The Assassin of Death

Because I could not stop for Death

He kindly stopped for me-

The Carriage held but just Ourselves-

And immortality.

Ah, life was good, Harry Potter thought as he sipped his lukewarm Earl Grey tea. He tilted his chair back in a practiced movement and closed his eyes to enjoy nature. It has been many, many years since the death of Voldemort. The Death Eaters were died deaths of various degrees of gruesomeness, their families disgraced or exiled.

Life continued normally for the next half a century- Ginny gave birth to a grand total of four children, three boys and one girl. Ron was recruited by the Chudley Cannons as keeper- the man couldn't have been happier. Hermione eventually rose to become Head of the Unspeakables and helped modernize the Wizarding Society as a whole. Hermione and Ron eventually married and lived a full life with two children, Hugo and Rose. Luna and Neville too, married, and became the world's foremost experts on magical creatures and herbology, respectively. Heck, even Draco Malfoy eventually found a twisted fairytale ending of his own- he married Astoria Greengrass and fathered a pair of twins- Lucius and Narcissa.

What about himself, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Man-who-Vanquished, the Master of Death? The man known as Harry Potter became the youngest Minister of Magic at the age of twenty-five and reigned for one hundred years. During his term, Britain became the magical world's financial and scientific center. Several dark lords tried to rebel against Minister Potter's reign, but they were all struck down quickly and efficiently. Really, by the time Minister Potter stepped down, Dark Lords were nothing more than attention-craving frauds. At the end of his one hundredth year in office, Minister Potter officially retired from office, passing his position to Theodore Remus Lupin, his grand-godson.

Minister Potter then promptly vanished from the Magical World, presumably retiring to a resort in the Scottish countryside. That, was three hundred years ago. Now at the ripe old age of four hundred and twenty-five, he looked not a day older than twenty five.

Truthfully, he avoided looking in mirrors nowadays: it was very uncomfortable to have inanimate objects crush on him.

Since he was dead to the magical world, no one tended to bother him, which was exactly the way he liked it. He contented his life with the maintenance of his pristinely white mansion and the surrounding misty forest. Many species of magical flora and fauna are found nowhere else on the planet but in his carefully monitored forest.

On wistful days, he liked to think that Luna would have been proud.

So for the next century, Harry's life settled into a comforting lull. That was, until Death dropped by for afternoon tea.

"So let me get this right. You want me to assassin this nut called Azrael who's trying to take over your job." Harry asked skeptically.

"Mhm." Death sipped his tea, the tea cup disappearing somewhere behind the dark hood of his cloak. A wicked looking scythe leaned on the side of the tea table. In the back of his mind, Harry made a note to scrub the teacup clean with bleach.

"And you, the almighty God of Death can't do it." Harry said.

"Nope. The Creator made a couple of cardinal rules for us Gods. Not a lot, but the most important one is that Gods cannot interfere with humans. Of course, there is nothing against humans messing with humans on the gods' orders". Death explained while reaching one blackened head towards a lemon scone.

"So you want me to pretty much be your hit man for a while." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Assassin", Death corrected. "You don't have much else to do anyways- well, do you?"

Harry mumbled something beneath his breath that could have been either a "no" or "bleach".

Death sighed. "Mortals. Always so finicky. It's not like I'm not paying you; the rule of Equivalent Exchange says that I must pay you something of equal value. So what do you want, oh Master of Death?" Death snarked.

Harry thought. Who knew that Death had a sense of humor? Now that he thought of it, there really wasn't anything particular that he wanted.

While Harry was busy thinking, Death reached for another lemon scone.

"I want to be able to see the absolute truth." Harry said. Death grinned.

That was a while ago- the crazy nut that Death told him to assassin was pathetically easy to kill. Kindly, Death gave him a gun to play around with. Apparently it used to belong to his last Assassin- a Train something. At the time, Harry shrugged and just shot the dude point blank. Oddly enough, the bullet made an 'X' mark when entering the unfortunate fool's skull.

Over the years, Death has become a somewhat half-constant house guest slash free loader. Usually the guy visited just out of boredom, but the hit orders were always given in the Death Realm- never on Earth. Harry lost count of how many orders he had taken from Death after the first ten years; he only knew that the Underground labeled him "X", after his calling card of sorts. Beyond that, they knew absolutely nothing. Zilch.

Sometimes, Harry wondered why Death just won't let him die. When he asked, Death shrugged it off. "I don't want you in my realm. You would probably end up turning the place upside down in some statistical anomaly of an accident. Even if you pass off the Hallows, I'd still keep you immortal. Plus who would make me lemon scones if I died?"

Now enjoying his afternoon tea without Death's presence (thankfully), Harry was planning on a pleasant rest of the day filled with gardening and herb harvesting. Maybe a hippogriff ride or two would be pleasant. The chocobos also need to be fed sometime this week.

Unfortunately, his plans were promptly thrown out the window when Death came a-calling. Again. Via a white dove flying through the window. Again. Which means another hit order. Yet again.

Gently, Harry removed the rolled up piece of parchment from the dove's leg. Unrolling it with a mental grimace, he read:

"H.O., K. C., 17:00".

The Master of Death translated the order- meet him at King's Cross for to collect his hit order at 17:00... which gives him around two hours. Which means he has two hours to do his week's chores- how troublesome.

Gracefully, Harry set his tea cup down and got up. With a haste borne out of necessity, he headed off towards the chocobo stables.

"So you wanted to see me?" Harry called out from his spot behind one of the brick pillars at King's Cross, otherwise known as Limbo.

"Obviously." Death drawled. He suddenly appeared in front of Harry, sharpened scythe in hand.

"You are to kill off the teenage psychopathic menace known as Kira. His name is Light Yagami, age sixteen, resides in the Kanto region of Japan." Death drew out a picture of the target in question and handed it to Harry.

Harry drew a deep breath in shock. It was like seeing Tom Riddle all over again. This boy has Tom's soul- with his Gift, Harry can See all of time- the past, the future, the present. Above all, he can see the Strings of Fate, tangled and convoluted in a never-ending disaster of a tapestry. Light Yagami has Tom Riddle's string, frayed and black.

Death continued regardless of Harry's reaction. "He has taken on the alias of Kira- Killer- and claimed to be God of a New World where justice is served. In the past couple months alone he has killed several thousand people before their proper time. His weapon of choice is a Death Note dropped by C-class shinigami, Ryuuk. Feel around a bit and you will know why I called you here."

Harry could tell that Death was Pissed if he called him here- usually the hit orders were reserved for truly dastardly individuals beyond any redemption. He really needed no other excuse to go after Kira- the boy had Riddle's soul, and that was the end of that. But still, Gods tend to be rather short-tempered, so he did as Death asked and closed his eyes. When he opened again, his knew that his eyes were no longer the vibrant green that they have been for the past four and a quarter centuries- they were now a deep obsidian black.

But oh he could see. All around him, glowing white strings that wrap around anything and everything. So very beautiful but yet so fragile. Harry raised his hands and gently tugged on several strings. Immediately, time and fate bowed to him. He sifted through all the visions of the future with practiced eased. Half a second later, he paled. Dear God! The boy was even worse than Riddle! At least Riddle had a modicum of decency!

"Now you see?" Death asked- he picked up his scythe and twirled it leisurely. "After you kill Kira, you are to sort out the situation in the Shinigami Realm. It has been a long time since I have set foot in that world, and the shinigamis have gotten lazy. Do me a favor and give the King there a kick in the ass."

Now Harry grinned. This should be fun- whipping a bunch of shinigami (aka the grunt workers of the Death Realm) into shape. Oh yes, he's going to have lots of fun with that one.

"That's it. Don't come back until you're done sorting out the situation in that dump. Oh, and pick up a lemon meringue pie for me in Japan, will you? Those things are to die for." Death rubbed his hands together.

Harry briefly wondered about Death's apparent lack of maturity- must be a deity thing. He was then promptly (somewhat rudely) thrown out of Limbo and back to Earth.

Mandy: This is the original draft idea for my fic, Clarity on a Monday Night. The following are stories/ficlets/idea drafts that I've written in the past but never published. They haven't been beta-ed or anything, so please excuse the grammar. These ideas aren't up for adoption, but I figured that my readers would probably want to read them anyways. Let me know what you think of them, okay?