Hi everyone!

I told myself that I wouldn't start another story before the previous 2 are completed, but here I go anyway. Stupid plot bunnies. Well, this means my updates will be even more infrequent.. crap.

Well, I can't help it. This little piece demanded to be written. So I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I have simply borrowed her characters for a little while.

Staring Death in the eye

Prologue

Did you know that if you look death in the eye, you will die?

I was painstakingly aware of that as he sat opposite of me in the subway, eyes gleaming under the baseball cap he was wearing. Of course, he doesn't look the way most of you would imagine. No black robe and he's not a skeleton. At least not all the time. That day he had quite a casual look, a young man dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a cap. And he was watching me with those strange eyes of his. Not that anyone else on the train seemed to notice, of course. Humans do not notice him, unless it's their time to die. It's safer that way, really.

The only reason as to why I noticed him was... well, I don't know actually. The first time I saw him was when he came for my mum and dad. At least he tells me so, that I looked at him with big green baby eyes and gurgled. So basically what I say is that I've been able to see him all my life. Popping up across the street when there has been a car accident, walking past me in the corridors of hospitals, those kind of events. But now someone was going to die in the subway, and that made me a bit uncomfortable. There had always been a barrier between me and him, or the concept he stood for, a wall or separation by distance, but now...

It would be someone real close to me, too. He always appeared close to where the victim was, and he always took them away the second their last breath left them.

Who was it? I wondered, giving the compartment an antsy look around. There was an old woman to his right, and she might get an heart-attack at any moment, right? Though she looked fairly healthy, ramrod straight in the back and an awake look in her eyes.

Was it the businessman on his other side then? He was sickly pale from too much inside work and his shoulders were hanging. But no, that didn't make much sense. Death always appeared in some way that would be appealing to his client, a manifestation of what they expected or something that might comfort them, for some reason. I had asked him once why that was, and his answer had simply been that it was easier when they wouldn't fight or question him. And there I had been, hoping that he would have some far-fetched sense of sympathy for the people who died.

But it wasn't time for that at the moment. I needed to know who was going to die so I could move far far away from them. Preferably even get of at the next stop. And wasn't that a great idea? Instead of speculating who it might be, I ought to have gone up and went to the doorway. It would leave some distance, right?

Standing up, his strange, millennia voice echoed out a command.

"Sit down."

And I did, just in time to be heavily jerked to the side as the train met another. We weren't going at full speed, and I was in the back of the compartment, but the crash was enough to send me flying,moaning in pain as my back hit the train and then everything went black as my head swiftly followed.

The compartment was in chaos when I regained consciousness, blood splattered the walls and people laid either moaning or completely silent. I stared at the destruction in horror. I laid just by the door, the glass had broken as the train had de-tracked and hit the wall, and just in front of me someone laid impaled by a piece of glass.

I wanted to puke. I wanted to, but I couldn't because my body felt too heavy to move and even my heart and lungs seemed to have troubles to keep on working. As I laid there, breathing in short gasps, I could see him approaching. The only one in the train who wasn't hurt or dead. He knelled in front of me, next to the dead person I was staring at, and touched the corpse- and that was it. The man was irrevocably dead. This time I did puke, arms fighting I managed to heave myself over the side and my mouth filled with warm, stinking bile.

I wanted to ask him why? Why I was still alive, why he hadn't allowed me to die, as I surely would have if I had stood up. But the stream of puke stopped my questions, but he answered them either way.

"It wasn't your time to die."

And then I wondered, looking at the man in front of me, why that was okay? Why I couldn't have done something to stop it, why all I had been thinking had been selfish feelings and not even one thought for the person who's life would end. And I wanted to die, but he wouldn't let me. I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled down, and it changed between my fingers as he made his preparation for the next victim, and he shook them of.

"It is not your time yet."

Chapter 1, hospitals and hatred

I ended up at a local hospital, silent and sullen. The nurses believed it to be caused by shock from the accident, and perhaps they were right. But no matter the reason, I snapped out at all and everyone that came to visit me. Even Ron and Hermione weren't spared from my tongue, and the first time they came to visit I made Hermione run out of the room in tears. It took a long, long time until they spoke to me again, and they never visited at the hospital again. So, after quite a short amount of time I spent my time with eating, sleeping and lashing out at the nurses.

If it wasn't for the gravity of my injuries I am sure they would have sent me home with a bottle of disinfectant and some bandages after a day. But to their despair I had broke my back, but luckily only the spinal bones and not the cord. I would be fine, they told me, but I would have to remain at the hospital until it had completely healed over. I even had to be sent to surgery in order to stabilise the spine.

When my back had healed up enough for me to be able to move around, they moved me to a room with another patient in it. Perhaps they did it out of spite, or maybe so that I would go to the physical rehabilitation happily, for they placed me in the room of Blaise Zabini, a man who regarded me as an insect not worthy to touch the ground he had stepped on.

"What is this?" he exclaimed the moment I was wheeled into the room and settled on the empty bed in the room. "I refuse to share room with some peasant!"

"Now, now, Mr. Zabini, please take it easy." the nurse pleaded with him, "You know that all patients that are here long term must share a room. It doesn't matter who your father is or how much money he has, I'm afraid."

I found that I had an instant dislike for the boy, mainly because he called me a peasant the first thing he did but also because of the fact that he constantly had company. His father and mother arrived with a mountain of gifts, flowers, snacks, books and other entertainment. Their lavishing upon him annoyed me to no end, but mostly I hated him for the fact that they were still there. He had a mother and a father. They visited every day and I could basically smell the love they had for him in the air. And it made me wonder. Where were my family? Not that I particular wanted aunt Petunia and Vernon to come, but it would have been nice to know that they cared.

Zabini's friends came over too, laughing loudly where they stood in a circle around his bed. And where were mine? I had scared them all away with my bad temper. I couldn't blame it on anyone else, but the seething hatred that flowed in my veins wouldn't listen to reason. So I fought with him, long and hard during the times we were both there and none of his relations was visiting. I wasn't sure why I even bothered with restricting myself on that account, perhaps it was some vain hope that if they did not see my bad side, they would come to me instead, they would be laughing with me and give me gifts.

Death visited me a couple of time, thought. He always came at night when Zabini had made sure his bed was sealed closely off with the curtains and I was up reading, simply because I couldn't spend all my time sleeping. I wouldn't look at him, the feeling of disappointment always filled my breast when he was around, as if I had expected that he would kill me when I asked. As if I had expected he believed I was something special because I could see him.

"What are you doing here? Go away."

"I came to see how you are."

"That's real sweet of you" I answered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And now you can leave."

He did leave then. But it wasn't the last time he visited, and how depressed didn't that make me feel? The only one who could stand me enough to come visit more than once was Death himself. And I scorned him. I didn't want anything to do with him. And soon enough I learned that the times he visited me was when someone had died in the hospital and he needed to be there either way. I loathed him more than ever.

It was like a bad circle, a never-ending circle of hatred and disappointment. I couldn't get myself out of the bad mood, and as such none of my friends would visit me. And I hated them for leaving me here all alone, during the long months it took me to heal. My back didn't feel like it was processing either. It was all hell.

"What are you sulking about now, you stupid low-life?" Zabini taunted me from across the room.

I had been sitting and staring at my lap for what probably had been hours and I hadn't noticed that the boy returned from his rehabilitation.

"Go to hell!" I called back, "Or ask your daddy to use his oh-so-great influence to move you to a hospital with separate rooms!"

Zabini's colour rose at the taunt, but I wasn't done there.

"But you know what I think? I think he can't! I read the papers too, Zabini. Seems like daddy's company is in a heap of trouble, and daddy can't even afford to place his son where he won't get tainted by peasant cooties."

"Why you...!" Zabini started to answer, but was interrupted by a low voice coming from the doorway.

"My, my, Blaise, I never knew you had such a temper...or such bad manners as to argue with your room mate."

We both turned and stared at the newcomer. I recognised him as one of Zabini's friends, but I had never bothered trying to listen in and figure out who was who and so I called him "Blondie". And he truly was blond, almost platinum locks laid neatly slicked back on his head and his eyes were such a light grey that I had never seen the like of before.

"And you," he turned to me, "Haven't your mother taught you not to talk about other peoples business?"

I actually blushed at that, for the first time embarrassed over anything I had taunted Zabini with. It wasn't the first time I had mentioned his family, because I could see how easily it roused his anger. The company must have been a sensitive issue for him, and I knew that what I told him was only empty words either way. He had a family that came to visit him, now didn't he?

"Draco, this is none of your business, either." Zabini said, with an angry gesture.

The blond only shrugged in a very fluid motion and sat on himself down on the edge of the bed.

"I only came here because I was worried the poor Zabini heir would be sad and lonely in this very droll hospital, yet I find that he is perfectly able to amuse himself. Picking a fight with such a cute boy..." I blushed sharply at that, "How very devious of him..."

"Stop your mocking, Draco!" he hissed back. "I care nothing for this hospital or of that punk!"

"Ah, how wounding your words are, Blaise." Blondie theatrically placed his hand over his heart, "Your stay in this place has turned you into a very bitter young man. A bitter young man indeed. My heart bleeds for you."

I wasn't quite sure what was happening at that time. Was I being defended by this Draco, against his own friend? I hadn't done anything to deserve defence, for I had started fights with the dark boy in the other bed just as often as he had started fights with me. But just as I started contemplating this, Zabini got up with a huff and left the room.

"Just go conspire with that damn peasant instead of bothering me! See, I'm even leaving the room to give you all the space you need!"

The door slammed behind him and Draco said. "Oh my. Think he got mad?" with a mischievous smile on his lips.

Draco never visited Zabini when I was there after that. He only came when I was away at physical rehabilitation.

"It's best not too agitate the poor boy too much." he told me as he came to visit me when Zabini was gone at rehabilitation. I loved his little visits. They managed to get me out of the slump I had been residing in for a long time and I actually felt happy again. And the situation between me and Zabini changed, somewhat. Though we still couldn't be called friends, Draco had managed to disperse the hostility between the two of us.

"Harry, I noticed you have a lot of fantasy books here, so I figured I would bring you something new to read. I hope you like it."

Draco held out a copy of Mort*, nervously. I accepted it gratefully, my heart filled with happiness at receiving a gift from him. I read it that night after he had gone home and laughed heartily at the way it portrayed death. That death should have a daughter was simply ridiculous. When Death himself appeared at my bedside that night made it more so hilarious.

"Haha, you don't happen to have a daughter, do you? Hidden away at whatever place you call a home?"

"I do not have a daughter. Nor do I have a ´home´, in the way you mean."

I turned serious quickly. Even though I didn't look at his face, in case the temptation would be too great and I would shift my eyes just a little and meet his, his voice had sounded sad for a second. Perhaps even Death had issues that he did not wish to discuss. Perhaps he had been human once?

"Hey..." I asked, "Have you always been Death?"

"No." He answered and then he was gone.

Draco visited me the day after that too. He brought me a couple of oranges that he insisted on peeling for me, despite the fact that it would have been quite a good training for me.

"No, no, let me. You're sick. Let me spoil you a little."

And I couldn't deny neither him nor me the small pleasure of spoiling and being spoiled. I had never had anyone to peel my oranges, nor had anyone ever fed them to me, slice after slice of sweet fruit. At one point my lips embraced his fingers, and I though I could see a small blush spreading across his pale complexion.

"You're blushing" he whispered to me then, and ran his finger down my lips. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed audibly.

"So are you..."

His fingers found their way around my neck and lingered there.

"I guess I am..."

Then he stood up abruptly, leaving my neck tingling. Zabini had entered the room, returning from his rehab earlier than usual. He said nothing as he went to his bed and simply closed the curtains around it.

"I don't want to see what you two are up to."

At that we couldn't help but laugh, it was a laugh filled with panic and relief, bordering on being hysterical and for a long time we couldn't stop. My back hurt as I laughed and I forced myself to get my control back. Draco left after that, Zabini's comment had put things in perspective for me, most likely for the both of us. And I couldn't sleep that night as I realised that I was in love with Draco.

*Mort is a novel by Terry Pratchett

Well, how was that? Quite different relationship between Harry and Draco compared to my other story^^ well, that has it reasons. Which you'll see. And it is going quite fast at this moment. This also has it's reasons. So no need to comment that perhaps Draco and Harry's relationship is going too fast and too smooth. There is a reason for it. ^^

This one is probably going to be a bit more dark than the other also. Hope no one minds that.

Please R&R!