A/N: For some reason, I am fascinated by the Harry meets Death stories. So here's my rather pathetic attempt at it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, he wouldn't have been anywhere near as whiny.

Harry Potter stumbled through the Forest of Dean, still queasy from seeing his best friend's arm splinched. He could still see in his mind the copious amounts of blood that poured from the wound, staining the snow a deep scarlet. Blood normally wouldn't bother Harry that much, but when it was from your best mate- who was currently missing an arm- things changed.

He felt a little bit guilty over leaving Hermione to deal with the mess alone, but he really needed a break. After the disastrous infiltration of the Ministry, it would be nice for just a few minutes alone. He really needed to think on things, particularly a heavy locket that was resting on his chest at the moment. Harry wanted to destroy the horcrux as soon as possible. Aside from the feeling of wrongness that emanated from Voldemort's soul fragment, he felt sharp prickles throughout his scar just by being near it.

The teenager had no idea what effect it would have on the others. He doubted even Dumbledore could predict that. Harry really didn't want the locket to end up possessing one of his friends like the diary had possessed Ginny. For one thing, he didn't have a basilisk fang available, and he had no idea what other methods could be used. From what Hermione had said, only the darkest of dark curses would be able to harm the abomination.

It was these worries that caused him to trip over a gnarled root on his path. Harry cursed his inattentiveness as he fell onto the cold forest floor. After some fumbling for his glasses, which had been knocked askew by the fall, he looked around the clearing. He wouldn't put it past some of the Death Eaters to have somehow tracked their escape. Voldemort might be insane, but he was a genius in his youth. Surely he was capable of making some sort of tracker.

Content that nothing was around him, he began to make his way back to his friends. It wouldn't do for the "Chosen One" to get lost in a forest after all. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a cold, monotone voice call out from behind him,

"Hello, Harry Potter."

Harry spun around, already firing off several stunners in the direction of the voice. As he faced the mysterious voice, he heard each of his spells impact several trees. All he heard in response to his attack was a cold laugh. When he looked in the direction of the voice- still vigilant of his surroundings- he saw the oddest sight of his life.

A young teenager, who looked to be about fourteen, was standing idly right where the stunners should have hit. He had cold, black eyes that reminded Harry of Snape's, and was horribly pale. If it weren't for the neck-length onyx hair, the wizard would have thought the boy was an albino.

The boy was dressed in a gray robe that shimmered in a way reminiscent of Harry's own invisibility cloak, and was idly twirling a wand that was similar to Professor Dumbledore's. His eyes never left Harry.

Aside from his clothing and wand, the boy seemed to have no other possessions aside from, oddly enough, an hourglass that was made of a shiny black material and filled with a ghostly swirling substance. The boy held it tightly in his left hand.

Saying nothing, and still staring at Harry unblinkingly, the boy moved slightly closer. Harry kept a tight hold on his wand, ready to deflect any attack that came, but otherwise did nothing. As the boy drew closer, Harry thought he could hear whispering voices coming from the hourglass. The wizard was reminded of the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries. The thought chilled his blood. Harry didn't know who this boy was, but he was far more dangerous than he seemed. An aura of what Harry could only call creepiness hung heavy in the air around the boy, making him seem even more disturbing than Voldemort.

At least with the Dark Lord you just knew that he was a deranged psychopath. The dangerous feeling that oozed from the boy was more disturbing simply because it came from someone so young.

As the boy slowly moved even closer, Harry moved to intervene. Aiming his holly wand at the boy's frail looking chest, Harry decided to learn the stranger's intentions.

"Who are you, and what do you want? If you move any closer, I'll curse you."

The boy only chuckled humorlessly before responding in the same cold voice.

"Harry Potter, I will not deign to speak with you until you remove that abomination from around your neck." The boy began to stare at the horcrux with an almost hateful expression.

Although the fact that the boy knew what the locket was shocked Harry, he was stunned when a dull, pained screech sounded from the locket, which had begun to flail wildly on Harry's chest. Still confused, Harry removed the locket and threw it on a bare patch of ground.

The boy put his wand inside of his robe and wordlessly summoned the locket into an outstretched hand. Harry began to rush forward, not about to let some kid- regardless of how creepy he was- take the horcrux. The boy seemed to take no notice, and gave a cold smile at the horcrux as it landed into his pale hand. A scream of agony came from the locket, which began to release black, pungent smelling smoke. Harry could feel the dark magic leaving from the locket, and was too surprised to even attempt to take the horcrux back.

After a moment, the trail of smoke stopped and the boy carelessly tossed the locket onto the forest floor, seeming to no longer be interested in it. The boy withdrew the wand again and began to twirl it once more. His eyes locked onto Harry's own and the boy began to speak.

"My name has never been set in stone. Throughout my existence, I have been called many things. Thanatos. Pluto. Mictlantecuhtli. Ankou. Anubis. Santa Muerte." The boy glanced at Harry as if checking for recognition. Seeing none, he continued. "But in the recent times, I have been known as the Grim Reaper. Throughout my existence, I have always been known as the same primal force." The boy stared at Harry with cold eyes once more.

"I have always been known as Death."

Harry recoiled back, still keeping his wand trained on the boy…or Reaper. He wasn't sure if the boy was completely insane or if he was somehow speaking the truth. The boy didn't seem insane- then again, Tom Riddle hadn't either- and given the chilling aura that felt like a dementor's when you took away the crushing feeling despair, and general oddness, Harry was almost inclined to believe him.

A brief flicker of amusement shot through the onyx eyes before being quenched. Once again the boy spoke.

"It seems you are in a quandary, Harry Potter. I have no need to prove my identity to you. My coming here is merely a curiosity, nothing more. It would be…nice, for lack of a better term, if that curiosity could be sated. And you, Harry Potter, are the key to sating that curiosity. Therefore, I will make an…allowance in your case."

The boy looked down at his wand, which he was still twirling idly, with his ordinary bored expression. Harry gasped as the foot-long wand became a spinning scythe. The scythe was made of the same kind of dark wood as the wand, but had ancient, primal looking runes adorning the smooth, worn wood. The scythe's blade was made of the same material as the hourglass, and seemed to release the same whispers the hourglass did.

Even though Harry didn't particularly want to believe the boy was some sort of representation of Death, he felt he didn't have much of a choice once he looked at the evidence. Not that he wouldn't be rushing off to St. Mungo's the second this war was over. After all the crap that happened to him, he felt like a mental healer would do wonders for him. For now, though, it seemed like he would be talking to an imaginary person. Someone he wished was imaginary, at least.

"Ask your questions then. I really want to get back to my friends."

The avatar of Death smiled wanly.

"Ah yes, your friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." Death stared coldly at him for a moment, deeply unsettling Harry. If Snape ever had a child, Harry was sure it would be something like this.

"Your intervention in their lives has interfered with my duties. You were never meant to survive the so-called killing curse. Your own survival interfered by itself. The fact that everyone associated with you has had their own destinies rewritten is most irritating." Death seemed to be highly annoyed, but caught himself.

"I did not journey here to speak of my own work. Come closer."

Harry hesitantly inched closer, feeling a massive amount of the chilling aura engulf him. He didn't hesitate, however. Not even the famed Gryffindor courage would do much to Death, after all.

The wizard flinched as Death touched his scar with a long, pale finger. He barely held back a scream as he felt ice flood through his veins, seeming to freeze him. That was nothing compared to the overwhelming pain that erupted in his scar, a thousand times worse than it had ever burned around Voldemort.

It felt like the torture went on for hours, although Harry knew it was really only a few seconds. When Death removed his finger from Harry's forehead, he immediately dropped to the ground, gasping from the aftershocks. For a moment he heard nothing except for his own pounding heartbeat until Death broke the silence.

"I have my answers. Harry Potter, I pity you."

Harry noticed a barely perceptible sense of regret in the boy's words. He looked up to see Death staring into his hourglass intently. When Harry stared at it, the shifting, ghostly substance that swirled inside of it seemed to solidify into miniscule, pure white stones. Harry noticed that the hourglass was nearly empty. Death seemed to notice Harry's staring and began to speak once more.

"I will leave the one tool that will allow you to escape me inside of you, Harry Potter. You are interesting, I admit. To see you push the boundaries and laws of my realm will be…educational. "

Harry cocked an eyebrow. He knew that this was Death, but he expected him to be a bit more concerned about changing the Wizarding World. Death gave one last glance at Harry and walked away. The wizard froze for a moment, wondering if he could get any more help. Death had destroyed a horcrux, and Harry could at least try to learn how. If the boy's animosity towards the soul fragments was anything to go by, he would be happy to help.

"Wait," Harry called out at the retreating figure of Death. The boy turned, still idly spinning his scythe in between pale fingers. "Could you tell me how to destroy the horcruxes, or help me at least?"

Death's answer was unhesitant and showed no remorse.

"No. Your destiny is your own to discover and walk down. I have interfered enough already."

Harry looked away, downcast. He almost missed Death's last words. Unlike before, Death spoke in a whispery voice very unlike his normal monotone.

"Know this, Harry Potter; I am partial to neither you nor Tom Riddle. Whichever one of you falls, I will accept you with open arms. All are equal in death."

The wizard stared at Death, who had begun to stride away from the clearing. He didn't understand or like the boy, but he had destroyed a horcrux. Harry needed to repay him in some way. Harry hadn't even begun to speak when Death called out his parting words.

"Harry Potter, should you wish to repay me, destroy the rest of the abominations. Make Tom Riddle mortal once more. Whether you or Tom Riddle falls in the final confrontation between you, he will one day join me. Farewell, Harry Potter. Remember that nothing is an impossibility."

With that, the avatar of Death faded. Harry spotted the spinning scythe shifting into the familiar sight of a wand.

Were it not for the slight pains still wracking Harry's body, the wizard would have thought it all a dream. Shaking his head, he left for the tent. He was sure Hermione was worrying about him.