Chapter Text
“Light, it’s only been a week but you look exhausted. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Light replies, eyes vacant. L knows it is a lie. Light’s body language has grown more and more tense with each day confined inside the small cell, cameras capturing his every move, and L’s unblinking eyes have been analyzing the smallest detail. What is he planning? With Light in confinement, L expected Kira to keep acting as usual, but the killings have instead stopped. This only works to prove that Light is Kira, but L is waiting for something to turn the situation around. There must be a reason Light put himself in this position, it's impossible he'd give himself up like this.
Light continues on about not looking good and discarding his pride, but L is unable to grace his dramatics with a reply because, a beat later, Light Yagami’s rigid position on the ground simply... slumps. Suddenly drops. Like a puppet with its strings cut that seems to be only held together by the restraints, head lolling forward in a way such a vain young man would never consciously allow.
Ah— L blinks owlishly at the screen, mind snapping back into the borderline chaotic whirling he is used to when puzzles such as Kira are concerned. Behind him, Aizawa bites out a curse and Matsuda gasps. L bites his thumb.
"Oh my," Watary mutters.
What are you doing, Kira?
He groans. Merlin, his whole body feels like a huge bruise. He sits up properly from an uncomfortable sort of slouch on a cold surface — is he on the floor? His muscles are spasming, pins and needles across his body, joints stiff. He feels like a child again, the dull pain of spending hours curled up in a corner of his cupboard to stay warm in the coldness of the night.
His fingers twitch, his arms tremble, and his head spins. Is he tied up? He squeezes his eyes shut, the weight of his glasses missing. Yes, he’s tied up and on the floor, but why? His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and worsening his headache. He focuses on regulating his breathing (like on those nights when he'd wake up screaming, feeling like his head would crack open at any moment). Breath in, one, two, three, hold, breathe out, one, two, three, four. He draws his arms and legs closer, still weak as the aching gradually fades away, and allows his head to drop to the surface he had awoken leaning against. Instead of stone or brick, he is surprised to find a cushioned surface — a bed.
Harry opens his eyes. In front of him are bars, as in prison bars, and there is a sodding muggle surveillance camera pointed right at him. He closes his eyes again, wishing his hands were free so he could at least rub his face or pull at his hair.
A sharp sting pierces his skull, making him wince.
He’s oddly taken aback by the sensation, and it takes him a moment to figure out why. When was the last time he felt pain greater than a fleeting sting or a shallow cut? Was it when Sayu fell off some monkey bars and he jumped forward to cushion her fall? He’d scraped his knees raw and bloody, and she’d cried while he checked her over in a silent panic to make sure she was unhurt. Dad had been proud of him for taking care of her, while mom hurried to put something on his injuries.
Sayu?
No, he doesn’t have any siblings.
And his parents are dead.
All at once, like floodgates bursting open for water to pour out, fast and powerful, he remembers. Voldemort’s body dispersing into dust, the Elder Wand almost hot against his palm. Relief. It’s all over.
After that, pitch black.
And back to the beginning.
A different beginning.
Being a Japanese boy named Light Yagami. Having another childhood. Having parents and a sister who loved him.
It is a family like he'd always wanted, and yet... Grief for his friends, Harry’s friends, grips his lungs and heart and freezes the blood flowing through his veins. He chokes back a sob as the loss of everyone he cares about dawns on him, because damn it, he hadn’t even had time to ask about the dead, and oh, Teddy would never get to know his godfather —
A buzz, “Light, do you need medical attention?”
“No,” he snaps robotically.
He died. How? His mind is a mess, he needs— he needs to— fuck, what had Snape said, back then? No, no, the bastard hadn’t said anything useful about Occlumency, it was... a book. With a black cover. Silver details. What had the book said about arranging memories?
Calm down. Breathe. Concentrate. Center yourself.
Merlin, Snape was dead too.
Arrange your mind. Sort through what you remember. Find a center, focus on what you trust the most, from the very core of your being. Bring it forth, and build everything else around it. Usually, it's the person's name, the way they identify themselves, but...
“Light, can you hear me?”
Light Yagami. He was Light Yagami, right? That felt... odd. No, he was Harry.
Just Harry.
He had a Horcrux inside him. He died. And then he wasn’t dead any longer. Voldemort’s defeat. Blankness. Then Harry... woke up again. As Light Yagami.
Light is a genius, smart beyond anyone Harry has ever met —even Hermione; bright, amazing Hermione—. His memories as Light are fuzzy. Muddy. Boredom that is so great it consumes every day into monotony.
Then there is something falling from the sky.
Before, Harry as Light was… faded. After the day Light picked the thing up, it was like being underwater within him, like Harry was being pulled down and down until he was so deep the sunlight couldn’t reach. Absolute darkness, the crushing pressure increasing every time the something was used.
There are flashes he struggles to make sense of. Names, deaths, a voice on the TV. Kira.
Whatever that thing was, it was powerful — and Light used it to kill as he saw fit. Now that it's gone, it's like Harry has been startled awake, whereas before he was a mirage within Light's self.
Harry blinks his eyes open, gazing at the ceiling. Once upon a time, Dumbledore said that killing someone damaged your soul. Both lives have been so full of death, it’s almost pitiful. Maybe Aunt Petunia was right in saying he is cursed. Or maybe something about him is a magnet for cursed things. Figures that—
“Light-kun, Matsuda-san and Aizawa-san are going in.”
Fucking hell.
He can’t afford to drive himself into panic in the situation he is in. He can’t even imagine why Light Yagami is in a cell. Harry Potter, yes, with his cursed luck it wouldn’t be the first time he's behind bars, but Light has always been a well-behaved and dutiful son. He’s never stolen a piece of candy in his life.
Oh, actually no. Light has killed dozens of people with (probably) a cursed object. He killed a man on live TV, for some reason. Something about an "elle"? It's actually a relief he's behind bars.
Harry is tired.
The cell is opened. Two men he vaguely remembers from his father’s —Light’s father— job enter, worried expressions becoming hesitant when he looks up at them. They share a confused glance.
Meanwhile, Harry groans and drops his head again, hoping to be left to rest before trying to puzzle out what is going on inside his head and in the real world.
Whatever.
Light’s eyes have somehow become bright, piercing green.
Those aren’t contacts, both Matsuda and Watari checked. Truthfully, L feels more than a bit... lost. It's impossible for the entire Task Force, including his own father, to have mistaken Light's eye color this whole time. L even pulled up some pictures of Light Yagami’s face from up close for good measure. Light's eyes are brown, or at least they used to be. And now they are green.
The first thing Light did when he stepped out of the cell was to give the room a once-over instead of zeroing in on L. And now he is leaning on his elbows, head bowed as he runs his hands through his hair. The pristine look that characterizes Light is completely gone as the light brown strands become messier and messier, curling softly. Every seven point eight seconds on average, his right hand twitches as if to grasp something that isn’t there.
There. He’s doing it again.
L has observed Light Yagami for many, many hours, and what he has seen in the last minutes is at odds with everything he has learned about him. There is an odd heaviness in the room, like static on his skin and something that makes his tongue fuzzy. It has been twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds since Light regained consciousness, and he hasn’t spoken a word.
When a sigh breaks the silence, it has been over forty minutes.
“This might sound impossible but…” Light’s voice shakes and he takes a deep breath, “Would you believe me if I said that I can only remember flashes of my life after November 28? And it's all a mess.”
L chews on his nails and doesn’t answer. November 28, 2003, Kurou Otoharada dies of a heart attack while holding a nursery school hostage on live Japanese television. His name and picture were provided. L has long suspected the man is Kira’s first victim. Light's first time killing, and the death that led him down a path of no return.
Slowly, Light raises his head and meets his eyes for the first time in a while. It’s startling to be the sole focus of the unfamiliar gaze, but that’s not what makes L bite on until he feels a sting of pain. He doesn’t understand the expression Light is making, it doesn’t suit his face. It doesn't suit Light Yagami, and he can’t decipher the emotions playing out on a face that has always felt plastic.
Light Yagami is tight-lipped smiles where warm brown eyes narrow behind long eyelashes, laugher that is never too loud nor too quiet. His anger is a slight frown and stern words. Sadness is lowered eyes and a subdued voice. Just like with his looks, the perfectly combed hair and flawless posture, he keeps careful control over every action and expression.
Green eyes, messy hair and a dazed expression. Currently, Light Yagami does not look much like himself. L could explain away some of the changes; there have been cases of dissociative identity disorder that share similarities with what he's seeing. But the green eyes make him think abnormal.
He remembers the odd movement of Misa Amane’s hair despite there being no breeze. Something much more subtle than magically changing eyes, but...
“Are you alright? You are bleeding, mister...”
It takes L a second too long to realize Light doesn't know what to call him.
He remembers Misa Amane acting like she'd been captured by a stalker despite having been explicitly told she was arrested under suspicion of being the second Kira. Her sudden change in behavior. And now Light’s.
His hand trembles and he forces it to still. Indeed, red drips over his empty plate from the finger he's biting. Watari swiftly replaces it with one that carries a thick slice of chocolate cake. L takes the napkin and wipes his hand, but he can’t even focus on the enticing dessert. There's a metallic taste in his mouth.
It’s awful.
“I'm Hideki Ryuga,” he introduces himself. He looks up again just in time to see bland recognition draw up on Light’s face.
“Oh, like the pop star?”
L takes in Light’s expression. He has always been an excellent actor, but L can usually get a feel for when he is lying, and this does not feel like it. And even if Light was lying, he doesn’t know why he would do so this way. A suspect acting like he has selective amnesia would make him seem more guilty, not less, and he knows that Light is not so naive as to believe the contrary.
“Yes,” he replies, “but you should call me Ryuzaki.”
Surprisingly, this time Light winces in pain, a hand raising to rub his temple. He gives L a guarded look, eyes pinched, “Ryuzaki”, he repeats. “That... No, I do remember you… You are the detective, you wanted to…” Light sighs, trailing off as he massages his head. “We played tennis.”
L doesn’t reply. None of his confusion reaches his expression. Why choose that memory, out of all their interactions? It is unlike Light —unlike Kira— to plead insanity, not when he is so proud and careful in the way he appears to others. And now, ‘remembering’ L when he insists his memory is spotty, what does he want to get out of it?
Then again, L is currently looking into unfamiliar green irises. Insanity might not be the correct answer to this puzzle. He is not the type of person that believes in the supernatural, but Kira is already an impossible phenomenon; he can admit this case is far from normal. Far from sane.
“Before that, you showed up on TV, right? To prove Kira exists and… that Kira is human,” Light says, dragging out the last word as if unsure. L stares at the way he chews on his lower lip, the way he lowers his eyes and tilts his head ever so slightly. A combination of unfamiliar gestures and familiar ones. “You are L,” he mutters, and his expression slowly relaxes.
The silence stretches. L watches this oddity that sits in front of him.
Eventually, Light opens his mouth, but pauses before anything can escape. His lips are reddened and moist from biting, and his eyes are green and clear. His hair is somewhat messy, giving him an air of youthfulness he never showed before. His face is the same, yet right now he looks like a stranger.
L doesn’t understand what Light is planning.
“I think I was Kira. No, I think part of me was Kira,” Light says, voice steady. “But that part is gone, along with the thing Kira uses to kill, even if I can’t remember what it is. I don’t know if Kira planned to do this to my mind, if he has already prepared for what I’ll do next, but I don’t want to get that— thing inside me again.”
The confession makes a brief sense of victory emerge, but it quickly fades. He already knew Light was Kira, and maybe he still is, but it doesn’t solve the problem of how exactly Kira and the second Kira kill. If it was so simple, he’d have long ago ordered Misa and Light’s execution.
For now, L is more curious about something else. “‘That thing’?” L repeats. It doesn’t escape his notice that Light thinks something went wrong when he lost part of his memories. L suspects the same.
A week ago, Misa Amane also appeared to have lost her memory as the second Kira, but it is different from what has happened to Light. She is undoubtedly herself, and her love for Light is still unfaltering. Light was probably supposed to be the same as her, convinced of his innocence after forgetting being Kira, yet fundamentally still Light Yagami.
This Light, who acts almost nothing like Light, knows he was Kira even if the details are gone. He has outright told L about it — if he wanted, he could show the recording to the world, and Light would be sentenced for Kira's crimes. And Light knows it, going by his expression; he is literally putting his life in L's hands. Even if he is saying the truth and is no longer Kira, Light Yagami would still be held accountable.
But L doesn't want to give Light up.
Green eyes, the habits of a stranger, a messy memory. A puzzle within a puzzle.
If what happened to Light is not within Kira's plan, it is too good an opportunity to pass it up. While L won't believe Light fully, he hopes this means that Kira has made a misstep. If Light is not currently lying and Kira is an entity that can change bodies, can Kira even be caught? L has to believe he can. He has to believe he can win the game, or else it's meaningless to even try.
Light smiles without humor, a crooked thing. “Don’t you think Kira is like a parasite?”
A parasite. He likes that better than some possessing ghost or spirit; if he can bottle it up, it can still be caught. L mimics Light’s smile, small and fake. It must have given something away, because Light’s own smile softens in a way that reaches his green eyes.
“If we want to get rid of Kira, we’ll need to catch him, and I’m sure the only way to do it is to play his game until he shows up. Will you help me?”
A chuckle threatens to escape L, but he simply shows the same fake smile again. Oddly enough, he wants to accept Light’s proposal. But… “Light, there have been no more of Kira’s victims since your imprisonment. As far as we know, you are still Kira.”
Light shakes his head slowly, but doesn't defend himself. “You can keep me locked away if that’ll put you at ease. I'll cooperate”
“Yes, it will put me at ease.”
And he’ll keep studying this new Light Yagami.
A week later, Kira claims more lives. L doesn’t tell Light, and Light doesn’t ask. He spends most of his time meditating, something he had never done before, even when he was under observation at home.
Every day, Light’s changes become more obvious. Like another person has taken over his body, slowly settling in. It’s both terrifying and incredible to watch. When he pulls up recordings of the first few days of his confinement and compares them to the current Light, it becomes unsettling. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this was Light’s identical twin instead of Light himself.
L forces himself to cut that line of thought and focuses on the new victims.
If Watari has an opinion on L’s continued observation of Light’s every move despite Kira being active again, he doesn’t voice it.
The man leaves work late. He scratches his jaw, holding back a yawn. He notices a black objects on the ground, and for some reason, as if drawn to it, he stops.
The man lifts the notebook.
Blinks.
A towering shadow looms before him, a pale, stretched form with a glaring yellow eye peeking through the mess of hair.
“Human.” It grumbles.
He screams.
That something that was pulled into the Death Note stirs. Like waking up after a long dream, torn away from his resting place—
Voldemort wakes up.