A/N: Have a small KHR crossover with Harry as Skull that I wrote up quite a while ago. It was (probably quite obviously) inspired by the existing Harry-Is-Skull fics. I don't remember the names or authors of them obviously but they're quite good so go check them out. Anyone who has read them can tell I got my inspiration off of existing fics so no bashing. We all get our creative juices from where we can.

I also have an unhealthy obsession with the Varia and couldn't resist leaving them out. Anyone wanting to share enthusiasm about them is more than welcome in my PMs because I will never be done rambling about how much I love them.

Ok I'm done rambling—

Enjoy.

The first time he realised something wasn't quite right was when he realised that no matter what he did, the blasted artefacts that made one the 'Master of Death' refused to be discarded.

Harry could leave them in the deepest vaults in Gringotts, abandoned in the thickest of forests or even sunken to the deepest depths of the ocean and yet within the next 12 hours, all three items would be returned to him, because somehow it had been decided he was the Master of Death. Great.

The first time he realised what being the Master of Death truly meant he had still been seventeen, soon to become eighteen. He had thought that with Voldemort defeated he could finally begin to live a little, leave the war behind and find his own way in life. He had been a fool to believe in such things...

Harry had tried taking his life for the first time when he realised that the wizarding world had no intention of leaving him alone. Between the apparent obligation to marry Ginny, the apparent duty to aid the still corrupted ministry and the apparent apathy he was supposed to undergo at the death of the people he held dear.

Naturally he wasn't about to let them drag him into their obligations even more deeply, so he decided that he might as well make it all stop. He didn't know how to escape them and he felt like he didn't owe anything to anyone anymore. Hadn't he suffered enough?

Apparently not.

Death was the one to greet him in the whiteness this time, although the blinding white of the station he had been at before had instead been turned into a grey room, some parts darker or lighter than others. Death had proceeded to explain his immortality to him, as well as Death's messenger and pawn on earth. He didn't take too kindly to that...

When he woke up, he somehow knew what he had to do and spent about a third of his family vault in permanently altering his looks as well as forging his identity in both worlds. Instead of the haunting green he was used to, everything about him had become completely purple. He wore make-up and even got piercings or tattoos, though such things hardly mattered to him anymore.

Deciding to give Death the finger for forcing immortality upon him, he ignored Death's wish of his new 'career' and instead became a stuntman after travelling around to see what he liked. He learned many languages on his travels and though it seemed like a long time would have passed, he was only nearing nineteen. But then again, magic always did make things easier.

He was barely nineteen when shit hit the fan.
Somehow he and six others had been gathered into a room and turned into a rag-tag family— or Famiglia, apparently. And since when was he involved with the mafia anyway!? Thankfully Luce hadn't minded his confusion and explained everything to him. He still wasn't happy about it though, but used the persona he had built for himself in order to survive.

Harry Potter was no more; in his stead Skull de Mort took the stage loudly and excitedly. Skull had built the reputation of being "The Immortal Skull-sama!" in his short time of stunting because of the ridiculously dangerous crap he could do and survive. No one knew how close that title hit to home but by pretending to be weak and easily intimidated, Skull managed to hide the truth from even those among the most observant in the world. It was almost surprising no one could see the warrior in him...

He really should have seen coming what happened next. He was never allowed to live in any form of peace or happiness, but he supposed he might as well see this as Death's punishment for disobeying the call. Now he was stuck in the body of an infant, a two year old to be precise and it ticked him off just as much as it did the others.

Still, no one had any idea of who he was and who he had been and he liked it that way. He'd told Luce once, but she'd be unable to tell anyone now, and no necromancer would know to call on her for answers. Still, he'd been tempted by the possibilities more than once, Death's stone sitting heavily in his pocket.

Time passed as time was wont to do, slowly. Excruciatingly so. He had an inkling of how Voldemort had felt now, all those years as a disembodied spirit. Those many years stuck in the body of an infant were no better. Bless magic or he'd never have managed to get anything done... How the others managed was beyond him sometimes but he knew they always adapted well. It was probably bad he had yet to notice he'd started seeing them as the Famiglia they were supposed to be, rather than a group of disconcertingly frightening muggles he should be wary of.

Speaking of people he should be wary of... The Carcassa Famiglia was beginning to bore him, and that was never a good thing where Harry or Skull were concerned. Perhaps he should check out that Varia Mammon had been so stoically proud of? It would certainly be interesting to meet anyone she actively approved of.

Not to mention dangerous, and he did so love the thrill.