Title: To Master Death
Author: Chris F. (Antarprince, Marcus Riddle, et al)
Fandom: Harry Potter/Death Note-ish
Warnings/Notes: AU, Post-GOF, Slash, Shota/Chan (Harry is 14/15 and the other is 17), OOC-ness, Violence, Crossover – Technically, though I do not use any of the Death Note plot, only rudimentary concepts there in (I do not use the Death Note).
Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter, nor Death Note. They belong to their creators respectively.
Harry growled as he tossed the Prophet down on his Rickety Desk, in his room at Number Four Privet Drive. “Bloody Idiots,” he mumbled sourly as sat down on the equally sub-par cot. Well, it certainly couldn't be called a bed. Uncle Vernon had grudgingly pulled it out of the shed after seeing the address on his Hogwarts letter four years ago and given him Dudley's second bedroom – much to his cousins ire mind you, but gods forbid 'The Freaks' come and check on him properly.
It wasn't much really; the cot was lumpy, rundown and generally uncomfortable. Then there was the room itself that was small and cramped, barely more then a walk-in closet in Harry's opinion, but it was better then the cupboard under the stairs so he kept his complaints to himself.
He had been back at the Dursley's barely a month and the media was having a field day while he sat in a variable cage, unable to defend himself. He had been relegated to the nosebleed section of the paper basically. Every issue, in some pollacks two-bit story the reporter would make a jab about 'A story worthy of Potter.' They thought he was an attention seeking brat!
“Don't know what I expected actually...” Harry sighed to himself, of course they didn't believe him! The wizarding world was so afraid of one man that they reduced themselves to call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who instead of Voldemort like they should. Merlin, even that name was a fraud. What did he expect coming out of an illegally entered tournament no less, screaming that he was back?
OK, he had hoped that popping up carrying Cedric's body might lend him some credence, but he wasn't overly surprised that it hadn't. Fear did such things, impairing peoples logic.
That didn't make the situation any less frustrating, though. Two years of life threatening situation, three if you count his third year, though technically nobody knew about that one – one of which he'd ended up saving Ginny Weasley's life. He didn't ask for credit, or compensation or anything of the sort and Gods know he didn't want it, but was it too much to ask that he be believed when it mattered? For Merlin's sake, a student lost his life and the Ministry is turning a blind eye. He was just waiting on them to pin Cedric's murder to him.
To top it off, he was being worked like a House-elf and barely eating for his troubles. Vernon looked for any excuse to with hold food from him; and with Dudley's diet, which wasn't helping him much... Harry thought that might have something to do with him sneaking off to Piers' place and skimping on it might have something to do with that little fact, but that was beside the point. With Dudley's ineffective diet imposed he wasn't getting much these days to begin with, because Aunt Petunia had decided that if her Duddikins had to suffer, that the entire household had to do the same.
Compound that with his scare that seemed to sting evermore frequently these last few weeks- oh yes, he was having a bloody peachy summer, let him tell ya.
Harry sighed in discontentment. Nothing I can do about it now I suppose, he thought with a bored expression as he looked out at the rapidly darkening sky from his window. “At least Vernon got rid of the bars,” he said and smiled at the memory of his Uncles paling face at the mention of his godfather. After that the bars were off by the Weekend. Granted, Vernon had made him do it himself, but he didn't mind.
At least Hedwig can come and go without issue now, he thought. After all, it's not as if she has anything better to do. A month stuck here and his friends hadn't written written him one time, nobody had. He'd even checked with Dobby on the off chance that the little elf might be detaining his mail again, but he had not, he simply wasn't being written to it seemed.
To be far, he supposed he didn't expect Sirius to write him, not really. After all, he imagined it would be rather difficult to sit and pen a proper letter when you're on the run – he wasn't completely selfish, but he doubted his friends had similar excuses. He snorted at the thought; oh yeah, he could see it now -
Sorry I haven't written ya mate, but we've been a bit preoccupied. After, the incident in the Tournament the Ministry decided to question us about you: Our history, whether you have a history of disruption, Pollocks like that. I'm not too worried about it though; Hermione says there's no grounds to hold us.
See ya on your birthday, Mom's already nagging the Headmaster about bringing you to the Burrow She can be downright scary.
On second thought, given recent events he wouldn't put it past Fudge to do something like that. The man was an idiot if he thought that Harry didn't know that he was the one leading this smear campaign. Didn't the idiot know that by playing this game of his he was just giving Tom more time to prepare? Then again, it was possible the man actually thought he was making it up. Either way, Harry had decided that the Minister was a Dumb ass.
Harry pushed the Ministers incompetence from his mind and looked to Hedwig who was watching him from her cage, her large amber eyes watching him dolefully, and shining with an eerie glint in the fading light. “Oy, what is it girl,” he asked her. “You wanna go hunting?” He smiled as the owl answered him, hooting in response. “Well go on then,” he said stretching tiredly as he sat up. He groaned when he heard the muscles in in his back pop. “I suppose one of us aught to get some exercise.”
Hedwig took flight from her open cage, and swooped landing on Harry's shoulder, hooting and nipping at his ear affectionately. “You're welcome,” he chuckled. “Happy hunting.” The owl gave another hoot and took flight out the open winder into the coming night.
So, Harry was once again left alone in the silence and this wasn't a happy thing. He hated letting his thoughts wonder. At least with Hedwig here there was something to focus on. Ah, no he would not sink into self pity, none of the last few years were his fault,and he would not take the blame for it, no matter what Uncle Vernon said. He did not kill his parents, or Cedric for that matter!
Oh, but you told him; you said to take the cup together even after he told you to take it. You may not have been the instrument of his death, but certainly the catalyst. You and your inane Gryiffindor nobility.
No! He argued with himself, wincing as the pain in his scar spiked. I didn't force Cedric to take the cup and I told him that it was a trap. I told him to take the cup and go, he chose to stay!
His conscience chuckled darkly in a kind of satisfaction at his answer. Oh yes, that he did. He chose to stay and protect you...
Boy!” Vernon's obnoxious voice bellowed, pulling Harry from his internal debate. Harry growled in aggravation; whether at himself, or his uncle he wasn't certain. “Boy, get down here, we haven't got all night!”
I don't know why he bothers, he thought to himself. Probably just to try and rub my nose into something he thinks I care about. It's not as if he didn't know the routine as it was, he'd been though it a hundred times in the past whenever Vernon had a Business dinner. Harry would spend the afternoon cooking – none of which Harry would get to eat mind you, because Petunia couldn't cook to save a life. Then, later that evening they would all dress to impress and Petunia would play the gracious host for her husband while Vernon showed off his ''strapping' son while the Dinner guests complimented Petunia on 'her' cooking – all of this after Vernon informed Harry that he was not to make so much as a peep that evening.
Harry rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up out of bed. Here we go, he thought. “Coming, Uncle Vernon!” He responded lazily. Sedately he made his way through the hall and down the stairs. It would probably irritate his uncle; but why should he rush, it's not as if he would get to eat.
He found them in the front room – which looked as good as new, he noted yet again. You'd never guess that Author Weasley demolished it the previous year, albeit in self-defense as his Uncle launched porcelain projectiles at the Muggle-loving mans head. Granted, the Twins did instigate it by giving Dudley Ton-tongue toffee and enlarging his tongue to triple it's size, he chuckled fondly at the memory. That's what the fat ass got for eating mysterious candy.
The Dursley's were doing their usual pre-dinner run, attempting to choreograph the evenings events before hand – all guided by Vernon. Petunia stood by the kitchen in a pretty flowery dress, gesturing and attempting to act the gracious host. Dudley stood by the door in an overly large suit like his father, practicing his line. “May I take your coats,” he repeated over and over again with different gestures trying to make himself look more dignified; as Vernon watched all of this, his hair gelled back, a greedy smile playing at his lips.
Harry simply snorted and shook his head at the display. The Dursley's spent so much time trying to look normal, that it made them Abnormal. “You Called?” He drawled, drawing their attention.
It was like watching animals, the way they moved. All three heads snapped in his direction in unison.; only as opposed to the look one might expect of a wild animal that has spotted it's pray, he only saw disdain in the Dursley's eyes. Harry would have laughed if it wasn't so creepy.
“It's about bloody time boy,” Vernon glowered. “I called four times.” Harry raised a brow at his Uncles statement, but held his silence. He had only heard the man yell twice, and he had heard him the first time. He wasn't some mutt that came running at a whistle, though there were those in society that viewed him and others as such.
Predictable as always, Harry thought in boredom. As he'd memorized the gist of this little speech – if you could call it that, he only half listened. “Now you see here boy,” Vernon said in a low tone – trying to be intimidating he guessed. “This is a very important dinner and I will not have you cock it up, understand?”
Harry wanted to argue that it wasn't him that he had to worry about screwing up his dinner. If anything he should be more worried about Dudley doing that. How they thought Dudley was anything other then a fat slob Harry would never know; it was just another example of a parent's ability to delude themselves. On well, it wasn't any concern of his if his relatives wanted to ignore their sons short comings, they would be the ones to suffer for it in the end, not him. So, he just nodded his head in understanding.
“I'm warning you boy,” the man glared. “Any funny business, and it'll be the cupboard for you the rest of the summer.” He spat the words Funny Business like it pained him, but Harry supposed he understood why; that was the closest his uncle would ever come to uttering the word magic after all. “Any at all. Godfather or no, I promise.”
Harry actually smirked at this statement, much to his uncle's ire. He was quite surprised, though impressed as well at Vernon's courage. To brush aside the looming threat of Sirius Black in favor of this dinner, it must be important. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.” He acquiesced, choosing to reward his Uncles bravery in this way. “May I at least get a sandwich before they get here?”
Vernon Dursley looked at his nephew oddly; as if he were looking for some sign that the boy was up to something, but failing. “Fine,” he conceded grudgingly. “Be quick about it!”
“Thank you , Uncle Vernon.” He made his way past his Aunt and into the Kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Hedwig was out hunting, so he didn't need to worry about her. Meanwhile; Vernon wore a pleased expression on his fat face, as if he thought he had somehow put the boy in his place.
As Harry made his way back to his room his uncle stopped him again. “And no Ruddy Owls,” he said to Harry pointedly. The last thing he needed was for nice normal people to see his nephews freakish mail. Harry just nodded and continued his trek up the stairs, sandwich in hand. It didn't matter much, it wasn't as if he was expecting letters from his friends.
So it was that Harry went back to his room and ate his sandwich in solitude, and out of shear boredom he picked up his Potions Textbook and began to study. Yet another advantage to having a mass murdering godfather; the Dursley's promptly returned his school books. “If I have to be bored then I may as well study,” he said. Snape would be starting on restorative droughts come September and he wanted an essay on the Pepper-up potion first thing, so he may as well get it done now.
Hermione would be so proud, he chuckled as he took quill in hand and labeled his parchment.
Harry J Potter
Pepper up Potion is a potion which relieves the symptoms of colds and flu, although it doesn't seem to actually provide a cure. It has the side-effect of causing steam to come out of the drinker's ears for several hours after imbibing it...
He continued on like this, checking facts and writing as he went: a list of ingredients, and their effects and counters in regard to the potion and its stated side-effects. He even gave a brief biography of Glover Hipworth, the man who invented the potion. Hermione accused him of having no work ethic, but he thought he was rather thorough. He didn't think Snape could fail this paper if he tried – which Harry assumed he would, and smiled at the thought of an irate Severus Snape unable to do it.
The sound of knocking from outside and anxious muffled whispers pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked at the clock curiously. Ah; he had been working nearly an hour, that must be Vernon's dinner guests.
Harry got up rose from his desk to look out the window. If he angled just right then he could see the front door, and the visitors. There were four, a harsh, but strong man with a dark, thick mustache and glasses. The man was dressed casually, but respectably for a dinner date. It was similar to Uncle Vernon, but at the same time, Harry thought, far less flashy.
There were two women with him; one of them was older and Harry assumed that she was the man's wife. The other was younger and around Harry's age if he had to guess – fourteen, maybe fifteen; but the boy was the one that caught his attention. He held himself in a way that Harry admired; with his dark skin and brown hair, like his sisters. It was obvious dyed, because Harry could tell this family wasn't English.
Headphones plugged his ears as he surveyed his surroundings with a sense of detachment. His eyes met Harry's for a moment – looked directly at him and despite himself, Harry flushed. His dark locks were cut in a look that always looked wind blown and that only brought attention to his hypnotic chocolate eyes. Then he looked away and Harry cursed himself. Damned Hormones, he really hated puberty.
Harry's curiosity was alleviated somewhat as the older woman stoke to the boy, tapping his shoulder to draw his attention. “Teiku ofu sono hitsu-fons, Raito,” she told him. She was soft-spoken and did not raise her voice, but at the same time she was firm as if she expected obedience.
The boy, Raito she'd said seemed to understand her intent and removed the headphones from his ears. Harry heard a hard beat issue forth from them and wondered at how loud it must have been if he could hear it.
“Hai, hahaoya.” Raito responded simply, switching off his CD player and pocketing it in his jacket.
Harry just shook his head and went back to his desk to finish his potions essay. “Merlin, I hope Uncle Vernon doesn't tell his Japanese Golfer joke,” he smirked.
Raito looked around the small entryway of the house as he stepped in and handed away his dress-coat, paying no mind at all to the person who took it. There was nothing outwardly wrong, or out of place about the house, but he inwardly sneered all the same. He definitely did not approve.
“Mister Yagami!” A man Raito assumed to be a cow, or a manatee at first, greeted his father cheerfully. “Welcome,” he said. “Dinner will be served shortly; would you or your family like refreshments while we wait?”
Was that spit he just saw coming from the mans mouth?
“That would be fine, Dursley-dono,” the older man said respectfully – using very deliberate English.
In Japan it was considered polite tradition to remove the shoes in the home, a tradition the Yagami patriarch chose to observe in his host's home, but Raito noticed that as his father did this that Mr. Dursley only looked confused, and vaguely disgusted – which he thought was rather stupid. If you were going to invite a foreigner into your home wouldn't it be appropriate to have at least a passing knowledge of their customs, but then again the man didn't look too intelligent to Raito.
He just sighed, following his fathers lead.
Dursley lead them into the sitting room, where the television was playing the news quietly in the background, and motioned for them to sit. His father and mother sat in the love-seat together while Raito shared the couch with his sister, and Dursley and the boy who took his jacket sat in solitary chairs by themselves.
“Let me make introductions,” he said and introduced himself as Vernon. “This is my son, Dudley.” It was the boy, but Raito thought he looked more like a swine then a human being. “My wife Petunia is just preparing dinner; as I said, she should be along shortly.”
He greeted them both politely. “This is my wife, Sachiko,” he said with a sight incline of his head. “These are my children; my daughter Sayou, and my son Raito.”
Raito smirked inwardly as his father conveniently forgot to give the man his own name. Yagami Soichiro was a fair, but strict man. He didn't like to become too familiar with future employees. The Yagami family was an old wealthy one and Soichiro had purchased Grunnings Drill Company, intent on expanding the family portfolio. This was then, effectively an employee evaluation.
“Mr. Dursley,” Raito said indifferently by way of greeting.
A few minutes later a tall, lanky, altogether horse-like woman entered the room and politely informed them all that the meal was waiting. “Thank you Pet dear,” Vernon Dursley smiled. “This is my lovely wife, Petunia.”
“Pleasure.” Petunia replied and flashed a girlish smile. Introductions made she made to lead them to their dinner. “This way,” she gestured to the kitchen with a practiced ease.
So they ate and at first it was quiet, the only sound was the clatter of silverware. Petunia asked Soichiro if he would like more wine once, or twice – to which he declined. It was plainly obvious that their hosts were nervous.
“Well.” Vernon bravely broke the silence, clearing his throat. This was his job on the line after all, better show some initiative. “I must admit that I was rather Surprised to hear that Grunnings had been bought out.”
Soichiro seemed to approve of this, because he smiled – speaking, again in deliberate English. “Well, I've always had quite an eye for business. I learned it from my father,” he explained. “It have potential to be very profitable.”
Vernon's smile widened upon hearing this, because profitable businesses meant more money and more money meant pay raises.
This seemed to brake the tension and they all began to converse. Vernon and Soichiro began to discuss business and the inner workings of Grunnings, as they ate leisurely. Sayou and Sachiko began to discuss household matters. Sachiko asked how Petunia kept the house virtually spotless, while Sayou was intent on how she had managed to make the Roast so succulent.
The Youngest Dursley wasn't even paying attention, focused on his plate which seemed to be piled mountainously high with food. Raito wondered vaguely if the boy had spent any extended time in America.
Raito, for his part was simply getting board. He didn't want to interrupt his father and was certainly not interested in his sisters conversation, or the Pigmy's eating habits.
His thought's turned to Harry – the boy in the window. “Forgive me.” He spoke to his father for interrupting him, but turned to Vernon. “May I ask where you're bathroom is?”
This caused all three of the Dursley's to look at him for a moment. The Dursley Patriarch looked at his wife briefly, before she answered, some of the cheerfulness faded from her voice. “Right at the top of the stairs, where you came in.” She told him. “You can't miss it.”
“Arigatou, Petunia-sama.” He said to her, and quietly made his way out of the room.
He found the restroom at the top of the stairs; just as Petunia said he would, but he did not enter it. Instead he stalked quietly along the hall and back toward the front of the house. There were three bedrooms there; one was obviously the Master Bedroom, the other was smaller. It had a Television, a stereo, a Super Nintendo and a PC, but it was empty. So that meant....
He came to the third bedroom and raised an eyebrow, expression caught between a sneer and curiosity. This was the boy's room – he had deduced that much. The door was opened; he could see lamp light coming through the unlatched door, but it bore several locks and a Cat-trap.
Raito liked the Dursley's less and less.
He pushed the door open enough to slide in, pressing down on the door to prevent it from squeaking as it moved. The room was very spartan in nature, only a bed, dresser and Desk – which is where Harry sat. He had finished his potions essay and since moved on to Transfiguration.
The walls were rather bare, but there were adornments on it. There was a red flag tacked to the wall, it had gold lettering and said Gryiffindor in script. There was a poster as well; it depicted a Lion, drawn up on its hind-quarters roaring against a Multi-colored shield of the Hogwarts crest.
“Like Cats?” Raito asked, nodding to the Gryiffindor poster on the wall. “It some cultures Felines are an omen of death,” he informed the fourteen year old. “I'm partial to Kenine's myself though.”
Harry's head jerked up at the sound of someone in his room and his hand reflexively went for his wand, but it wasn't their. Damn it, he'd left it under his pillow! He looked to the source of the voice – it was only one of Vernon's dinner guests, but his heart jumped into his throat at the words death omen and Kenines.
“Who are you...” Harry asked warily, considering reaching for his wand. It was only a few feet away.
“My name it Raito,” he said as he gave a disarming grin – flashing pearly white, perfect teeth. “Though, you can call me Light if you like, it means the same thing.” He told him. “What's your name?”
Harry looked at that innocent, boy-ish smile and he felt himself relax. The tension in his shoulders went away and he retracted his arm, leaving his wand tucked away. Light didn't mean any harm. “Harry,” he answered the older boy. “My name is Harry.” Raito smiled in approval and Harry felt himself flush again. Bloody hell, stop it! Harry berated himself.
“Why aren't you having dinner with your family?” Raito asked.
Harry snorted. “They aren't my family – just my guardians,” Harry replied. “Has Vernon lost his job yet?” He quipped.
Raito laughed at the boys question, he certainly was perceptive enough. “No, he hasn't,” he told him. “He seems like a decent man; polite and respectful.”
“Oh, I assure you that Uncle Vernon is a good actor if nothing else.”
“I thought as much,” he sighed. “Sadly, unless it affects his performance, you can't fire people for being pigs.” Harry actually giggles at lights insult of his uncle, it was rather cute. “I'd better get back, goodnight Harry.”
Raito left the room and went back down the hall. Before he descended the stairs, he entered the bathroom where he proceeded to flush the unused toilet and wash his hands.
The song playing on Light's CD player is - “The World,” by Nightmare. I know, they Debuted way after 1995, but the only music that fit the fic was the music that inspired it, so I used it.
For those of you who have Seen Death Note – Yes I know Soichiro's Career is incorrect. It's one of those AU aspects of the story, and others will become apparent as the story progresses.
“Dursley-dono” - Roughly “Mister Dursley”
“Yagami Soichiro “ - In Japan it is common for the Sir name to come before the Given.
“Arigatou, Petunia-sama.” - “Thank you, Petunia”. In this case Sama is meant as a Simi-polite term.
“Teiku ofu sono hitsu-fons, Raito-kun,” - “Take off those headphones, Raito.”
“Hai, hahaoya.” - “Yes, Mother.”
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