This chapter is entirely in the POV of Draco Malfoy as you will notice. It might contain some mistakes as I'm simply too exhausted to notice them all.

Summary: Voldemort's possession had done more than just cause both of them pain. It had unleashed something not dissimilar to Voldemort: Kira. But would Kira be the same if one were to combine Harry Potter with Raito Yagami? a Raito-is-Harry story with a twist.

Disclaimer: as always, I don't own the rights.

Enjoy!

He slowly made his way towards the edge of the Astronomy tower, easily bypassing his crazed aunt, the potion master turned Defence teacher who hadn't hesitated to kill his own employer and the other Death Eaters that had followed them up onto the tower. He stared down at the wrecked, crumbled remains of what had once been one of the greatest wizards alive. He could smell fire and even death on the wind that softly rustled his hair but he ignored it all in favour of the relief he felt.

It was over. After a year of stress, of being afraid, of being tired. It was finally, finally over. Albus Dumbledore was dead. And though he feared the Dark Lord's punishment for not being the one to actually cast the spell that killed the old headmaster – he shuddered in disgust, despair and some other unnameable emotions at the very thought of having to kill someone – he was still relieved to know that his parents were safe for the time being.

He would have sagged down in sheer exhaustion and in sheer relief had it not been for the strong hand placed strategically between his shoulder blades.
"Let us go," his head of house said sternly, "the Dark Lord would want to know that your plan has succeeded."

Bellatrix protested loudly but he was too weary to truly comprehend what she was saying and just obeyed the hand that pulled him firmly towards the entrance by his collar. He had no doubt that it had something to do with death, destruction and torture. He could not bring himself to care.

"Expelliarmus," the spell came from somewhere slightly below them and he felt his wand pulled out of his hand and towards whomever had cast the spell. The voice had been familiar, but the bored way it had sounded, the very tone in which it had spoken, hadn't been.

He whirled around as quick as he could towards the place the voice had come from as adrenalin raced through his veins and his tiredness made way for a fight-or-flight kind of energy. He absently noted that Snape, his aunt and the other Death Eaters had done the same, and had already pointed their wands towards the one who had forcefully taken his wand.

He was only mildly surprised to see Harry Potter standing there, right between them and the exit of the tower. The Gryffindor had always found a way to stick his nose into things that did not concern him, after all. However the confident way he was standing was different. His back was straight and his head held high. He seemed taller and more present than ever, even though he was easily the smallest person on the tower. There was a certain arrogance present in the way he held himself, as if he knew that he was better than them and wasn't afraid to show it. The ease in which he bore the fact that wands held by dangerous people were pointed towards him and the serenity on his face were also a surprise. He couldn't see his eyes very well as they were partially hidden by his shaggy nest called hair and his dorky glasses and his gaze was turned downwards but he had a feeling that they were off.

They watched as his schoolyard rival tucked away his own wand and curiously studied the wand he had stolen from him. The Death Eaters were extremely weary of attacking the other boy. Their Lord had specifically warned them against it as only he had the right to hurt the Gryffindor and even Bellatrix was cautious enough not to go against a direct order like that. The threat of horrendous pain easily cutting through their somewhat crazed minds.

"Good evening," Potter said pleasantly as he finally turned his attention towards them, those green eyes as serene as his face and showing absolutely nothing. Even he, as a Slytherin, hadn't seen a mask as well created as the one the other boy was currently wearing before.

"Potter," Snape stated almost wearily. Something was not right. Potter's temper was legendary, he was normally rude and curt with those he deemed his opponent and he hated all of the people currently standing in front of him. Something was very, very wrong. Even Bellatrix seemed to have grasped onto that if her silence was any indication.

"Snape, Malfoy, Lestrange, Yaxley, Greyback," the boy greeted them with a polite smile before he shrugged almost sheepishly and stated, "I would acknowledge the rest of you as well, but a lack of knowledge of your names makes that slightly difficult."
He could admit that he was starting to freak out at the other boy's odd behaviour, though he made sure that he did not show it.

Snape opened his mouth again – no doubt to question the boy – but Bellatrix was faster.
"Is itty bitty Potter going to attack us?" she simpered childishly, "is he going to avenge his beloved Sirius? Or Dumbledore?"
"I do not see why I should," he told her mildly as he cocked his head, "revenge just shows that someone feels the need to ascertain his or her social dominance over others. Psychologically speaking, revenge also makes one feel far worse than if one does not get the change the punish the wrongdoer. So why should I risk my own mental health for two adults who should be able to take care of their own wellbeing but failed to do so?"

It was not just the more brawny Death Eaters that blinked in confusion at his words, though he had no doubt that the words and their meaning meant nothing to the more brainless of their Lord's minions. It was the way in which he had spoken that had confused the smarter members of their current group.
The wand the boy had taken was still hanging limply by his side, his posture was completely relaxed and his expression was still one of serenity. He seemed to honestly believe every word he had said, even though it was the complete opposite of how he had acted before.

"Get out of our way," Greyback snarled suddenly, his dog-like behaviour easily broke the uncomfortable stalemate they had reached. It was quite apparent that he was fed up with the almost civil conversation and hadn't understood a word of what the boy had said. That, and he just didn't have any manners whatsoever to speak of. The werewolf bared his teeth in a clear threat in an attempt to intimidate the boy to move. But Potter just looked at him mildly.
"No," he responded easily even as he smiled at him as if he wasn't the most intimidating or abhorrent thing he had ever seen. And though the serenity remained, something had changed. Those green eyes had become sharp, calculating and dangerous.

Greyback had never been known for being patient. Or smart. And he showed it once again by physically launching himself towards the other teenager. He physically turned away so he wouldn't have to see the blood that would no doubt be drawn from the slightly smaller Gryffindor. He had seen enough death for the day. Because no matter how capable the Gryffindor might have been, he was still only a student up against a deadly and bloodthirsty – even for his kind – werewolf.

It was over quickly, as he had assumed, but to his surprise it wasn't a heavily wounded Harry Potter who flew into his vision. He had heard no incantation, nor had he seen any light that indicated a spell being cast. But a spell had to have been cast as the next thing he knew was that blood and pieces of flesh and bone covered them all even as the still living body of one Fenrir Greyback slammed violently into the battlement of the tower with enough force to break part of it off. His body hit the ground with a noticeable sound as he was crushed by the broken stones only seconds later. It was quite clear that he hadn't survived his impromptu flying lesson.

His stomach rebelled almost immediately and the small bites of dinner he had managed to eat hours ago were forced out of his stomach rather violently. He dry-heaved a couple of more times before he finally felt well enough to straighten himself up and look towards the one who had caused him to lose his dignity in such a way.

Potter's face was twisted slightly into a sneer of disgust, but he easily flicked his wand to clean himself and straighten his clothing. His face once again became a mask of polite serenity once he had cleaned himself up. He didn't look sick, disgusted or disturbed with the fact that he had just been covered in what had once been the remains of a humanoid being. Nor did he seem disturbed by the fact that he had just killed someone. In fact, he seemed almost bored. As if murdering someone was something he had done often enough that it no longer bothered him. As if being covered in blood and who-knows-what-else was beneath his notice.

"I am going to remain right here until either the Order or the aurors arrive," he stated in clear boredom as he finally turned his attention once again onto them, "any attempt made to get past me will end in your incapacitation or death at my hands."
He suddenly smirked in amusement, "or wand, in this case."

Normally, he would have snorted in derision, or he would have at least sneered at the words. But the matter of fact tone in which it had been stated, the very gleam in those green eyes and the fact that the other teenager had just blasted someone off the tower made him almost afraid. The fact that he had not once flinched while in their presence – not even when he had been covered in blood and guts and bone – hadn't helped either. Whoever this was, this was not the Harry Potter he had spent the last six year in classes with.

"Who are you?" Snape asked. It was clear that he had figured it out as well.
"Why, I am Harry Potter of course," the boy answered in surprise and with a surprised blink of confusion but it was clear that it was just another mask, "who else should I be?"
He didn't doubt for even a second that the boy was lying. Potter had never been a good actor. Nor was he as ruthless as this person was.

"Crucio," Bellatrix suddenly shrieked out and he could only watch in fascination as the curse made its way towards the still relaxed person in front of them. It appeared that the fact that they had questioned the other male's identity had somehow confirmed in her mind that he was in fact not Harry Potter at all. And therefore he was just another victim she could play with.
The others, he could see, were not quite so sure and not half as spell-happy as his crazed aunt and just hung back. They were also more weary of their Lord's reaction in case it truly was Harry Potter they were currently dealing with.

But the boy twisted out of the way easily and gracefully in such a way he hadn't even known a human could move – it reminded him of that one Defence against the Dark Arts lesson with Snape in which he had ducked nearly all the curses before he had cast a shield that had knocked Snape out – before he flung his own spell towards the crazed woman.

It was not a spell he had ever heard before – he even doubted that it was Latin – and it seemed that he was not the only one that hadn't heard of it before as Bellatrix let the yellowish spell hit her.
She was encircled in a brief flair of yellow light before the glare disappeared and his aunt was once again fully visible. Nothing had happened nor did anything happen.

His aunt cackled loudly and once again readied herself to fire another no-doubt painful or deadly spell towards the imposter. He could hear the first words of what sounded like a particularly nasty dark curse when she stopped herself and used her free hand to rub at her chest, just above the spot where her heart was located. It was so out of character for her to not cast something even when she was truly hurt that everyone turned their attention towards her. Apparently, the spell had done something to her after all.

"Tempus," Potter cast lazily as he studied the dark witch who had started to grimace in pain as she slowly tilted forward in satisfaction and fascination, "in case you were wondering what exactly I cast and what is happening to you: you are currently having what is often described as a heart attack. The curse I cast is slowly removing the oxygen in the veins that provide your heart with blood. I changed it slightly so that you have precisely forty seconds to live once hit with that spell. In the regular version of this curse all oxygen was immediately removed from the blood, which caused one to die in less than fifteen seconds as the brain is forced to shut down and the lungs and heart stop working almost immediately. One could describe the original spell as being more merciful, but I prefer this version."

The sound of a wand clattering on the ground echoed loudly on the eerily silent tower as she hunched fully over in pain. Her breaths came out in pained pants and gasps and it didn't take long before his aunt collapsed forward as the pain seemed to become too much. She stopped moving and breathing not long after.

"Forty seconds seemed more appropriate, especially if one were to regard the circumstances," the Gryffindor looked almost nostalgic as he looked down upon her before he cancelled the Tempus, "goodbye, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"You killed her," he heard himself say faintly, "just like that."
"Yes, I did," Potter answered easily with a lazy shrug, "in a perfect world she would have been given the death penalty, or the kiss in this case, years ago. But this world is rotten. Rotten to the core, in fact. So someone has to stand up and act, even though it makes him or her a worse killer than the ones he or she relieves of their task. And I seem to be the only one capable of the task, even though I no longer have a way to punish those with divine retribution like I had before."

The Death Eaters surrounding them grew restless. Most of them were murderers of some kind and whoever this person was he didn't seem to fear getting his hands dirty.
"Legilimency," Snape intoned from next to him, his voice as deadpan, sure and cool as always and he couldn't help but admire him immensely, even though he knew that this was the same man that could look the Dark Lord in the eye without flinching.

The boy let the spell hit him, it didn't take a genius to know that he could have easily dodged it if his actions this past year had showed him anything. But he was arrogant and he didn't seem to see them as a threat.
They watched on as Snape maintained the contact. And they watched on as he started to shiver slightly before he broke the contact.

"Minds are not like books," the Gryffindor stated almost mockingly, "they are not something that can be read easily."
"Who is Kira?" Snape asked, and even to him it sounded like a diversion.
"I am," the boy – Kira? – said with the same lazy shrug as before as he started to twirl the wand between his fingers, "or I was. But if it makes it easier you can refer to me with that name. I have had a lot of names and titles over the years, this is just one of them."

"I rather not," the potion master said almost stiffly.
"Harry Potter will do if Kira is not to your liking," he said with another elegant shrug, a smirk was forming around that mouth even as his eyes flashed almost maliciously behind his glasses, "or Yagami Raito. Or even L. Names are just titles we gain during our life and which we make our own. But I am as much Harry Potter as I am any of the other aforementioned names or titles."

He stared at the male in front of them in something akin to incomprehension. Or confusion. Both worked in this situation.

"How many?" Snape bit out not long after. He seemed to have gone even more pale than he already was and his eyes were narrowed in an unreadable emotion.
"You will have to be a bit more detailed than that," he said, "how many what? Names? Friends? Girlfriends? Pets? Siblings?"
"How many did you murder?" Snape nearly snarled, nearly because Snape did not snarl. His words became just more to the point and more snipingly.

"I did not murder anyone," the individual in front of them stated dryly, "murder means that someone planned the death of another before the actual act took place. Taking a knife along with you when you visit someone with the intention to end that individual's suffering versus picking up a knife when you are somewhere and ending someone life on a whim. The timing is different between a murderer and a serial killer. A murderer enjoys the death for some reason or another. A serial killer does not. A serial killer sees every death as a singular event, while a murderer somehow connects the multiple deaths. There is also a matter of time. A serial killer has a time of rest between deaths, while a murderer kills at random."
The Death Eaters shared glances.

"No," the boy continued with a cruel smile on his face and a manic gleam in his eyes, "if you want to be politically correct, I am a serial killer. I did plan every single death I caused but I did not enjoy a single one of them. They were just a means to an end."

"How many," Yaxley growled out, the first thing he had said since the appearance of the brat.
"Approximately one hundred and twenty four thousand nine hundred and twenty five," the boy said with an almost angelic smile which quickly made way for a sharp, lethal smirk, "give and take a handful. Sometimes, the pen truly is mightier than the sword."

They physically stumbled back, completely flabbergasted. Even the most hardy of Death Eaters didn't gain such a number. Not even their Lord had caused such a death toll.
"Though I do admit that I can count the people who I have actually murdered while I was near on two hands," the boy, no the killer said lazily.

"Why tell us?" he managed to get out.
"Why?" Potter repeated with an almost crazed glint in those sharp eyes, "for two simple reasons. Firstly, because it shows that I am serious about the fact that I will kill you if you even consider running. And secondly, because it has been quite a while since I have had any mental or physical stimulation and I actually hope that one of you becomes desperate enough to attack me."

"So tell me," he continued with an almost predatory smirk, "are you going to surrender, or are we going to fight?"

oOo

He had no idea how much time had gone by when voices suddenly came from behind the murderer in front of them.
Only two others had been foolish – or desperate – enough to attack the seemingly young male in front of them and they had both paid for their actions with their lives. Courtesy once again of that odd yellow spell that had killed his aunt.

Everyone present turned their attention towards the stairs behind their would-be killer but the sharp sound of wood snapping forces their attention back onto said would-be killer. Potter has once again drawn his own holly wand and had snapped his wand. The two pieces of wand are held into his left hand and he can't help but stiffen as he focused completely on the remains of what had once been a loyal wand. He watched in something that could be described as sadness as the other male casually tossed the two pieces over the battlements until they disappeared out of sight.

It was as if a change came over the other with the disappearance of the wand that had easily killed four others. His aloof, smooth and almost bored expression morphed into a hateful glare and his mouth moved into an ugly snarl. His eyes lost the boredom and gained an angry, revengeful glint. The muscles of the hand holding the wand stiffened until the wand was held in a firm, almost painful grip. And he seemed smaller, less present, less intimidating, less dangerous.

The angelic mask of the killer had once again changed into the familiar face of the famous Harry Potter whose nasty temper if provoked was legendary. He would have respected the ease with which the boy could change had he not used it to hide a murderer worse than even their Lord.

He felt himself relaxing as the voices – weary, tired and angry all mixed together but always safer than the angelic, honey-voiced killer in front of them, even if he no longer had the wand he had used to kill – came closer and closer until the individuals to which the voices belonged to appeared.

They were all sympathisers of Dumbledore as far as he could see and not Death Eaters – something for which he was more than grateful as he was sick and tired of death – and he couldn't help but sag in relief. With the presence of the boy's allies came the certainty that he would not kill them.

"Harry!" the werewolf that had taught them in their third year exclaimed relieved, "we were worried about you when we couldn't find you. Hermione and Ron mentioned that you left with Dumbledore…"
He trailed of as he noticed the dark look on the boy's face and the fact that he held the others – all Death Eaters – at wand point.

"Dumbledore is dead. Snape," he spat the name with more venom than should be possible, "he killed him."
The newcomers turned towards the dark-haired potion master and he could easily see the betrayal and hatred in their eyes.

"Take them away," a dark-skinned male wearing the most ridiculous purple garments stated in a soothing baritone, "the presence of a mark on their arm will be enough to get them into Azkaban."
He felt the other Death Eaters raise their wands but a single flash of calculating darkness inside the green eyes of the one who had held them at wand point for the last minutes – hours? – made them lower their wands again.

Azkaban and a possibility to once again regain freedom at the hands of the Dark Lord was kinder than a certain death at the hands of the hidden mass serial killer in front of them. And he had no doubt that the younger male knew or had created spells that would end with their death some way or another if they did not go with the aurors peacefully.

The aurors approached them warily and took their wands away – they looked at him oddly as soon as he had coolly told them that he no longer had his wand – before they forced them into magic-binding handcuffs and forced them towards the entrance one by one. Potter finally lowered his wand and he finally felt himself relax completely.

"Ron and Hermione, the others" the young Gryffindor started in a tone that sounded worried, "are they alright?"
"They have some scratches," the werewolf stated gently, "and not everyone of the Order made it out in one piece, but no one has died."
"Except for Dumbledore," Potter stated bitterly as he glared at the way Snape had gone before he too relaxed his grip on his wand, "but I'm glad everyone is mostly fine."

It was distorting how genuine the boy sounded. Had he truly been as worried as he sounded or was it just another mask? He was quite sure that he was not in fact bitter of the fact that the headmaster was dead. He had after all told them that revenge was just a waste of time and energy, why should feeling bitter about it be any different? And if he wasn't feeling bitter, was he truly worried about his friends – were they even his friends? – or was he just acting?

He was one of the last ones to be forced away – the fact that he was a student and wandless made them hesitate. But he did hear the question he had hoped they would ask and the answer the murderer gave.

"What happened to Lestrange and the other two?" one of the newcomers asked somewhat disturbed.
"They were in pain," the Gryffindor said with a shrug, "and then they just dropped dead. I didn't cast anything with this wand that could have caused it."

He laughed bitterly, even as he was forced away from the mass serial killer who had caused them to 'just drop dead' and managed to omit the fact that he was the one who had killed them.

For the first time he truly feared for the future for the entire wizarding world. Dumbledore – the ultimate beacon of light and hope – had been killed, and now the world would be split into two camps. One followed a well-known Dark Lord, a murderer and someone who wanted to rule the world. The other camp followed the new beacon of hope, a mass serial killer in hiding who had murdered more people than the Dark Lord could even consider to murder and who wanted to remove everyone he deemed a cause of a world that was in his eyes rotting.

Both were ruthless and both wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone in their way to their ultimate goal.
The world was doomed either way.

Next up is year seven, though it is likely that it'll appear at the end of June or the start of July.

Reviews are as always appreciated.

~Marwana