, was growing anxious that Death might take an interest in her, so she did her best to avoid drawing attention.
But the more she tried to fade into the background, the more Death's gaze seemed drawn to her.
Noticing Cassandra's attempt to become invisible, Death turned her eyes toward her. "Alchemy is a remarkable art. I thought I'd claim your soul within a year, Miss Malfoy."
Harry quickly tugged at Cassandra's sleeve, signaling her not to say anything foolish. He knew her sharp tongue well—if she provoked Death with a retort, who knew what might happen?
But he underestimated Cassandra. Her biting wit was rarely directed at outsiders, and she wasn't one to misjudge a situation. She clearly understood the vast gap between herself and Death. Sometimes, yielding wasn't shameful—especially when facing Death herself.
"It seems the human Philosopher's Stone standing before you, Potter, has infused you with life energy, hasn't he?" Death continued, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Tch, tch… such touching devotion."
"Schooltime romances are always sincere, Madam Death," Mr. Flamel interjected, trying to smooth things over for Cassandra.
"Indeed," Death said with a mysterious smile. "Though someone like Potter, whose sincerity extends to three people, is quite rare."
Harry's face twitched. He knew exactly who Death meant by the third person. Who else but Poppy Sweeting?
"We've actually summoned you to the mortal realm to ask for your guidance," Veratia spoke up. "As you likely know, there's a dark wizard in the British magical world named Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Voldemort."
"I'm aware of this wizard," Death said, delicately resting a finger against her cheek. "He's split his soul into several pieces, attempting to achieve immortality through such means. And I also know of your brother, Gellert Grindelwald, who sought to control the Deathly Hallows to harness my power."
"If you wish to claim his soul, I know where he's hiding," Veratia offered, betraying her brother with practiced ease.
"I have no interest in such souls," Death replied, resting both hands on her cane. "Or rather, I have no interest in souls at all. My fascination lies in the nature of death itself. All things must die—even gods are no exception. Perhaps one day, I'll guide one into death as well."
"There's a God in this world?" Harry asked, frowning.
"You can accept a world with Death but not one with a God?" Death countered.
Fair point.
Harry conceded to her logic—or rather, he was the sort who was easily persuaded, a bit soft around the edges.
At that moment, Dumbledore returned, followed by dozens of house-elves nervously carrying trays. They scurried about, swiftly setting up a long table before Death and laying out a lavish banquet.
"Please, madam," Dumbledore said softly.
Death glanced at the spread and said to Dumbledore, "I don't eat British food."
"Of course, madam," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "But this is French cuisine. Do give it a try."
As he spoke, Dumbledore silently exhaled in relief. British food wasn't just unfit for the table—it wasn't even fit for human consumption. Naturally, he'd anticipated this and prepared French dishes instead.
"I don't like it," Death said again.
Dumbledore took a deep breath, smiled politely at Death, and signaled the house-elves to clear the table and prepare something new to please her. But he was mistaken. The elves tried everything—German, Hungarian, Russian, even an authentic Chinese feast—but none of it satisfied Death even slightly.
Now what?
Dumbledore was at a loss. After the elves cleared the Chinese spread, he looked to Harry for help.
True to his role as Dumbledore's trusted former student, Harry stepped up. "How about McDonald's?" he whispered to Veratia. "You know, that place near your school you said was good last time."
"Alright."
Veratia turned and grabbed Fiona's drumstick, Disapparating with a crack to a McDonald's in London.
"Obliviate!" she cast, ensuring the surrounding Muggle patrons wouldn't cause a fuss.
Better safe than sorry—after all, it was broad daylight, and casting an Avada Kedavra lightning chain in a McDonald's would be a bit extreme.
She approached the counter, where the cashier stood dazed from the Obliviation. "One Chicken McNuggets meal, two classic burgers, a large Coke, and a side of fries," Veratia ordered.
The cashier shook their head, turned, and prepared the order. By then, the restaurant's customers had resumed their lively chatter.
With the meal bagged, Veratia grabbed it, and with a burst of flame, she vanished.
"What just happened?" the cashier gasped, pointing to where Veratia had disappeared.
The customers, of course, noticed the sudden vanishing of a striking woman—an intriguing mystery that sparked attention. Within minutes, posts about a mysterious beauty disappearing from McDonald's flooded online forums, though the incident was later hushed up by the combined efforts of the Ministry of Magic and Muggle authorities.
But that's a story for another time. Back in Mr. Flamel's alchemy chamber, Veratia handed the fast-food bag to Harry, gesturing for him to present it to Death.
Harry took the bag, hurried to Death's side, and offered it with both hands.
Death accepted it with a satisfied nod. Slowly and elegantly, she drew out the straw, inserted it into the Coke cup, and took a long sip.
"I must say, I enjoy the taste of this sweet water," Death said to Harry. "Coke, is it? Quite a memorable name."
"Yes, Madam Death," Harry replied with a smile. "I'm fond of Coke too—especially Coca-Cola."
Death's smile grew even more pleased. "Indeed, Harry. I'm a Coca-Cola fan myself."
The old lady's expression softened, her gaze toward Harry like a grandmother doting on her favorite grandson. She opened the bag, savored the burger, ate every McNugget, and drained the Coke, the straw gurgling as she finished.
With a final slurp, Death set the cup down, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. After a pause, she said, "I'm quite pleased with today's offering. So… I'll answer one of your questions."
Mr. Flamel jumped in eagerly. "Then, Madam Death, how exactly can we perfect this summoning circle?"
"It requires the blood of a pure-hearted maiden," Death said, her playful gaze shifting to Cassandra and Veratia. "Someone like Miss Malfoy or Miss Grindelwald would do nicely—use their blood to draw the circle."
At Death's words, a flush crept across Cassandra's cheeks, suspiciously telling.
Veratia, meanwhile, studied the runes on the floor, calculating that the amount of blood required wouldn't be fatal—not even 100cc.
"Thank you, Madam Death," Mr. Flamel said, utterly satisfied. For a mad scientist, knowledge was the ultimate pursuit.
"One more question, Madam Death," Dumbledore interjected. "We've heard that Tom Riddle is attempting to summon you in the New World and may have succeeded. Is this true?"
"That's another question, Dumbledore," Death replied with a smile. "As I said, that offering entitles you to one answer."
The group exchanged glances. Only one question per offering?
"Then…" Dumbledore ventured cautiously, "if we wish to ask another question, what offering would you require?"
Death's smile widened. "That's another question, Dumbledore."
--
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