A small shrunk black notebook… it laid innocently in Harry's hands, automatically enlarging. It was of simple design; one that he may have even ignored, if not for the Latin words scripted across its front. Mors Chartula… Death Note. Shinigami-Harry, Master of Death, Harry/Misa/Light love triangle.

Chapter One:

Chains rattled in the darkness. Hot breath rasped across Harry's neck. Three sharp claws traced circles over his belly, inducing shivers of excitement and instinctual fear.

"Just let me die." He whispered feverishly. He was alone. Frozen in time, damned by Death to stay young forever as the world spends on. Evolving… Growing… Changing…

He was hundred and eighty the first time he had tried to end his life. He refused to call it suicide. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. He had lived his natural lifespan. He hadn't taken the potion in desperation or despair. At least he hadn't the first time.

Glowing eyes blinked only to reappear throughout Harry's vision like a sea of red stars. Metal gleamed and the white colour of Death's many teeth shone.

"Wizard, do you no longer wish to be my Master?" It said.

" I never asked to be immortal."

"Play a game with me, Wizard." A light appeared before them. "And I will give you a chance at freedom." The light dimmed and a thin black notebook floated towards him.

"My life is not some silly game."

"So serious for one so young—"

"I have lived for two centuries!"

"Foolish Wizard, you are young, whether you believe so or not and time is a game children play well." An arm reached out from the darkness and brushed his hair from his head. "Entertain me."

"And if I refuse."

"The only thing wrong with immortality is that it tends to go on for forever. I have patience. Do you?"

Harry pressed his tongue against the back of his front teeth. "What game?"

"The Master of Death cannot die, at least not where you currently reside. But there is a place where my servants may move on. I could take you there."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed together. "And this is where you insert but, I assume."

It chuckled. "Any game worth playing has a level of luck."

"I'm old enough to understand that there's a difference between a gamble and a calculated risk. Which are you offering me?"

"Both. What do you say Master? Will we play?" It extended a hand out as if to shake.

Harry grasped the hand firmly. "Tell me what to do."

It chuckled madly. "And where would be the fun be in that."

A sinking sensation of dread pooled into his stomach before the world blurred.

… Mors Chartula…

Harry opened his eyes. Darkness bled with neon lights. Car fumes and the scent of trash lingered heavily in the air. Droplets of half frozen water melted on the sidewalk. He blinked. Where was he? He shook his head as he attempted to clear his thoughts. He couldn't quite remember. The harder he tried to grasp, the further the memory seemed to fade.

The only thing he did know was that his legs ached and that his whole body felt weak. Wobbling down the street, he followed the swoosh of muggle vehicles and the glow of flickering lights.

He reached for his wand. Patting his chest, he searched pockets before he reached into his Auror robes. There was no wand but a foreign object that he couldn't recall.

A small black notebook… it laid innocently in his hands, automatically enlarging.

It was of simple design; one that he may have even ignored, if not for the Latin words scripted across its front.

"Mors Chartula… Death Note."

The image sparked a memory. Death. Their deal... their game.

With shaking fingers he forced the notebook open. The inside of the book was empty; it was just plain white paper.

Harry scoffed before slamming it shut and pocketing it. What rubbish.

Harry wondered around in a daze. He was fairly sure that he wasn't in Britain anymore. Foreign faces whispered. Harry looked at his reflection from the dirty waters puddling together across the asphalt. He must have looked strange dressed in long crimson robes, trousers, and dragon hide boots.

Outside a small run-down café, Harry sat at the corner table and wondered how long it would be before someone would ask him to leave. Even though only an hour had passed, Harry had learned a lot. He wasn't in England. He wasn't even in Europe anymore but Japan. He watched with wide eyes as he listened to the café music that he knew he shouldn't be able to understand but the words seemed to be able to decode slowly in his brain. Like a puzzle that came together under careful observation.

A pair of high school boys walked towards him. They paused in front of his table and continued to chat. Eyebrows furrowing together Harry wondered why they would choose to talk so close to him. Until the closest one moved to sit down, right on his lap. In his panic, he attempted to move. But he didn't feel the weight of another person; only a rush of cold air. Harry's muscles tensed as his breath caught in his throat. He was sitting on the chair. The boy was sitting on the chair. Their bodies were merged together and yet still separate. It was as if a watercolor painting with layers of paint toppled on each other, only his limbs and head peeking through.

Harry pushed forward and looked down at the pair that had stolen his table.

"Did you hear about that family?" The first boy said.

"Yeah, I hear only the girl survived."

"What is going on?" Harry muttered. He waved his hand in front of the boy's face. Neither one glanced his way, only continued to talk to hushed tones.

"They live only two streets down from my house."

"No one is safe anymore."

Harry backed away from the boys slowly and walked right through another person. A young woman who was trying to hand out flyers waved a colorful pamphlet right through his middle. He slipped and landed on the ground. Staring up from the sidewalk, he sat in shock as the crowd of people continued to walk on with no notice to how each person walked through his skin, stepped on his hand and rushed through his head.

It was as if he were a ghost. But he hadn't died, had he? A cold sense of dread crept into his stomach. What if Death had tricked him? What if this was what he had meant by passing on? Words were fickle things.

"No… No… I just have to figure out Its game. Rules… What are the rules?" His fingers threaded through dark hair.

He continued onward. Maybe he was only invisible to muggles? Maybe he just needed to find a wizard or witch? He walked through the crowded streets and contemplated his predicament as yet again another muggle walked through his body. It was unsettling to experience another going through him as if he were not even there. Testing his translucent state he walked towards a wall. He only blinked as he faded through it.

He had sat on the café chair. Why could he walk through a wall?

His hand went to touch the brick excepting it to go through but Harry still longed to feel it. His hand pressed firmly against it. He had wanted to sit on that chair and so he had. Strangely it reminded him of his childhood magic. But when he tried to touch a living thing no matter how hard he tried or how hard he wanted to, his hand only met cold air. He was trapped in the land of the non-living and the dead.

The sun began to settle. He attempted a small wandless warming charm as but it was as if he hit a wall. The street lights began to flicker on.

His hand clenched as he concentrated hard.

"Lumos," He whispered. The sun only dimmed further behind the towering skyscrapers.

Harry shook his head. He knew that wandless magic had never been his forte but this was something different. Something had changed. Something was missing… warped inside him. He had felt nothing. No warmth, no tingle of magic, just an empty sense of numbness.

His magic was gone.