Harry Potter and the Death Note

I make no money off this; I don't own Harry Potter or Death Note.

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It was a perfectly ordinary day in Surrey. At Number Four, Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley got up early in the morning, just as he did every day. He went downstairs, the foundation creaking underneath him, to find his wonderful wife already cooking breakfast. He planted a kiss on her cheek as he settled down to read the paper and drink a cup of straight black coffee. Like a real man, none of that sissy cream and sugar.

Just a few minutes after he came down, his son came down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, but eager to get up early, as it was what his dad did. Vernon was particularly proud of his son, who strived to imitate everything his father did. Of course, his son picked up a comic book rather than the paper, and slurped back some Coca-Cola. Vernon practically swelled with emotion as his son checked his posture, making sure it matched his father.

His good mood was shortly ruined when a slight figure with messy black hair ghosted in the front door; face smeared with dirt, and found his place at the table, sitting silently.

The boy looked nothing like the rest of the family; while Vernon and Dudley's blonde hair laid flat against their skulls, practically looking combed right out of bed, the boy's black unruly hair stuck up at every direction. He had green eyes that were always narrowed, glaring at the world. But Vernon was glad his hair at least covered his most prominent aspect, a scar that marked the boy's forehead. He was unsightly enough already.

"I finished the gardening, Auntie." The boy muttered, fidgeting slightly in his chair as if uncomfortable. Petunia pursed her lips, and checked the front garden through the window. Her disapproving look sharpened and she turned back to the boy, who was looking hungrily at the simmering bacon on the stove.

"You didn't do a good enough job planting the petunias. They should be in three straight lines, four in each row. Go out and do it right this time." She told the boy tersely. Vernon respected her for her frank dealing with the boy. He himself didn't like to deal with him, but he was glad she was so skilled at putting the boy in his place.

The boy accepted his new assignment with nary a grumble, heading out to redo the yard with no food as punishment for not doing it right the first time. They had to be tough on him if they wanted him to be as respectable as Dudley.

A few minutes later Petunia served up two rashers of bacon, one for Dudley and one for Vernon, along with a side of eggs. One of Vernon's life lessons was that you could never have too much bacon, and he and Dudley followed that lesson near religiously. Petunia had a salad while her boys dug into their hearty breakfast with vigor.

Right afterwards Vernon went upstairs to clean himself, trim his moustache, and get dressed. Before he walked out the door he kissed his wife again and ruffled his son's hair, wishing him a good day at school.

When he walked out the front door he immediately noticed something was off. The petunias were all planted in the yard, just as they were supposed to, but the boy wasn't there. Instead, he was kneeling on the pavement, in the road, as if looking at something.

Looking left and right, Vernon saw none of his neighbors around to witness this deplorable lack of self-preservation. He darted into the road, at least as much a man of his stature could dart, and grabbed the boy roughly around the middle, dragging him back into the yard and into the foyer of the house.

Once behind closed doors, Vernon rounded on the boy. "What do you think you were doing?" He growled. The boy shuffled, avoiding eye contact with his uncle. "Boy, tell me right now why you were sitting in the middle of the street."

"I'm sorry, Uncle. " The boy said fearfully. He finally met Vernon's gaze, looking imploringly into his uncles eyes. "I was done with the gardening, and I was gonna come in but I saw something." He held up something that Vernon hadn't realized the boy was carrying when he had grabbed him. Out of curiosity, he took it.

It was a thin black book, with a hard cover like a textbook. He felt an odd chill go through him, but he shrugged it off and opened it. It was filled with blank pages, with lines going across each page marking where one should write. It was just a notebook.

"I looked up, and I saw this book, it was falling, like someone had thrown it out of a plane, but there was no plane, it just fell out of the sky." The boy babbled.

A quiet calm settled across Vernon's face, but inside a storm had broken loose. He pushed the boy into the kitchen, surprising his wife, and stuffed the notebook into his briefcase, vowing to get rid of it. Nothing that fell from the sky could be good news. He would tell his wife later, and they would try to further discourage the idea of magic in this household, but for now he needed to go to work.

He got into his car and tried to forget about the notebook he had in his briefcase, his resolve so strong he didn't even see the shadow that raced behind his car.

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When Vernon got to work, he quickly managed to lose himself in his work. He was moving up in this company, and was quickly becoming the best seller in Grunnings. By the time lunch rolled around, he had completely forgotten about anything odd happenstances. He worked at his desk, filling out some paperwork, when a light began blinking on his desk phone.

"Yes, Renee? What is it?" He asked, trying to balance talking to his receptionist and writing down information.

"I got a call from a Mr. Harrison Jones here; he wants to talk with you about a deal for around 2,000 drills."

Vernon's heart picked up a little and a grin split his face. He had been working on getting Jones as a client for a while now, and if he managed to sell that many drills then he would definitely get a raise.

"Alright, please put him on." Vernon requested. "Actually, he just left me a number for you to call so that you can contact him later. The number is 779…"

"Wait! Give me a moment; I need to write this down." Vernon had an awful memory for phone numbers, and normally had a pad of paper to write them down on, but he was out. The only other paper he had was his paperwork, which he had to turn in and…the notebook.

Somewhat apprehensively, Vernon pulled out the notebook and began flipping through it, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He found none. It simply was a regular, college-ruled notebook.

"Sir?"

"Hm? Oh, right, give me the number." She fed him the number and he jolted it down, putting down Jones's name down so he would remember. He might just use this notebook to record numbers in the future. In fact, he wrote down the time he planned to call him, 2:30, which was when he planned to be done with his paperwork.

Time flew by as Vernon worked, and he gradually got more excited. If he got a raise then he could afford to get his son that game system he wanted, and maybe get Petunia some new earrings. He spared no thought for his nephew.

Finally, he finished with his work and sent it off to be finalized. He checked his watch and saw that it was 2:28. Might as well call Jones right now; get this deal in the bag as soon as possible. He pulled out the notebook and found the number, calling it right away.

"Hello, office of Harrison Jones, this is Amy."

"Hello, Amy, this is Vernon Dursley. I was told to contact Mr. Jones so we can work on a deal. Is he available?"

"Yes, Harrison-I mean Mr. Jones- has been awaiting your call. I'll transfer you immediately."

Vernon chuckled slightly. Even over the phone, he could tell from the way she addressed her superior that Amy and Jones were quite fond of each other. Ah, office romance. If only he were a younger man…

"This is Harrison Jones. Is this Mr. Dursley of Grunnings Handheld Drills?"

"It is indeed, sir. Were you interested in purchasing one of our fine drills?"

"Well, I was hoping to buy more than one, but…" Jones's playful tone was suddenly cut off by an odd choking noise, as if he had been punched.

"Mr. Jones? Are you alright?" All Vernon heard was wheezing from the other end, then the sound of something hitting the ground. He stared at the phone in his hand in shock. What the hell? He still held the phone to his head, and he heard the sound of someone screaming.

"Oh my god! He's dead! He's dead; he's had a heart attack!" Vernon hung up the phone with a sick feeling in his stomach. His eye reflexively caught the clock. It was just a few seconds past 3:30.

Now, Vernon was not exactly a stupid man. Intolerant of strange freaks who wanted to disturb the natural order of the world with their abilities, yes. But he had a Master's degree in business and he knew how to use his head when he needed to.

He was in possession of a notebook that his nephew had seen fall from the sky. He had written a man's name down, and a time and that man had died at exactly that time. And while he was no scientist, and while he hated magic, he figured some experimentation had to be done.

But first, out of paranoia more than anything, he ripped out the page with Harrison Jones's name and number, putting through a paper shredder. Then he opened to a blank page and pulled out a pen. He had thought that coming up with a name to write down would be hard, but a face popped into his mind immediately, a smug bearded one.

Blake Fitzwilliam, 3:45

The American man was a complete ass, and he was also up for the same promotion Vernon was. With Jones dead there was no way Vernon would get it.

For the next ten minutes Vernon waited, counting down every minute. He played with all of his office equipment; he munched on a spring roll he had left over from lunch, until it was only a minute away.

All of a sudden, the desire to be there when it happened struck Vernon. He had to be there, see it with his own eyes. Only then would he know. With speed he hadn't known he possessed, Vernon tumbled out of his office and into the hallway, ignoring Renee's shout of surprise.

Vernon took off, knowing he had only seconds. He arrived at the door of Fitzwilliam, arriving at the same time as Theodore Rumsman, an exceptionally cheery short man. Who also happened to be Vernon's boss.

"'Lo, Vernon. What're you doing here?" He said jovially. Vernon struggled to keep in his haste in front of his boss. "Oh, you know, just checking up on a co-worker." Vernon said breezily. He ignored his boss's appraising look and opened the door, revealing Fitzwilliam working at his desk.

The man looked up and plastered a fake smile on. "Why hello, Vernon. Hello, Mr. Rumsman. Why have you two come by?"

Vernon's heart dropped out of his chest and settled into his stomach, stepping silently out of the way to allow Rumsman in. How foolish he had been.

"Fitzwilliam, we have seen your work ethic and superior selling skills, so we have decided to award you- are you alright?" Vernon's eyes widened and he looked in to see Blake with an odd expression on his face. Then the man slumped over at his desk, dead.

Vernon's eyes sought the now dead man's clock. 3:30 on the money. Rumsman rushed over to Fitzwilliam's side, taking his pulse. "My lord…he must've had a heart attack. He's dead."

Rumsman was clearly in shock, and Vernon leapt at the opportunity. He guided his boss away from the body and called Fitzwilliam's family. All the while, a dark glint glittered in Vernon's eye.

He had found his way up in the world.

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At the end of the month, a larger than average paycheck was deposited into Vernon Dursley's bank account. Of course, a large hunk of that money was soon used up on an advanced gaming system for Dudley, and Petunia received a pearl necklace and new earrings.

Petunia had noticed the oddest changes in Vernon's behavior. The large man was cheery to the point of being manic, whistling happily and actually playing with his son outside. When she asked him about his sudden change, he simply told her that he was happy his work was being recognized.

However, he also became different in a bad way. He was quieter at home, and didn't watch TV or movies with the family anymore. He took over Dudley's second bedroom and turned it into an office, locking himself up in there for long hours. But she couldn't deny the fruits of his labor. Within two months, Vernon had gotten promoted twice.

Even the boy was getting along well. When Vernon entered the room he stiffened, his eyes darting around the room as if watching something. She assumed that he was finally instilled with the respectful fear that they had been going for all this time.

But despite all the good news lately, Petunia was worried about her husband. There had been many deaths in the paper lately, with many having worked at Grunnings. Some had died from heart attacks, but then they began dying in increasingly odd ways. Death by falling piano. Death by rabid dog attack. Death by sudden total organ failure of formerly healthy people.

Petunia began to worry that Grunnings was cursed.

She didn't want to bring it up to Vernon. She hated magic with a passion for taking her sister away from her, but Vernon had a fear of magic. She never knew how it had developed, but he never allowed even the mention of magic. Still, she knew that curses existed. She had to talk to him.

So, one night, she decided to bring it up. After sending Dudley off to bed and the boy to his cupboard, she approached the closed door to Vernon's office. She took a shallow breath and knocked softly. She wasn't aware that her knuckles made so little sound that no one could have heard it from the other side, so she assumed that the silence was consent.

The door glided open silently on oiled hinges. Vernon's study was dark, with the only light being the one on Vernon's desk. His enormous back was facing away from her, and he was scribbling something down, muttering to himself.

"Honey? Can we talk?"

Vernon practically jumped out of his chair, slamming the cover on whatever book he had been annotating, his pen hastily shoved into his pocket. "What are you doing here? I told you not to disturb me." Vernon practically growled.

For the first time in her life, Petunia took a step back in fear of her husband. "I-I just wanted to talk to you." Her voice shook a little bit, much to her shame. "Why couldn't this have been discussed at the dinner table?" His voice took on a steely calm that almost intimidated her more than rage.

"Because I'm scared for you, Vernon!" Petunia's voice shook with emotion, not fear for herself this time, but fear for the one she loved. Vernon froze, and Petunia continued. "People in Grunnings keep dying, people high up, and with the way you're advancing it might be you next! I know you don't like those…people, but they're real, and they might have put a curse on your business. I don't want to lose you!"

Petunia couldn't read the look in Vernon's eyes. The shadows of the room hid her husband's normally expressive eyes, and both stood in silence.

"I'm sorry if I've been worrying you, sweetie." Vernon came closer to her, and she relaxed when she saw the compassion in his eyes. He engulfed her in a hug and she noted with some surprise that he seemed to have lost some weight. "It's just been a rash of bad luck at the company. I'm sure it has nothing to do with magic. I'll be fine."

Petunia was slightly amazed that he managed to say the dreaded word so calmly, and she melted into his arms. He placed a kiss on her lips, and she returned it in full. She began undoing his tie from around his neck, and he pushed her out of the office, closing the door behind him, and brought her into their bedroom.

After that night, Petunia forgot about her husband's odd behavior, and didn't enquire to what he had been writing down in that notebook.

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"Smooth moves, Vernon."

He grunted, and continued scribbling down names. With the end of a pen stroke, David Benely would die on Sunday, shot to death by a mugger. That blighter had been an important manager of Steward's Mechanics, who was posed to overtake Grunnings in the stock market.

"For a few moments I thought you were going to tell her about the Death Note. Don't you humans share everything with your significant others?"

"There are some secrets that you shouldn't burden your family with. This is one of them. It's bad enough that the boy can see you." Vernon turned his chair around to face the hooded figure that sat in the middle of the floor.

"Which reminds me… According to what you said, he has ownership of the Notebook, right?" The figure's head, obscured as it was, still dropped and rose in a nod.

"Of course. The first human to touch the Death Note becomes the owner of it. You can still use it, but if he talks to me and decides that he doesn't want to see me anymore, giving up ownership, you will lose all memories of the Death Note unless you're holding it. If you're holding it, then ownership will transfer to you. But if you're not holding it then you'll lose all your memories of the Death Note, reverting to your old self, who would probably just set it on fire."

The figure cackled, and his cloak rippled with the motion. Vernon scowled with displeasure. He knew that his self of 2 months prior had planned on destroying it, until he saw the power it gave him. He was in agreement with the spirit; he would have likely destroyed it without touching it if he hadn't discovered its powers.

He could try and engineer a situation where he forced the boy to give up ownership of the Notebook while he, Vernon, was holding it. But he couldn't order Spirit around, he had a mind of his own and his own Death Note, and Vernon's relationship with the boy was tedious at best, even worse since he could see Spirit following him around. Not nearly enough to force ether of them to talk to the other in a controlled way.

Then an idea came to him, and a grin sprouted under his moustache.

"What if I kill him?"

Vernon couldn't make out Spirit's body under the cloak, but the entity seemed to still. "What?"

"The boy. I've wanted to see if the Note would work on a freak anyway. And logically, the Death Note can't belong to a dead man." The idea seemed better and better in his mind. The boy was not shaping up like they'd been trying to get him to, so he'd be better off dead than alive. Especially if it benefited Vernon.

"You can't do that." For the first time, Spirit's voice was sharp instead of jovial. Vernon frowned. "That won't work? Damn, I thought I was onto something…"

"No. I mean I won't let you kill him." Spirit was suddenly towering over Vernon, and he caught sight of a terrifying visage under the creature's hood. "What? Why? What's so important about the boy?"

"Nothing you need to know. I'll let you use the Death Note, but you may not kill Harry Potter with it. He is off limits." Spirit growled.

Vernon shook in fear, and he had to fight hard to keep his bowels secure. "Alright, alright, I won't kill the boy!" Spirit stood silently over Vernon, and he feared that the cloaked man didn't believe him.

"…Fine. You're safe. I will not kill you." Vernon relaxed slightly, but then almost screamed when enormous bestial wings, covered with black feathers, burst from Spirit's back. He flapped them once, almost knocking everything in the office over, and then flew up and through the roof of the house, leaving no trace of his existence.

Vernon waited for a moment, and then leaned out the window. He didn't see a flying black cloak anywhere. He pulled his head back in and positioned his pen over the paper of the Death Note. "Suck on this you piece of shit. Even a god of death can't be everywhere at once."

Harry Potte-

The pen skidded over the paper, ruining the R that Vernon had been writing. He looked at his shaking hand in confusion. He never had problems writing names before. Was this nerves? Or…

A lightning bolt seemed to go through his body, and Vernon's spine arched up, his eyes bulging in pain. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. The pen fell, and his hand rested limply on the table.

He would never know that his own name had been written in another Death Note. He died trying to kill his nephew. He died without honor, and the only people who would miss him were his son, wife, and sister.

Spirit reentered the room through the roof and ghosted over to the dead man's body, cloak curling like smoke around him. He then laid long dark fingers over Vernon's eyelids. When he took them away, Vernon's eyes were closed. Still, he didn't look peaceful. He looked like a man who died in agonizing pain.

Just as he should have.

Spirit stood over his body, looking at the Death Note on the desk. He looked the very picture of the Grim Reaper, come to claim Vernon's soul. But he had no scythe. Just a notebook.

Spirit closed the Death Note, and contemplated what to do with it. In the end, he picked it up, and drifted down through the floor. He moved through the woodwork of the house, until he emerged in a small cramped space.

Spirit looked down at the sleeping boy that was just barely covered by a thin blanket. The boy shivered, as if he could sense the malevolent being in his sleep. Spirit leaned down and pulled out Vernon's Death Note, then slipped the notebook into the sheets, beside the boy.

"You better be grateful, Harry. I just saved your life."

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The next day Harry woke up, oddly refreshed. He didn't sleep well very often, but when he did, he knew it was going to be a good day.

Harry's internal clock told him it was around five in the morning, 30 minutes before Auntie usually asked him to do chores. He took the time to let out a rare content smile, and stretch. He could barely do such a thing in the cramped space, which was why he immediately noticed something out of the ordinary. When every inch of free space mattered you tend to notice when that's infringed on.

Harry quickly found the item taking up space and pulled it out. It was a black hardcover notebook, the same one that he had found two months ago. He had been devastated when Uncle Vernon had taken it away from him after he had found it. Auntie had told him he hadn't earned the right to have a notebook, even though Dudley had a new one every week.

But how did it find its way back to him? He had been told to forget about the notebook, that things didn't just fall from the sky, so Harry had assumed Uncle Vernon had destroyed it. His Uncle didn't approve of magic.

Harry dug around under his mattress and pulled out the stub of a pencil. He had many that he collected, but this was his longest. He figured if he had free time then he might as well draw in his new notebook. Dudley did that all the time in class and seemed to enjoy it.

Harry flipped open the notebook to the first page, and was surprised to find writing on it. He squinted at the words, trying to make them out. His vision was blurry and not too good, so it took him a while to make out words. But he did manage to make out the bold letterings.

DEATH NOTE

Death Note? Like a notebook of death? Did the person who formerly owned this notebook write some sort of story in here?

Eagerly turning the next page, Harry found some sort of list.

"Rule one…" Harry read out loud slowly. "The human whose name is written in this note…will die."

A chill went through Harry. Death was sort of a heavy subject for a seven year old. But still, it peaked his interest, in a morbid kind of way. There were only five rules and Harry read them as quickly as he could.

Rule 2: The Notebook will not take effect unless I have the person's face in their mind when writing their name. People sharing the same name might not be affected.

Rule 3: If the cause and time of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.

Rule 4: If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.

Rule 5: After writing the cause of death, details of the death must be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds. Otherwise, the subject will die of a heart attack

Harry could have sworn he had read this hand writing before. He thought on it, but still it didn't come to him. He turned the page and saw it filled with names and times. Harry read through all the names, and they seemed vaguely familiar. Didn't Uncle Vernon complain about some of these people a few months ago? Didn't Auntie say that they died just a few weeks ago?

It suddenly struck Harry where he had seen this handwriting before. It was Uncle Vernon's handwriting. Uncle Vernon had complained about some of these people, he had written their names in the Death Note, and they were dead now.

Uncle Vernon had killed these men.

Harry continued reading the names with a sort of detached shock. There were quite a few, with differing circumstances. Vernon had experimented quite a bit to figure out the Death Note's rules. Then Harry got to the last page.

Harry Potte-

Harry's hands shook. The final letter was messily splattered, not even recognizable as a letter to those who didn't know what it was supposed to be. Maybe Vernon hadn't completed it on purpose, maybe somebody stopped Vernon from doing it, but Harry had been a second away from death, at his Uncle's whim.

But it was Harry's now. How it got there Harry didn't know, but now it was his, and he was not going to give it back up. He was going to keep himself safe, by never letting this out of his site.

But what would happen when Vernon realized that the Death Note was missing? What would he do to Harry if he realized that he had it?

There was only one thing to do. Only one way to keep himself safe, and keep others safe from his uncle.

Harry took his pencil stub in his fingers and wrote shakily on the paper, right next to his own name.

Harry Potte- VerNon DurSleY

Harry's heart hammered in his throat. It didn't matter whether or not this was the right thing to do, it was already done. But Harry felt like he was going to be sick. In a split second decision he ripped out the page with his and his uncle's names on it, wadded it up, and put it in his mouth. With barely a chew he got it down his throat, and the evidence was gone.

And when his Aunt Petunia found Vernon's body later that morning and screamed, Harry knew that, for the first time in his short life, he had killed someone.

Or so he thought.

A/N:

What's up everyone, thephantomprince here. After several piece of shit stories that I have since deleted, I decided it was time for another piece of shit story. This time it's a Harry Potter/ Death Note crossover, in case you didn't realize that.

Now, as a preemptive move, I will tell you that I know Spirit is a really shitty and cliché name for a Shinigami. I will also tell you that Spirit is not his real name. Spirit is just what Vernon called him, because Spirit didn't feel like telling Vernon his name. So since Vernon isn't a very creative guy, he just called the spirit-like thing Spirit. I may or may not keep that name.

So yeah, Ryuk and Light probably won't show up. If I continue with this fic and want to expand it past the end of the series, then I might send Harry to Japan and fuck up the Death Note story.

Also important: Harry will not be a carbon copy of Light. The only other Death Note crossover I've read is Jinchuriiki's Note, where Naruto is basically Light but without the god complex, but Harry won't be like that (hopefully).

I am open to questions about the plot, and any suggestions you might have that don't involve killing myself.