A little treat for you! I hope you'll like it. Tell me what you think, okay? I really need some feedback. That's what inspired me to write this piece. So leave me your thoughts, even if it's not all good! So this is another Harry Potter/Death Note crossover, and this one has some major spoilers. Like the name. Which I just had to write in the title (I'm so sorry!). So spoilers for pretty much everything in Death Note and Harry Potter. Please tell me if I got L's character right! And do Enjoy! (Yeah, yeah, and all rights to Death Note and Harry Potter disclaimed)

A Ghost Called Lawliet



There was a weird man staring at him. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, or even something out of the norm. Harry was used to people looking at him as he crossed the street or entered a shop. It was something he experienced on a regular basis. The magical community always wanted to know what was happening with their favorite celebrity, and while it wasn't even half as bad ever since Rita Skeeter lost her job in the Daily Prophet, Harry still suffered from it.

So when he entered the sweets shop, looking for a cake to celebrate Teddy's first accidental magical act, he didn't even notice the piercing eyes following him as he approached the cashier stand. Of course, that changed quickly as soon as Harry turned to choose a cake from the display of wonderful baked goods beside the large, glass window. As his eyes swept over the seating places for those who ate their purchases inside the store, his gaze fell on a pale bloke in the far back, in the corner provided by two pink walls.

He was sitting like a frog, strangely enough; one of his hands hugging his knees to his chest while the other held a fork to what Harry guessed was either a cheesecake or a vanilla cake. He had bold black rings under his eyes, signaling serious lack of sleep. However, he didn't look tired at all. He sat alone, and Harry wondered why he ordered a whole cake if he was planning on eating in.

And he was watching Harry. Watching very intensely, to be precise. His black eyes were studying him thoroughly, as if assessing how much of a danger he was. He looked bored, but his eyes told a completely different story.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the stranger, a smirk playing at his lips. The man frowned in response, bringing a piece of cake to his lips and, his mouth opening wide enough to swallow a toad, he ate it with what seemed like great care, as if he studied the cake, too. Harry tried to ignore the nervous flicker he felt as the man watched him like he knew every detail of Harry's life with a brief glance. He felt exposed. But it was ridiculous – there was no way this man knew who Harry was, seeing as there was no recognition flashing across his face.

His leg bounced in unease as the line to the cashier wasn't getting any shorter. Every few seconds, his eyes would fall on the strange man only to find him still staring at him with that analyzing look in his eyes. It felt like he was being interrogated, beads of sweat slowly gathering on his forehead, making his lightning bolt scar itch. He bit the inside of his cheek, his patience running thin.

The sound of the chattering people and the wide variety of voices became a white noise in the background, and Harry's entire focus was on the man. It took him years back to the time of the war, when every person on the street, every stray dog or cat, every damn plant could have been a dangerous enemy hiding from view, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. His wand felt like it was throbbing in his jeans' pocket. It wasn't excited, no, it was scared. It remembered how many times it had to let those curses out, how many times it was used by someone else for bloody hellish purposes. He put his hand over the cloth covering the magic stick, ready to battle for his life if he needed to.

But the strange man didn't say a word. He just sat there, his cake getting smaller and smaller, his eyes not wavering once from Harry's figure. At some point a woman with a muffin tried to sit on the man (actually sit on him), but at the last moment she got up and left, looking confused and cold. The weather could explain that, but the heating was quite effective and Harry was comfortable with only a thin jumper to cover his upper body. Still, the way the woman shivered didn't leave a place for argument as she clutched her coat tighter against her chest and left the shop with the muffin, which, Harry thought, amused, would probably freeze to the point of being a block of ice by the time the woman hunted down a taxi willing to accept a passenger in this snow for a price that wasn't even worth pulling over just to start driving again.

No one looked at the man. No one paid any attention to the awkward, bare-feet young adult (though he couldn't possibly count as a teenager) that sat in the most secluded table. Harry noticed it was a good place to sit if you wanted an overall look at the shop, to be ready in case someone attacked you, but that couldn't be the reason the man chose that place in particular. Most people would have preferred a more suitable table, like in the middle or by the window.

Harry paid for the chocolate cake he got, smiling at the thought of an enthusiastic Teddy jumping up and down at the sight of his favorite dessert. The boy was his sweet escape from his crazy wife (who was angrier with every day passing, and apparently got sick and was now throwing up more than she ingests), the insane fans and Hermione's pleas for help with her most recent research, which was also quite destructive and just plain scary. Harry loved his godson like his own, and took care of him together with Andromeda. He played the role of the parent, everything included. He would gasp in mock surprise every time Teddy jumped from around a corner and screamed 'Boo!', and put pictures he drew on the fridge, however ugly, and praise him whenever he got an answer right. He even sat down and watched every play Teddy decided to put together and perform, and occasionally joined in and played whatever role Teddy had for him with dedication.

As Harry turned to leave, the door was blocked by a certain man. The man with the cake. The man who didn't stop staring at him. The man who appeared to be invisible to everyone except him. Why did it always have to happen to him? Why not to Ron, or Neville or even Hermione? Why him?

The man didn't move as Harry sighed in annoyance with clear intentions of getting out. He looked into Harry's eyes without fear, a finger tapping his open lips in wonder.

"You can see me," the man said. His voice was soft and deep. Manly. There were traces of accent Harry couldn't place, but then again he was never that good at recognizing accents.

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicious. What was the man getting at? Should he even talk to him? "Of course I can see you. Why wouldn't I?" he asked, hoping to clear everything out. Maybe he would be able to sleep at night if he didn't have a mystery to keep him awake and restless.

"No one else can, and neither should you. But you can. Fascinating. I didn't know people had such abilities. The unnatural is much farther reaching that I've thought," the man seemed amazed by that fact, his eyes growing wider than they already were (which was quite wide, mind you) and his mouth opening a bit more.

The word 'unnatural' bothered Harry. This man was clearly a muggle. He wasn't supposed to know about magic. Harry considered obliviating the man but the situation made it impossible, what with so many people in the shop to be witnesses to the act of magic he would perform. Questioning him farther was the best option as far as Harry could see.

"Why can't anyone else see you?" he carried on.

"I'm dead. I haven't been able to communicate with a living person until now. This is simply intriguing," the man's voice was breathy as he spoke the words, reaching a hand to Harry's body, but Harry flinched away before he could touch him, "Are you afraid?"

"No," Harry gave a little chuckle, which, to his dismay, sounded slightly hysterical, when he was gently pushed aside so that a young couple could leave the shop. They went through the man, through him. They actually passed through his body as if it wasn't there, as if he was just a figment of Harry's wicked imagination.

The man hummed in thought. "You aren't scared of me, and yet you distanced yourself from me when I tried to touch you, like you knew what would happen when I did that. You must have seen a ghost before. Interesting."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry really was a terrible liar when he was under pressure, and right now he was under a lot of pressure. His heart was beating faster than it should, his hands warm and moist. He could feel panic creeping in.

"What is it that you're guarding in your pocket?" the man asked, his eyes fixed on Harry's jeans where his precious wand lay. "A stick of some sorts, by the shape. Why would you carry a stick around?"

"This is none of your business. I'm- look, just let me through. I need to get somewhere and I'm running late as it is," another lie. He actually wasn't expected at home until an hour later, but the man didn't need to know that.

"No," he simply said, telling Harry he didn't buy his pitiful excuse.

Harry shifted his weight to his left leg, uncomfortable. He just wanted to buy a damn cake. A cake! He shouldn't get out of the house – it only brought disasters. He cursed his rotten luck. It was like someone was messing with him again, like Dobby did, or maybe someone didn't like him. Voodoo dolls aren't a bluff, you know. Harry wondered if there was an anti-Felix-Felicis potion, and if he took it by accident somehow on a regular basis ever since he was born. That would explain so much…

"I need you to pass on a message for me," the man whispered, his eyes darting around to make sure no one heard him, though the only one who could was Harry.

Harry sighed. Anything to make him leave, he thought desperately. "What is it?"

The man got closer, a hand coming to hide his lips from nonexistent onlookers. "These words exactly: A message to Wammy's House from Lawliet – tell N it's bright and blonde." He drew away then, his hand retreating. His hunched form straightened a bit, the man gaining height.

"That's it?" Harry asked, wanting nothing more than to get out of there.

"Yes, and please do it soon. It's urgent."

Harry thought for a second that he saw a hint of a smile, but it disappeared before he could determine anything. "And to whom should I pass it on?"

The man looked at him with disappointment shining through his eyes. "Wammy's House,"

"Right," Harry looked around in unease. "Well, it's been great meeting you. I hope you'll… um… find peace."

"Thank you,"

They stood in silence for a few seconds, the man at Harry and Harry not knowing what to do.

"Can I…?" Harry motioned for the man to move.

"Yes," the man said, clearing the way for Harry to go.

As soon as he got out of the shop, releasing a breath that has been stuck in his throat, he no longer felt that pressure in his chest he had no idea was there. He felt lighter.

He needed to find out what Wammy's House was. The sooner, the better, apparently.

He had no idea where to start.

Maybe Google.

The air was chilly, making Harry shudder and put on his coat. He thought about what just happened, and couldn't help burst into giggles, earning a handful of suspicious and chiding glares, which he ignored. Those things had their way of finding him. It was funny. People should give him a break.

Looking back at the sweets shop, Harry could see the ghost of the man fading. Maybe he was going to heaven, Harry mused. The last thing the man did before he disappeared completely was smiling at him smugly, like he's just won a game.

Little did Harry know he's just helped him win it.