Eleven:
The boy was wearing one of his old cloaks, the ragged thing had to be several millenia old. The ebon gem in his ring was nothing more then a polished stone from the hilly path that lead up to his modest manor in the underworld. Last, but not least, the waifish man, who must incidentally be a wizard as well, held tight to a wand made of elder wood. It gleamed white in the candle light of the empty room they were in, hinting at the sheen from the bone-elder trees that lined his backyard.
In a moment of profound pity, Death let go of his mild ire and revealed himself to a living person for the first time in a long, long time.
"Hello." He began, pausing a moment at the startled intake of breath Harry James Potter made. When no hysterics followed, he continued.
"Why have you summoned me?"