Fate did the rest.
The girl would finally open her eyes sometime later only to screw them tightly shut again against the sight of a iratted matron fussing over her and the realization she had indeed been spared, although unsure weather she agreed with nurses' phrasing of "lucky to be alive". She'd would, when recovering in her dorm room, discover via classmate a while after, that a few of the older girls (whose voices she'd heard and mistook for higher beings. They weren't,) had gone to the stores, had found her laid out like sleeping beauty in her own blood and had raised the alarm.
Her form tutor was said to be relived but not concerned, (although she'd seemed to develop short term memory loss making her forget to mention it'd been her who'd sent the child down the steps) and the girl had received a lecture from the head about the dangers of wandering about unaccompanied in darkness on steep steps for no good reason. It was a miracle she recovered so quickly, although the scars refused to fade no matter what normally reliable potions and spells were used. And strangely more kept appearing without explanation unless her tutor had escorted her to the sick bay.
Stranger still the girl's powers and knowledge seemed to increase almost tenfold since her experience. Whether it was because solely down to her first meeting with Death, or her tutors suddenly more strenuous and time consuming regime, challenging and education her at all times she didn't know. All she knew was her powers were kept her under the woman's control.
After the incident she'd tried to tell others what had happened. But it was quickly put down to a mixture imagination and concussion, and the girl was warned it was bad luck to discuss such matters. That logic in mind she kept quiet and also decided against researching him as most books where he made appearance were either bad magic or fairy tales and even then he was always cruel. She thought he'd been rather nice. For a reaper.
But the young witch saw him often enough anyway. She lost track. Once, twice, perhaps up to several meetings a year.
The time for example, when of its own accord, her broomstick had suddenly peaked and then just as suddenly, dropped into a vertical dive despite the girl being an excellent flier. Or the time when a drop of rare illegally sourced and fairly hazard unknown poison had some how made its way into her and her class mates vital organs which her tutor just luckily had the antidote quickly brewed. Or simply when a someone decided a slap on the wrist wasn't enough to make the girl remember by heart a tricky spell, a potion or her manners. When ever she'd been pushed to far the edge, in danger or dropped to hard, he'd appear.
Depending how busy Death was would talk to her and ask questions and perhaps they'd have a civil conversation, other times it would be a shake of the head across the court yard. True none of these times where pleasant, being on the brink of death an all, and few where painless but each meeting he assured her she did have more time when, just not now. Sometimes this was comforting, sometimes it wasn't. Once occasion she'd almost cured him to just get it over with. But it's hard to angry when you know a persons just doing their job, especially if their so polite and friendly and clearly going beyond the lines of duty.
But it would be a very long time before Death kept to his promise of giving the girl her warning…