Disclaimer: I own neither The Book Thief nor the Harry Potter series. Those belong to Markus Zusak and J.K. Rowling respectively.

A/N: My first crossover fic! Please enjoy, and keep in mind that I can in no way imitate Zusak's writing. This is a feeble attempt.

Also, the first four sentences are a direct quote from The Book Thief and the last four sentences are almost a direct quote.

First the colors.

Then the humans.

That's usually how I see things.

Or at least, how I try.

* * * THE FIRST COLOR * * *

Orange.

Fire orange. Burning orange. Living orange.

I arrived at the school as the boy was eaten by his own creation that roared all around him. As the others flew away to safety, I loosened his soul from his body, still alive with flames, and carried him away.

It was the first of the night. I would be back many times before the sun rose.

The next color was grey. The color of rubble.

* * * AN IMAGE * * *

A wall has exploded. The air chokes
on the dust. There is a cry, and four people
kneel beside a body.

Why do they always try to deny it? One of the redheaded men was shouting his brother's name, saying no again and again.

I reached for the boy's soul. His eyes were open, staring Death in the face, and he was smiling. His soul was light.

* * * AN ANNOUNCEMENT THAT MAY * * *
OR MAY NOT SURPRISE YOU

I do not enjoy it.

To take someone's life from their body? To steal their soul?

But this isn't about me. Moving on.

The battle raged. My arms grew heavy with my burdens. It certainly is a good thing I am exceptionally strong.

Colors sailed around me. Flying spells. Whispered words. The smell, taste, and sound of pain.

It was green when the werewolf died. The color of my least favorite spell, which is performed far too often. I hesitated before taking him away. He was not wholly human. Deep down, buried as far as he could manage, was a creature.

Then I saw the woman who screamed when she saw his prone body. She sobbed over his chest. Pounded the ground. And I knew.

* * * A REALIZATION * * *

He may not be one hundred percent
human, but he could love and be loved
exactly like one.

I took his soul away like the rest.

The woman was next. Mere moment later. I could feel that she yearned to be with her husband, and she could almost imagine her telling me, Hurry up, will you? Don't keep me from him.

The next color was a swamp. Green and black.

The room was dim; the black shadows lit eerily by the glow of the Dark Lord's snake's cage.

* * * TO CLEAR UP CONFUSION * * *

If anyone should be called the Dark Lord,
it should be me.

I watched as the Dark Lord commanded his snake to kill.

I watched as his victim crumpled to the floor.

I watched as his red blood stained the wood and the Dark Lord left without looking back.

I watched as the trapdoor opened and Boy Who Lived appeared from underneath my cloak.

The Boy Who Lived.

The boy with the tainted soul.

It was the first time I had seen him, face to face, since the rat-man's death. That had been only weeks before, but already he looked older, more tired. He had seen a lot. But not as much as me.

He knelt beside the dying man, who cried out silver memories. I prepared myself to lift the soul away from the body. Only moments now.

* * * THE FINAL WORDS OF * * *
THE MAN WITH BLACK EYES

"Look . . . at . . . me . . ."

For a moment, the green and the black fixed together. A murky swamp color. Then the last of the man's strength disappeared and I took his soul.

Then, finally, it was the boy's turn.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. What an appropriate name. He had escaped me countless times, so many that it almost became a game for me. A twisted, perverse game.

But there was no escape this time, and he knew it.

I walked with him through the dark forest. I watched as he summoned the souls of his loved ones using my stone. There was no way for him to bring them back, really, but their faded remnants comforted him.

He was terrified. I could hear it in his breath. Taste it in his words. But he was brave. Truly, truly brave.

Finally, the boy reached the Dark Lord. He declared his presence without a tremble in his voice, and stood there unshaking. The Dark Lord contemplated him, twirling my wand in his fingers. How repulsive, that it should be that wand I created that should kill this boy.

"Harry Potter." The words were an experiment. "The Boy Who Lived."

The boy breathed in, then out. His last.

There was a flash of blinding green, and the Boy Who Lived was no more.

I reached my hands down to take his soul, but there was a problem.

* * * THE PROBLEM * * *

He wasn't ready to go.

I have had the same job since the beginning of time, but I had never seen anything like this before. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I still had work to do, but I followed the boy to his halfway point. I had never before done this with a soul.

The white-bearded wizard whom I was extremely fond of explained everything, to me and the boy. Naturally, I didn't understand everything. But I did remember something. The night the boy's mother died. How she wanted to go back. How she begged me to let her return. I wanted to explain to her that she couldn't. But I didn't have the time.

I traveled back the forest with the boy, collecting the fragment of the Dark Lord's soul that had been latched onto his. There were only two pieces left.

* * * THE LAST COLOR * * *

Red.

It was morning. Sunrise.

We started the night with fire, and ended it with fire. How appropriate.

I had already claimed the second to last part of the Dark Lord's soul from his snake. I stood with the bystanders, watching the Boy Who Lived confront the Dark Lord.

The sun burst over the castle walls as the two shouted their spells to the sky. The green and the red. The green rebounded and the Dark Lord was destroyed.

I felt a morbid sense of satisfaction as I picked up the final part of his broken soul. I don't like killing, and this man, if you could even call him that, had caused far too much.

The last time I saw the Boy Who Lived, he was no longer a boy. He was an old man, the wrinkles on his face counting his years. Like all the best, his soul sat up for me. He had lived a good life and he knew it, and it was finally his turn to come with me.

I wanted to tell him of all the times he had escaped me so narrowly. I wanted to tell him I was always hoping he would make it through. But I think he already knew.

All I was able to do was turn to Harry Potter and tell him the only truth I truly know. I said it to the book thief and the Boy Who Lived and I say it now to you.

* * * A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR * * *

I am haunted by humans.

Hope you enjoyed!

I kinda wish I could have made that longer. But I didn't want it to drag.

By the way, here's a list of characters who's deaths were mentioned, in case anyone is confused.

1) Crabbe

2) Fred

3) Lupin

4) Tonks

5) Snape

6) Harry

7) Voldemort

I didn't include some deaths, like Colin Creevey and Lavender Brown (I'm still not really certain whether she died or not…) because I just wanted to focus on some of the main ones.

Also, Dobby's death wasn't the last time Death saw Harry before the battle because he only collects human souls. New rule.