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
Chapter 1
Harry was terribly bored. He had been shut away in his cupboard for the past day and a half. Not that he disliked his cupboard, of course, he was happy to have his very own space, but the locks on the outside of the door became daunting on occasion. The hunger clawing at his tummy like an angry mommy-bear wasn't too comfortable either, but a freak like him deserved not to eat when he had obviously been in the wrong. Harry had broken not only the eggs yesterday in the parking lot, but then had the nerve to place a carton of milk at the edge of the counter, even though he knew quite well that Dudley was at the age where children were 'most prone to accidents'. The milk had spilled all over his shrieking cousin when the boy had pawed around for a bar of chocolate in its vicinity. Aunt Petunia had been cross, which was understandable.
A creak sounded from outside, the floorboards in need of some repair, despite the meticulous care they were treated with. Harry hated to come across as rude, but he had a suspicion that Uncle Vernon's considerable weight was to blame. Harry often heard quiet snaps and cracks as his Uncle lumbered through the hallway, the hardwood complaining with pitiful groans. The stairs were of the same mind and little Harry was terrified whenever they were in use, dreading the moment they would give up their fight and fall on top of his head.
But this time it was not Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps, as far as he could tell. The thought was confirmed when the locks on his door rattled and Aunt Petunia's face was revealed. She held a plate in her hand, complete with a few pieces of toast that were a little black around the edges and a goop of butter on the side. Harry smiled. He was getting food! He thanked his Aunt as she shoved the plate into his hands, then swung the door shut. It was too dark to see this way, but Harry had discovered the trick long ago; he maneuvered the food close to the crack under the door, enough light filtering in to illuminate that small patch of ground.
He ate his meal with gusto, wondering when he would be allowed out. The punishment was deserved, no doubt, but he worried how his Aunt could possibly manage all those chores alone. Didn't she need Harry? There was so much to do around here, how could she handle it on her own?
When he ate everything, Harry scooted backwards, careful not to crash into his potty. It was starting to get smelly, and he had no desire to spill it all over his cupboard. Reaching his cot, he climbed up on the mattress, drawing his legs up. He hugged his knees to his chest. However much he didn't mind having his own space, Harry could really do without the darkness. He didn't like that part at all.
Something poked at his hip and Harry shifted to get away from the sharp object. He glanced down in the vague direction of his pillow. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the expression cleared just as fast.
The naughty notebook! He had almost forgotten about it. He had hidden it under the pillow as soon as the chance had presented itself, but he had to find a more secure hidey hole for it. Aunt Petunia could have easily discovered it, and Harry shuddered at the possibility.
Glancing at his door with some guilt for being so sneaky, he felt around for the rectangular shape. Placing it on his lap, he stared down at it for a second, blind, before moving back to the crack that let the light through. He wanted to see if there were any pictures in it. Perhaps he could find out why the notebook decided to be freaky, and cure the problem by catching it at the roots.
Opening the cover, he saw many shapes ordered into neat rows beneath each other, but none of them made sense to little Harry. The miniature drawings were called letters, and didn't resemble anything to associate them with, no matter how hard Harry squinted to sharpen his focus in the dark conditions. They were the same as the letters on Uncle Vernon's newspapers and his Aunt's colorful magazines. This meant, even if it was a bit disappointing, that so far the notebook contained at least one thing all good, normal notebooks should.
Harry turned the page, and saw the next was filled with more letters, although they appeared somewhat different from the previous ones. They were smaller, squiggly and uneven, not curvy and pretty. A few more pages in, and the letters disappeared altogether, leaving the notebook blank.
Harry tapped his lips with a finger, thinking. Maybe if he drew the notebook something exciting, it wouldn't go looking for its own adventures, and would stop acting naughty. He nodded to himself. Yes, that was a good plan. He even had a few broken crayons he had fished out from among the trash when Dudley had deemed them useless. He would never dream of actually stealing them. Harry tried hard to be be good, despite being freaky. He knew that the mere possession of the utensils was bad, yet it was such a small infraction... Surely he could be forgiven?
With his course of action decided, Harry scooted over to the wall on his right, the one that wasn't the staircase's bottom. It was made up of bare, wooden panels, nailed together in a haphazard manner. Harry had discovered their precarious state when he had leaned against them once, and a dry-prune plank had dislodged, revealing a dark space behind instead of the main brick-wall one would expect. Little Harry didn't understand the logic behind constructions such as this, he was just glad to find a place where he could secret away smaller items his Aunt and Uncle wouldn't approve of. He had pried a different plank off closer to the floor, and hid anything that could get him into trouble behind it, like the broken toy soldiers and a small, yellow car that was missing its wheels. If he took another one off, maybe he could fit the notebook in later.
After retrieving the jagged stumps of two crayons - one red, the other green - Harry got to work. He had to contemplate for some time, because finding exciting things to draw was harder than it seemed. It was best to refrain from unnatural things his Aunt and Uncle had warned him of; like dragons, and wolfmen, and mermaids. Such things could never exist, and Harry didn't want to further encourage the notebook in being freaky. The whole point was making it normal after all.
So little Harry drew the notebook princes and knights in their large castles, eating, and laughing, and battling. He was lost in his imagination, leaning close over the picture so it would be easier to see. He only stopped when his relatives retired for the night, switching the lights off in the hallway. He yawned, and succeeded in fitting everything behind the planks. He went to sleep on his cot with a satisfied smile on his face.
- CLV -
Harry just finished his first week of school. He was six; a big boy already. That was what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept telling Dudley, in any case, and he and his cousin were about the same age. They attended the same class.
School was difficult. Most of the children around him already knew a lot of things, like the alphabet song and counting to ten, so Harry was having a hard time keeping up. Not to mention how often he was forced to squint at the board Mrs. Margaret wrote on, giving him awful headaches by the end of the day.
He would have to practice to catch up, because he didn't want to make the teacher mad. From what Harry had observed, the school didn't punish children like at home, but that didn't mean Harry couldn't get into trouble. Mrs. Margaret had told them that parents would get notified about their children not learning or missing homework, and though Harry didn't have a mommy or a daddy, his Aunt and Uncle would certainly get the call in their stead.
Finding time to study, however, was a dilemma. He had chores and cooking to think about. He couldn't understand why school would demand so much work from its students when other obligations had to be tended to. Not that Harry was complaining - it was a another very important and strictly enforced rule in the Dursley house not to do so - it simply seemed unrealistic in his young mind. But he would do his best, and make Aunt and Uncle proud. They would be so happy if he could finally shake his freakishness! Future hugs and proud smiles were delightful fantasies.
Daydreams aside, Harry's chance to finish his homework presented itself at last. He was back in his cupboard on Saturday afternoon, because whenever his relatives decided to stay home for the weekend they didn't appreciate him roaming free, except when cooking meals. He had a few hours to hone his spelling skills.
Back in class, they had all written their own names and general characteristics. Their task for next week was to write three sentences about each of their close family members, and they would correct and discuss the entries with Mrs. Margaret.
Harry considered how to go about it. It would be prudent if he wrote everything on a separate piece of paper first, then - once he made sure there were no mistakes - copied it into his official notebook so he wouldn't make a mess of his schoolwork. Neat and tidy - that was Aunt Petunia's motto, and the philosophy had become ingrained during his last five years as her ward. He had the perfect item he could use for practicing purposes, too. The naughty notebook was short on written content anyway, and now Harry would be able to fill it with something other than pictures. He grinned. It was the ideal solution!
He dug the notebook out from behind the planks, and settled down by the door with a pencil and an eraser his Aunt had thoughtfully supplied him with. He had received a sharpener as well, but he hadn't needed it yet. He also opened the course book for reference.
Arranging the items in the sparse light by the crack, Harry studied the title on the notebook's cover with newfound appreciation. So pretty! He hoped he would be able to write so nicely after all those years of education Mrs. Margaret had explained children should get. Glancing at the alphabet on occasion, he began whispering the sounds the letters were supposed to mean.
"B-E-A-T-H. G-O-T-E."
Harry frowned. Something was amiss. A goat named Beth? The notebook had belonged to an animal? That would be freakier than freaky. He tried again, knowing he hadn't been as thorough in memorizing the letters not part of his own name as he should've. It took some research, but the glitch soon became evident.
"D-E-A-T-H. N-O-T-E."
The furrows on his forehead deepened. He had to pronounce the first word a couple of different ways before he got it - death.
Oh! That was where his mommy and daddy had gone. It was probably a very nice place to be. Certainly not as freakish as himself. Aunt Petunia sometimes said mean things about Harry's parents, but Harry was sure she was only upset they didn't want a freak for a son. She was a very nice lady after all, someone who would raise Harry out of the goodness of her heart despite his faults. But Harry didn't blame his mommy and daddy. Seeing how much grief he caused his poor Aunt and Uncle, it was understandable why his parents refused to deal with him.
Harry pushed the distracting thoughts to the back of his mind. He would contemplate the odd title later. Right now, he had practicing to do. He quickly opened the notebook and found his latest drawing. It showed a knight riding a horse. The horse was a little too green, the knight oddly red, but Harry worked with what he could. He smiled at it, proud, before skipping to the blank page.
Holding his pencil the way Mrs. Margaret had instructed, he tapped the tip on the floor. What should he write? The first family member he would introduce should be Aunt Petunia. He needed three sentences. He knew how to spell the name from the morning post, thank goodness, but the rest required some thought. After a few minutes of consideration, he began.
Mi aunt is Petunia Dursley. She is very nis. She liks thyngs cleen.
Harry nodded. Some revision was probably in order, but first he should complete what he could. Next came Uncle Vernon.
Mi uncul is Vernon Dursley. He liks to eet. Brekfest is his favrot.
And finally, it was Dudley's turn. He was the most difficult one.
Mi casyn is Duddly Dursley. He has many toys. He liks to eet too.
Harry sighed. Now he had to reread and correct what he could. Before he finished the first sentence, a loud shriek startled him.
"Mommy!" Dudley shouted.
There was a crash.
"I'm calling an ambulance!" snapped Uncle Vernon in a tone Harry had never heard him use in the past. He tilted his head in curiosity. What was going on out there?
- CLV -
An arguable number of dimensions away, Pasca was sitting by the edge of a rocky cliff. His long legs were dangling over the side and he was leaning forward, his elbows propped upon his knees to support his head. He shot a bored glance to the side, where Rima was humming a tuneless melody while she stared at the vast, eternally inky sky.
She snickered when she noticed his eyes on her and Pasca looked away.
"Sulking doesn't become you," she said in a sing-song voice.
"Shut up," Pasca growled, his eyes scanning the endless drop ahead. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked, the question a pointed suggestion he didn't attempt to disguise.
"Nope." She gave the 'P' an annoying pop and Pasca's hackles rose in response.
"Leave," he spoke the command, knowing she wouldn't. He had become the best entertainment around since that doomed day some months ago, and it was unlikely she would give her source of amusement up without good reason.
"Ooh, grouchy-grouchy," she said, teasing. "So, any luck yet?"
Pasca snarled. "No."
He didn't know what made him more angry; the annoying female of his species that wouldn't get off his case, or the fact that there was a case in the first place.
"You'll find it sometime, I'm sure." The bitch was enjoying this. Damn her.
"Naturally," he gritted out between pointy rows of razor-like teeth. "There has to be a logical explanation. It's as if it's hidden behind a strong barrier. I can't feel my connection to it at all. But I know it wasn't destroyed."
"Yes, as you've told me again and again... and again." Rima rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're just losing your touch?"
"Of course not!" Pasca straightened from his slouch at the accusation. He glared at his leach of a companion. "I can't even find it through the rift - that should be impossible!"
"Look harder?" she offered.
"Fuck y-"
Pasca snapped his mouth shut. He concentrated, sending Rima a sharp wave to silence her. He held his breath and... There!
"Finally," he muttered, springing to his feet. He had to leave before the connection to that blasted Death Note dimmed again. He jumped over the edge of the cliff without a second glance back.
"You go!" Rima's laughing voice echoed around him as the world melted away.

A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated! Also, if you would like alerts on updates, you can go to fanfiction(dot)net, where the story initially got published. The username and title are the same.
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C\'est La Vie