Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

C\'est La Vie	By : temptedtorock Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4517 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Death Note, nor any of their characters. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-C'est La Vie
- 2-Chapter 1
- 1
- 2
Prologue
Little Harry stared at the black notebook with pretty, curving letters on the cover in fascination. It was lying innocently upon the dirty concrete of the parking lot. Aunt Petunia was already further ahead by the car, attempting to wrestle the trunk open, her hands leaden down by the many shopping bags Harry wasn't able to carry. His arms were still much too small, his undeveloped muscles far too weak to be able to take the whole burden, so Petunia had been forced to carry most of the fresh groceries on her own. A muttered string of curses left the struggling woman's mouth as a bag slipped through her tight hold just as the lid popped open, spilling the contents all over the ground. Aunt Petunia glared down at the disaster with a pinched expression, and glanced up to locate her nephew with a scowl so dark, Harry would have known to hide as fast as possible if he had seen it.
But little Harry's attention was not on his angry Aunt. It was foolhardy of him to ignore four years worth of ingrained survival instincts, yet he couldn't tear his eyes off the notebook. In that moment, the woman's scary temper was the last thing on his young mind. How incredibly curious this object was!
The day had begun as any normal day in the Dursley household. Harry had woken up to make breakfast for his Uncle Vernon and his cousin, Dudley, as Aunt Petunia had attempted to get them out of bed upstairs. This usually took at least twenty minutes; plenty enough time to make the scrambled eggs - seasoned with the perfect amount of salt and pepper - and fry the whole packet of bacons - with special care to their crunchiness - the family's male members liked to consume in the mornings. After Uncle Vernon had left for work at the prestigious Grunnings, taking his son along to be dropped off at the kindergarden, Harry had spent the next half an hour tidying up the kitchen, as was his routine. Aunt Petunia hated messes after all, and it never bode well for little Harry if his Aunt was displeased with something, especially himself.
Harry had then retreated to his cupboard to await further instructions. His Aunt always had small chores for him to do, like scrubbing the toilet or watering the lawn. He was happy to help with whatever he could. He was such a burden after all. Poor Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were forced to put up with his freakshess - Harry couldn't yet pronounce the word freakishness - so it was only right to 'earn his keep', as Uncle Vernon was fond of saying.
After he had gotten his orders to reorganize the garden shed, Harry had been busy until midday. When he had stepped back into the house, a bundle of cloth had come hurtling at his head, which Harry had managed to catch before it could drop to the pristine hardwood floor. Upon closer examination, Harry had been pleased to discover a clean, if a little faded, set of Dudley's old clothes. A happy smile had stretched his cheeks, and he had looked up at his Aunt with unadulterated joy.
They were going out! And she was taking Harry with her!
Washing up in the bathroom hurriedly with cold water from the sink - he was not allowed to use the hot tap unless given express permission for a real shower - he had dressed and scurried to the front door, where his Aunt Petunia had been tapping her foot in an impatient manner. She had huffed, but yanked him over the threshold and to the car, careful to touch no more than the sleeve of his shirt. The engine had been already set into motion and the doors had been opened. Harry had climbed inside, settling in his designated spot in the back. The tattered newspaper covering the faux leather seat had crunched under his weight. The sound had drawn an irritated glance from his Aunt, but Harry could do little to please her in this regard; he couldn't just contamate - contaminate was also a difficult word to remember - the upholstery! That would be terribly rude.
They had ridden to the supermarket in complete silence. Aunt Petunia expressed her disgust for the 'horrible noise they call music these days' often, so the radio was a taboo whenever she was present, and Harry knew better than trying to converse. Preposterous! Good freaks should always know their place.
The supermarket had been almost empty, only a few housewives like his Aunt browsing the shelves. Harry had pushed the cart while his Aunt had selected the desired goods. It had gotten hard to navigate with the ever growing pile of food blocking his vision and the weight making each push a trial for his small form, but he had managed with no accidents, thankfully. Perhaps he could even get a bread-roll for a job well done later. The thought had made Harry giddy. It was the reason he liked shopping so much; if he performed well, his Aunt sometimes showed her approval by giving him a treat. It was the best chore, ever!
At the checkout, the blonde cashier had shot indulgent smiles at Harry as he shoveled the groceries into the paper bags, though he had remained attentive not to put the easily squished or breakable things in the bottom. Aunt Petunia had grimaced upon spying the source of the lady's fond gaze, but had said nothing. If her eyes were a little cooler, the woman hadn't noticed. Harry, on the other hand, had winced. There went his chance at lunch.
They had been walking back to the car, their footsteps loud in the deserted parking lot, when the most extraordinary event had occurred. Harry had been lagging behind; a shoelace had come undone, so a great dose of caution had to be exercised if he wanted a meal at all that day. It wouldn't do to spoil his family's food, brought with Uncle Vernon's hard-earned money, by being clumsy and tripping. He had clutched the groceries to his chest tighter at the thought, craning his neck to the side so he could see where he was stepping from behind the towering bags.
Then, Harry had caught something strange in his peripheral vision. He had whipped his head up, his heart skipping a beat. Something had been falling from the sky, speeding down very fast, and Harry had become instantly worried. A bird must have forgotten how to fly, because there could be no other explanation. He had come to an abrupt halt, wanting nothing more than to save the poor thing from getting crushed by the landing. But how could he do that with his hands full? Should he throw the bags away to save the pitiful, forgetful animal? But if he did, where would that leave him? The Dursleys would be so angry...
However, little Harry had hesitated too long. It took no more than a second for the bird to reach the ground, less than the span of time between blinks. He had cringed at the dull thud, his lids already gluing themselves shut to avoid the grisly scene without conscious decision. An endless moment had passed, his heart hammering as tears threatened to spill, and Harry had finally cracked an eye open with difficulty. That poor-poor creature!
When the mostly still hidden, watery green orb had found the spot the tragedy had taken place at, both eyes had shot open wide in surprise. There was no bird there at all. Instead, it was - Harry searched his memories for the correct term - a notebook. How very strange, indeed! What on earth had a notebook been doing in the sky? They certainly shouldn't be able fly; that would be freaky. Freaky things were not supposed to happen, except around Harry. That was why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were always so disappointed with him. The world was not meant for freaky things. Yet, here lay the hard evidence to disapprove that absolute theory.
As Harry stood there, staring at his fellow freak and not hearing his cursing Aunt as she collected the scattered contents of her bag, he couldn't help feeling a little happy. He was not alone in freakshess after all! This was wonderful, even if a little sad at the same time. The notebook must have been cast away for its unacceptable tendencies, for not following the rules of a proper, normal world. Harry felt a strong sort of camaraderie with it. The same thing had happened to him as well; his parents had been so disappointed with him, they had been unable to bear his presence. His Aunt and Uncle had been kind enough to take him in though, and Harry couldn't have been more grateful. He was lucky to have such nice people for an extended family.
Perhaps it was his turn to show the same type of kindness. He could take the freak in, teach it how a normal notebook ought to behave. What a splendid idea! Harry was a fundamentally nice person, so his determination was unsurprising.
He was about to bend over to place the groceries on the ground so he could retrieve the unruly notebook, when his Aunt Petunia's shrill voice stopped him mid-move. Harry blinked, then shuddered when he saw her striding toward him, her lips forming an enraged, bloodless line as she gritted her teeth. How many times had she called him? He straightened, throwing an unsure glance at his partner in crime, taunting him from a mere three feet away. Should he leave it after all? His Aunt was getting nearer. But how could he do that? He would probably not get any food either way now, so what could it hurt?
Yet again, the hesitation had cost him the freedom of choice. His Aunt was there, hooking her spidery fingers into the sleeve of his shirt and she pulled. Harry stumbled forward, getting as far as two steps before gravity was left to run its course. His balance was lost, and his arms shot forward to abort the fall. The bags fell with deafening plops. Harry froze on his hands and knees, staring at the container of eggs that oozed a gooey mix of yolk and whites on the concrete. His Aunt was hissing at him like a cat, darting her eyes around the parking lot to search for any witnesses to Harry's shameful display of incompetence. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction when she found no one in the vicinity, and Harry sighed in relief as well. Oh, how embarrassed his Aunt would be if people knew what an abomation - abomination was a very hard word - she had to put up with!
"You freak!" she spat, clearer, her face contorted into a scary mask. "Clean that up! And you better hope that there are enough eggs left for tomorrow's breakfast. I don't have time to buy more now. I have to pick up Diddy-Dumms from the kindergarden in an hour."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry murmured quietly, as she strode away to finish organizing everything in the trunk, muttering about the stupid freak under her breath.
Resigned to the well-deserved punishment that was in store for him later on, Harry raked the scattered onions and other vegetables back into the scrunched paper, leaving the broken eggs for last. He grimaced as the icky sludge stuck to his fingers, but he situated the box carefully on a bed of lettuce only Aunt Petunia ever ate.
He was ready to hoist the packed groceries up, when he remembered the notebook. Looking to the side, he saw his Aunt rummaging around at the back of the car. She wouldn't be pleased if she knew - he wasn't supposed to have things of his own, let alone freaky things, but...
All his muscles tensed at once, and he turned his head in a slow, robotic motion, until the cause of the whole mess came into sight. After a few motionless heartbeats, he checked on the fuming woman one last time, and sprinted ahead as if the Devil itself was on his heals. His fingers stretched forward, grabbing hold of his prize, which he shoved into his waistband and covered up with his shirt. He ran back to the bags, and panted as if he had completed no less than an entire marathon. His hands and knees trembled, yet there was an imperceptible, exhilarated grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He had done it! The notebook was his!
- CLV -
And so had the remarkable event come to pass, wherein Harry Potter gained possession of a small, black notebook titled: Death Note.

A/N: I would love to hear your opinions! :)
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

C\'est La Vie