Harry Potter meets Death
By Anorc.
Harry woke up lying on his back on a stone floor, in a stone room. He sat up, hurriedly discovering he had no wand, no glasses and was wearing white robes. There was what looked like a ... a Dementor hulking by the only exits, three identical ancient wooden doors.
Harry thought for a brief, panicky moment, and realised it wasn't cold… or hot either. And he didn't feel utterly hopeless. He didn't feel much at all, as if he'd woken from a long, restful sleep.
Harry stood up, and tried something reckless.
"I'm Harry Potter" said Harry "Who are you?"
"Death" hissed Death "I come for everyone, and you are a special case."
Harry sighed, thinking it was too much to expect to just die from being hit by Voldemort's killing curse, no. Something special. Bloody typical.
"Behind these three doors are three Hallows, Harry Potter" hissed Death.
"The first two will not save you." it added.
"Pick a door" said Death after a long pause. Harry felt a moments embarassment.
"So, I'm playing a game with death?" asked Harry.
Death nodded, and waved a skeletal hand in a hurry-up gesture.
"Isn't chess traditional?" asked Harry cautiously.
"Would you rather play chess or guess?" hissed Death "You aren't much of a chess-player."
Harry looked at the three wooden doors, and nodded, mostly to himself, and pointed at the rightmost door.
Death stalked over, bony feet clattering on the stone floor and opened the centre door, behind the door, a wand hung in midair.
"The elder wand" hissed Death. "No salvation there. Do you still choose the rightmost door?"
Harry frowned and tried to think that through, and wished, for a second Hermione was here, she was great at logic puzzles. He guiltily pushed that thought away, he certainly didn't want Hermione to be probably dead, confronting death itself. Himself, herself, their self. Harry realised he had no idea. The cloak covered Death's face. If it had one, he realised.
"A decision, Harry Potter" hissed death.
"Can I see you face?" asked Harry, thinking that he might as well know.
Death lowered the hood of their cloak, revealing a yellowish-brown skull. "Most people prefer me not to" hissed the skeletal head.
[AN: What should Harry do?]