“And who is this powerful being?” Hermione asked, tilting her head to the side with a skeptical squint.

“Dunno,” Aaric lied with a noncommittal shrug.

“This doesn’t make sense. You said it was a contract. They go both ways, why is there not a price?” Harry interjected, firing off his questions before Hermione could ask another.

“One side of the contract is already complete,” Aaric answered with a patient nod.

He raised a hand to forestall Hermione when he saw her open her mouth to unleash another barrage of inquiries.

“I have told you all I know,” Aaric interrupted, his tone final enough to end the questioning.

Hermione frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but she nodded with a resigned sigh. Her gaze turned to Harry, who seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“Well, can you at least give us an idea if the being would hurt us if he didn’t like our request?” Ron asked with apprehension.

“Oh! On that, I assure you. He won’t be able to lay a finger on you,” Aaric answered with absolute confidence.

He then reached into his vest and took out an intricate pocket watch, checking the time.

He snapped the lid shut with a click before him and Luna left the trio with a casual wave, citing that they had to meet up with Daphne and Fleur.

The trio waved back halfheartedly, their minds too occupied with the mystery before them to offer a proper farewell.

“What’s on your mind, mate?” Ron asked Harry after a full minute of heavy silence had passed.

Even Pyra was looking up at the boy, her head cocked as if she were waiting for his answer.

Harry looked down at the salamander before picking her up in his arms, holding her close to his chest for comfort.

“Well, we don’t even know what we can ask for,” Harry said uncertainly.

Despite his hesitation, both Ron and Hermione could sense that the gears were turning in his head; he definitely had some specific desires in mind.

“Why don’t you try writing something on the parchment? Not a request, but just a greeting. A simple ‘hello’ to see if you get a reply,” Hermione suggested a moment later.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, stunned by the simplicity of the idea. The two boys and the salamander turned their heads toward Hermione in appreciation of her intellect.

“I’ll go get it,” Harry said, standing up and walking toward the dormitory.

“I’ll clean things up here,” Hermione said, standing as well before giving Ron a pointed look.

“Fine, I’ll help,” Ron muttered, knowing better than to argue.

They both started clearing the potioneering materials and tools from the table. Harry returned to the room a few minutes later to find a rather chaotic scene.

Hermione was cleaning up some broken glass from the ground while Ron stood in the corner, facing the wall like a scolded toddler.

“Let’s… start?” Harry asked Hermione, gesturing toward Ron’s back with his eyes.

Hermione did not reply immediately. She finished cleaning the glass shards before standing up and looking sharply toward Ron.

“Say it,” Hermione told Ron.

“I’m clumsy and I’m a wanker,” Ron grumbled at the wall.

Harry choked on his own spit at the words. Hermione turned beet red, bent down, took off her shoe, and threw it with impressive accuracy at the back of Ron’s head.

“That is not what I told you to say!” she screamed, her face now burning with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I forgot!” Ron yelped, rubbing the back of his head before clearing his throat. “I meant, I’m a clumsy prat.”

Hermione responded with a low growl as her face felt hotter, but she seemed to accept the revision.

Ron took that as permission to turn back around. He walked toward the table with a smug grin on his face, only to yelp again as Hermione started stomping on his feet again and again.

Harry had to step in, physically holding Hermione back to save his best friend from bodily harm.

“After this is done, I’ll hold him down for you and you can do whatever you wish with him,” Harry offered as a peace treaty, desperate to get back to the task at hand.

“You traitor!” Ron’s scream was ignored.

Hermione took a moment to think about the offer before nodding her head in acceptance.

Harry let her go, but he did not fully relax until Hermione took her seat with a composed, straight face.

Harry took a seat at the head of the table while Pyra brought Hermione the shoe she had thrown.

Harry placed the ornate wooden box in front of him while Ron sat to his side, directly across from Hermione.

Harry carefully removed the black parchment from the box and smoothed it out on the table. Hermione handed him a quill.

Nodding his thanks, he dipped the quill and wrote a simple ‘Hello’ on the dark surface.

The trio watched in silence as the silver ink dissolved into the parchment, vanishing completely and leaving the surface as black as void.

“Well?” Ron muttered after a full minute had passed with absolutely nothing happening.

Harry sighed, disappointed. He picked up his quill to write something else, but before the nib could touch the paper, the entire room dimmed. The temperature plummeted, turning the air instantly frigid.

A sound like the flap of great, leathery wings echoed in the confined space. Pyra flinched violently and scrambled up into Harry’s lap, her eyes darting in all directions in panic.

Heavy, slow footsteps echoed on the stone floor, coming from nowhere and everywhere. A figure walked out of the shadows directly in front of them.

The figure was completely shrouded in a tattered, hooded cloak, with only an abyssal darkness visible within the cowl.

He walked up to the edge of the table. A breath escaped him that fogged the air and made the room even colder. The air shimmered beside him, and a throne made of pure, light-absorbing obsidian materialized from nothingness.

He sat.

The entity extended a bony hand covered in ancient cobwebs and placed a single skeletal finger on the parchment. Words began to bleed onto the surface.

‘Greetings, The Boy Who Lived. I am Death.’

Death extended his head back, resting against the obsidian chair and leaning back. The trio looked stiffly at the parchment to read the words, their blood running cold.

They gulped in unison. Pyra placed her forelimbs on the edge of the table, her gaze fixed on Death, her eyes blazing with blue fire in a show of protectiveness.

Death only tilted his head patiently, appearing entirely unbothered by the salamander or the children who were just staring at his dumbly.

“It… it’s nice to meet you, sir,” Harry said with a stutter.

He received a slow nod from Death. The words on the parchment began to move and reshape themselves.

‘Likewise. I will be answering through this parchment. If I were to speak, I might shatter your minds.’

The three teenagers shuddered at those words. Harry reached out and placed his hands over Ron’s and Hermione’s hands under the table, offering a comforting squeeze.

Death leaned further back in his seat and looked out of the window. The full moon was high in the sky, casting a pale light over the grounds.

“I would quite like my mind not to be shattered,” Ron muttered.

He was immediately kicked in the shin by Hermione from under the table as she glared at him for his lack of tact.

Death looked away from the window and turned his shrouded head toward Ron. He gave a simple, acknowledging nod.

‘I agree. Shattered minds make for poor conversation.’

The words on the parchment changed again, causing the children to take a sharp inhale at the dry humor.

“Um, Mr. Death. With you being who you are… can you allow for dead people to talk to the living?” Harry asked, finally gathering his courage.

With a soft creaking sound of bone and fabric, Death placed his hands on the table and leaned in slowly. A single nod gave the boy his answer.

“Why just talk? Ask for their revival, idiot,” Ron whispered fiercely to Harry.

Hermione paled and looked toward Death with wide eyes at Ron’s words. She was terrified that Death might take the suggestion as a slight against the natural order.

However, she calmed down slightly after Death did not react negatively for a long moment.

“Could that… be possible, sir?” Harry asked Death, his voice trembling as he held Pyra closer for warmth.

Death leaned back into the shadows of his hood. The ink swirled on the parchment.

‘Yes.’

It was a simple answer, yet it carried the weight of the world.

“Do they… wish to be revived?” Hermione muttered to herself, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Of course they do. Who wouldn’t?” Ron shot back, looking at Hermione as if she were an idiot.

Harry seemed to have a realization at Hermione’s question. He looked at the dark figure before him.

“Are they in Heaven?” he asked Death.

‘The highest of Havens, for their noble sacrifice.’

The ink formed the sentence slowly before them. Now it was time for Hermione to look at Ron as if he were the idiot.

“Well… that changes things,” Ron muttered in a low, deflated voice as he watched Harry’s expression turned solemn.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep