Draco Malfoy has been at Hogwarts in his seventh year for the past hundred years. His responsibility as Death which imprisons him at the castle, causing freak accidents while silently collecting souls of Hogwarts students one by one, rewards him with everlasting youth. His concentration on his job, with the protection of vaguity that surrounds him preventing students to forget of his existence, has been disturbed only twice. Once, by a girl that had left him. Second, by a boy whose gift in legilimency has immunized him from Draco's forgetful presence, a boy named Harry Potter.

Deathly written by bycatastrophe

"And I heard that when Katie Bell drank the pumpkin juice, she completely collapsed and her poisoned veins were a vivid purple!" Draco heard Pansy Parkinson shrill to Melanie Bulstrode down the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. His calm visage hid his acknowledgement to the piece of gossip that made headlines on The Daily Prophet that morning.

Just last evening, Katie Bell was found dead after having encounter a poisonous object in Hogsmeade. Draco knew that it was actually a cursed opal jewellery collection which caused her death, not pumpkin juice, and that her veins did indeed turned a vivid purple, because he was there when it happened, hidden by the corner in his Cloak of Invisibility. In fact, it was he who had anonymously sent her that gift two days ago, because it was her name that was next on his List.

Now with Katie Bell's soul safely in a vial tucked in his right pocket (because his mission was succeeded overnight and he hadn't enough time to change into a fresh set of clothes as well as proper disposal of the recent dead), he shoved the remainders of his bacon in his mouth and left the table, with no one bothering to wave him good bye or calling him to wait up.

The thing was, Draco was a peculiar boy with his own secrets he couldn't afford anyone knowing. He collected and disposed of souls of Hogwarts students once or twice a year, in exchange for eternal youth and permanent residency at the school of magic. He's been in his last years of schooling for about a hundred years (he's lost count), and his role as Death at Hogwarts had caused him to leave a shroud of confusion and emptiness wherever he went.

In simpler terms, no one -except Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster- was aware of his existence except for the first few hours of meeting and introduction. After a brief conversation, Draco would simply walk away and leave his new-found acquaintance in a haze, forgetting who they were talking to or why they were there in the first place. This, of course, made it easier for Draco to do his job as Death without suspicion from anyone.

Finally reaching the Dungeons, he slipped past the painting ("treachery" was that week's password) and went into his empty dormitory made for four- the other boys haven't finished breakfast yet.

Sitting down at his chair, his bored gaze met a dried up rose that laid pathetically on his desk. "It's to remind you of my hair" she had said- ignorantly, Draco decided, after staring at the dying shade of burgundy coloured petals. He took out Katie Bell, unstoppered the vial, and poured her soul on the flower. It immediately shrivelled up and died. He expertly placed a palm over the head of the flower, before moving away his hand again and the petals, now in a brilliant shade of bright red, blossomed with life.

A life for a life.

Harry Potter laughed with his fellow Gryffindors as he waited for Professor McGonagall to arrive and begin Transfiguration. His fingers absentmindedly brushed past the locks of raven black hair, revealing a scar-free forehead. 17 years of love and adoration from his popular parents -James and Lily Potter- as well as his friends who surrounded him with admiration and loyalty, had caused him to become a tad bit cocky.

But rightfully so, for Harry was a good looking boy, with a sleek and sturdy body made for a Seeker. James' position as Head Auror has financed the family well, and the Potter's reputation at Godric's Hollow was known to be friendly and kind hearted. Most girls in the school adored him- who wouldn't?

However, underneath the boyish looks and the friendly reputation, Harry was also a gifted Legilimen who could perceive the human thought as easy as reading Dick and Jane. The closer the distance, the easier he could read someone's thoughts and character as long as he had concentrated, even without the aid of a wand or a spell.

Coincidentally, when Draco Malfoy past by him that morning and had accidentally brushed his arm with the back of his robes, Harry's attention immediately perked at the lack of information he was receiving.

"Oi!" Harry shouted, causing everyone to jump a little bit and Draco to turn around from where he was standing, "Erm..." he shifted his gaze from everyone and focused on Draco. Still nothing. "Are you new? I haven't seen you around before, I'm Harry." He smiled broadly, raising his hand to signal for a handshake.

Surprised by the greeting, Draco stared at the hand, and awkwardly shook it, immediately catching the look of alert that danced on Harry's face for half a second. He pulled back, and shuffled to the side of the room where Professor McGonagall doesn't bother to look. Thinking that the random introduction with Harry Potter was odd, but refusing to pursue the oddity of the matter, Draco slouched on to the seat and covered his face for a quick nap. Despite having to be schooled over and and over again with the same information, he had never done well in his O.W.L.s. Now that he had suddenly entered seventh level of schooling -without warning, but Draco suspected it was due to his mistake in the previous year with her- he now had to take new classes as well as passing his N.E.W.T.s. Like he ever did well in school.

"Class," Professor McGonagall said, sweeping into the class with a brush of her modest dress robes and a flick of her wand, "Turn your book to page 599- Weasley, please begin class discussion on your perspective of last night's assignment."

Weasley, Draco sneered, forced to be thinking of her once more. Her dull brother's presence did not help with the guilt and loneliness he was experiencing this year. Weasleys are not good people, Draco decided, too absorbed in his own thoughts to bother listening to Ron Weasley's stuttering.

In the centre of the room, however, was Harry doing exactly what Draco was doing. Bothered by the lack of presence he had felt- or, not felt, when he met this mysterious blonde boy with no thoughts or personality (or maybe he was performing Occulumency), Harry frowned as he turned to sneak a look at him.

"Though you are doing well in my class, Potter, I still expect you to look as if though you care about this subject." McGonagall said, interrupting his thoughts. She loomed over his desk with her usual gaze of strictness.

Now that's not fair, Harry thought as he quickly glanced back at the board. He had just saw the other boy sleeping- very openly, in fact, yet McGonagall had decided to yell at him and not the obvious wrong doer in the room.

Suddenly inspired by another thought, Harry shuffled around his parchment paper and books and pretended to grab out a new sheet when in actuality he had taken out his father's Marauder's Map. He had secretly taken it from his father's reading room the previous summer and found it very useful, especially when he had to identify the name of a very pretty girl and ask her as a date for the Yule Ball.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He whispered, tapping his wand, and the map unfolded to reveal a very large piece of parchment paper. He saw McGonagall's weary and beady eyes immediately fix upon him and his notes, and relaxed when her strict gaze soften. Harry knew it was because the map had probably disguised itself to become a long set of Transfiguration notes.

Using his quill, he pointed out his location, and slowly drew out to the far left of the Transfiguration room. "Parvarti Patil... Lavender Brown... Blaise Zabini..." he stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized Zabini, and he knew before him was Lavender, but right after Zabini was the mysterious boy sleeping in Transfiguration class, yet his father's witty and all knowing map did not seem to know his name.

"Mischief managed." He muttered, watching the ink disappear. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He repeated, and the Marauder's Map reveal the characters once more- yet it was the boy's name that did not show up.

With curiosity, Harry quietly hid his map and focused on McGonagall once more. Born October 4th 1935, born to a Muggle pastor and his witch wife. She was thinking of how utterly irresponsible it was of Vincent Crabbe that he had decided to skip her class once again, and she was going to give him an excess amount of homework the next day. Harry decided to send in an idea of failing him still after that course of labour. McGonagall happily accepted the idea as her own.

The map marked everyone's place, except for the mysterious blonde boy. His Leglimency proved it's top notch abilities, except it failed to find a sense of character, thought, or overall presence from him.

Harry decided it was worth a challenge.