Disclaimer: Don't own anything remotely Harry Potter. Nor do I own Death.
It was his eyes that gave him away. Malfoy eyes. Normally so guarded and devoid of all emotion, making it hard to believe there was any emotion at all. But it was there all right. Locked away behind walls and boundaries he'd made for himself, never letting it rise to the surface. Never letting himself truly feel.
But in those few moments previously, when Death was the most prominent thing in both of our minds, and one of his long-time accomplices screams echoed in his ears, something inside him visibly broke. Mortality stared us in the face, and whilst I hardly acknowledged the familiar gaze, Malfoy stared right back. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
And what he saw in those bottomless, colourless eyes is a mystery to me, but I know it broke him. Shattered his defences into thousands of useless pieces; crushed his already dying soul, twisting it and bending it upon itself until it was too broken to do anything but die.
The light in his eyes, that had previously been hidden so carefully, was lying bare, surrounded by the ashes of his emotionless mask, but as soon as I noticed it, it died. Curled into a ball and gave up, just like that.
He was still standing there, staring at the wall, but it wasn't him at all. It was someone else, someone I didn't know. Someone who didn't even know himself.
And as I watched his face contort with pain, anguish and rage, such anger that it burned like a fire within him, I also watched the Draco I thought I knew, run away into the deep recesses of his mind. Draco was replaced by cold, emotionless Malfoy, whose sole intent was to kill. Anyone and everyone would die if they as much as looked at him.
Death lit a fire inside his heart, and it burnt his heart to ash. But the fire didn't stop there. It spread like the plague through his body, and when it reached his mind, it curled in upon itself, like paper. And his soul ran away screaming.
Yes, Death's stare killed him. The Draco that walks the earth now is nothing like the loving, passionate teenager I knew so well. No, he is nothing but a stranger. To me, to his family, to his friends, to himself. A soulless, sadistic, broken stranger.
All the conformation you need is his eyes. They're empty. He's empty. Of everything and anything. Death killed him, with one look, and then the beast sucked him dry, leaving nothing but a broken shell behind.
A broken shell without any eyes.
A/N: ...Is this disjointed? I was disjointed when I wrote it, so it wouldn't surprise me. Please, do tell if it makes any sense. And whether or not you liked it. And any improvements I could make, because there must be a few, at least...