Kira Orior

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Death Note. This is a work of fanfiction written for non-profit use.

Chapter One

-The Black Book-

The human whose name is written in this note shall die.

It was raining in Little Whinging. Quite appropriate, Harry thought, considering the mood. The Dursleys were put off because he was back for yet another summer and Harry was, putting it mildly, angry due to recent events. His godfather had just died recently, his friends were put into the hospital, and, worst of all, he found out that he was prophesized to kill Voldemort.

His eyes gazed out the window of the smallest bedroom, a frown on his face. Thoughts were mulling in his brain, thoughts of the battle in the Department of Mysteries, thoughts of the past year, thoughts of the coming war. Harry was troubled, not by the thought of killing, though. He had reconciled himself with this fact days ago. The thought of killing Death Eaters and Voldemort did not put him off, after all, they were nothing but a poison to this world. No, what troubled Harry was how he was supposed to kill them. He was nothing more than a half-trained, average at best, underage wizard. Much more experienced wizards like Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody had been fighting this war long before him and were barely able to keep Voldemort from taking England.

Albus Dumbledore's face crossed Harry's mind, driving his frown into a deep scowl. Albus Dumbledore was a problem. He had been able to do much thinking on his Headmaster during the weeks he had spent in Surrey. There was much about the old man that made no sense to him. Why had the old man never been there to help when Harry was in the worst trouble? The incident with Quirrel, the trouble with the Heir of Slytherin, Peter Pettigrew, the Triwizard Tournament, and the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore, when he did show up, only came when Harry was inches from death. Those were not even the worst things. Dumbledore knew about the prophecy since before Voldemort even murdered his parents, yet he had done nothing to train Harry, the mind-rape sessions with Snape not withstanding. Dumbledore was rating pretty low in Harry's opinion currently.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted, however, by a streak of black falling outside of his window. Harry blinked, then looked down. A small, black object could be seen sitting in the middle of the wet driveway. WIth a frown, Harry stood from the chair in front of his desk, grabbing a jacket. Making sure that his wand was with him, he left the room and headed downstairs.

Vernon was at work, as usual; Petunia was at one of the neighbors, likely gossiping. Dudley was the only other one in the house, but he was enthralled by his television and didn't seem to care what Harry was doing. The bespectaled boy took an umbrella from the stand, opening it as he left the house. The black object in the driveway turned out to be a simple notebook. He frowned, moving the umbrella to look up at the sky, trying to figure out where it came from. Seeing nothing but clouds and rain, he knelt down, 'It could be a Portkey, a trap by Voldemort... Then again, I doubt Voldemort would try the same trick twice, unless he thought that I would think that, then... Stop second-guessing yourself! Might as well pick the damn thing up...'

Harry's hand reached down and closed around the notebook. He held his breath, waiting for the familiar jerk of a Portkey, but it never came. He let out the breath, then tunred it over. On the cover were the words 'DEAtH NOtE' in a strange silver writing. His frown deepened, but he decided to get back inside before he looked at it more closely. Once back in his bedroom, he dried the cover with a shirt and sat back down in the chair. He flipped through the black notebook. It was filled with normal, lined paper. He was about to throw the thing down on his desk when something on the inside cover caught his eye. He froze, then opened the book all the way. Written in the same, silver lettering were several lines:

DEAtH NOtE

How to use it I

# The human whose name is written in this note shall die.

# This note will not take effect unless the writer has the subject's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

# If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the subject's name, it will happen.

# If the cause of death is not specified, the subject will simply die of a heart attack.

# After writing the cause of death, the details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

Harry scoffed and tossed the book onto his desk, "Some people are sick," He said quietly. He shook his head and picked up his Charms book for the coming year and began to read. However, he couldn't help himself from glancing at the book again and again, 'What if...?' He set his Charms book aside and, after hesistating for a moment, took up a quill and dipped it in a jar of ink. He went past the few pages of rules to the first empty page and set his quill down on the paper. After a few moments of thinking, the name 'Vernon Dursley' was written on the paper in Harry's messy scrawl, 'It's not like this'll work anyway.' He chuckled slightly, then wrote a bit more after the name, 'After confessing his years of money embezzlement from Grunning's Drills to his boss, Vernon Dursley dies of a heart attack.'

Several hours later, Harry had fallen asleep. His dreams, while turbulent, were much calmer than usual. So it was that his most peaceful sleep in many weeks was broken by the shrill shriek of Petunia Dursley. Harry's eyes snapped open and he ran downstairs, catching the tail end of his aunt speaking to his cousin, "-eart attack... He's... He's dead!" Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Harry gazed up in the direction of his room where a simple notebook lie on his desk. A small grin grew on his face.