Okay everyone, I felt really bad about how I wrote up my plot bunnies before. So now instead of doing that horrible, dreaded list, I went ahead and made a sort of Chapter One slash Prelude. A few of my old crossover ideas will pop up here, but it'll start getting new stuff pretty soon. Every idea is up for adoption, you can just take the idea itself and make it into your own or use what I wrote, I don't mind. I would like a pm if you do though, because I'd love to read some of these ideas! Anyhow, I don't own Harry Potter or the various fandoms I crossover with it, and all of that good junk.

This one is a One Piece X Harry Potter crossover where Harry grows up as a World Noble. So without further ado, enjoy!


The Boy Who Lived in the Holy Land

The occupants of Number Four Privet, if ever asked, would say that they were a perfectly ordinary family, with a perfectly ordinary house, and a perfect ordinary life. There was nothing strange about them, and nothing strange ever occurred around them. Then they would slam the door right on your face, screaming no soliciting, as obviously a normal person would never ask such outright questions.

Many of their neighbors were in the same opinion as these occupants, who were known as the Dursley's. They were seen as the personification of a perfect suburbia life, with a providing husband being Vernon Dursley, the doting wife as Petunia Dursley, and a bouncing blond baby boy, known simply as Dudley Dursley.

There was of course their rather, unique, appearances. With Vernon looking like a walrus with his girth and mustache, Petunia emulating a giraffe with her long neck, and baby Dudley taking after a beach ball of all things. But this was easily overlooked by the nosy inhabitants of Privet Drive, who could see nothing wrong with the family.

Well, except for one, itty, bitty, teeny, tiny thing.

The Dursley's had a young nephew, as loath as they were to say it, who they had been taking care of for all of a week. His name was Harry Potter, and as far as the neighborhood was concerned, he was going to be a bad apple, no matter what kindness the Dursley's were giving the child. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and with little Harry's parents being deadbeats who got themselves killed drunk driving, well, they were worried as a whole.

However, what the neighborhood gossips and old biddies didn't know, was that little Harry's parents were not deadbeats who got themselves killed in a car crash. In fact, that little information was something the Petunia had spouted out, not wanting her neighbors to know the truth.

The truth that Harry Potter wasn't the child of some deadbeat parents, but the child of freakish reality bending people known as wizards. Who, in their own stupidity, or so she thought, had got themselves killed by a terrorist who fancied himself as a Dark Lord. The same terrorist who killed their parents because her sister made herself a major target.

Not that the shrew of a woman was in the whole know here. All of her information on the current events in that world came from nothing more than a piece of parchment that was left behind on her doorstep, along with her nephew.

She would have never taken in the freak if it was up to her, in fact, she would have dropped the grubby little brat off at an orphanage and be done with it. Because while Lily was her sister, and she did love her in the past, she just could not take care of a wizard child.

There was just too much anger and jealousy in her at wizard kind. For them taking away her sister, for their magic which they lauded as superior, and for her not being one of them.

But there was something else that stirred in Petunia's heart at the mention of wizards. Fear.

There was a deep fear for what these wizards did, what their magic was capable of. While Lily may have been seen as the smart and beautiful daughter by her parents, Petunia was hardly stupid. In fact, she was downright cunning, and when Lily babbled on about that freakish school of hers, Petunia was able to gain a wealth of information.

Information like how there were spells that could cause someone to loose their memories; Obliviate if she remembered. The abuse of that kind of spell could be catastrophic, there could be women walking around who had gotten raped by one of these wizards. Yet they didn't know it because someone waved a stick of all things.

A heinous act covered by perfect Lily's precious magic, and it made Petunia sick. And even worse, that was on the low end. There were hundreds of spells out there, spells like the one that killed her parents, that were even worse.

It was this fear of wizards, this fear of magic, coupled with the letter that forced Petunia to take her nephew in.

Because Petunia was hardly stupid, she knew what the contents of the letter meant. Her freak of a nephew, Harry, was thought of as a savior in their world. They all believed that the little snot had killed the most evil of them, a thought which made Petunia balk with some fear, but she was always able to discount that information. Because while her nephew was a freak, he couldn't have killed someone, a baby couldn't be that bad of a freak.

But the matter remained that he was thought of as a savior, and if anything was to happen to him, then it'd be on her head. They would converge on her and her family, with their terrible magic, and they'd do horrible things. She was sure of that.

So to protect her family, the family she put so much time into, Petunia had reluctantly convinced her husband to take the freak in last week. She would care for the abomination, but no more than needed to be. Because she wouldn't let her own fear rule her in raising some child.

Too bad Petunia could never keep to such a conviction.


It was a bright, Friday morning on Privet Drive. Housewives were bustling around their kitchens, cleaning the mess left from an early morning breakfast. Husbands stole a quick kiss from their busy partners, murmuring their farewells as they left for work, their children not far behind as they left to play in the warm summer weather.

Petunia was no stranger to this morning ritual, she herself having repeated it for years with Vernon. However, there was a change in plans on this fine afternoon.

Instead of going straight away to home clean up, Petunia was going to bath Harry. Once she finished putting her precious Diddums in the playpen with all his toys of course.

But the fact of the matter was that Petunia was going to give the freak, Harry, a bath.

If she could, she wouldn't even feed the grubby child, whose face was streaked with dust and his tuff of hair a tiny greasy mess; undoubtedly left in such a state from his snit in the cupboard under the stairs.

However, he stunk. Horribly. Sure Petunia changed his nappies once in a great while, when his crying became too much of a hassle, but it did nothing to dissuade the child from the pungent stink that sunk out from his makeshift room.

So, it was with much reluctance that she started to give him a bath this morning, lifting him out of a spare high chair Dudley had long outgrown, and holding him at arms length, her nose wrinkling unattractively.

She was going to give the little freak a bath in her sink, since he wasn't good enough for the tub as her strapping Dudley was. Plus the fact that he was still tiny for his age helped a lot.

So with mechanic movements, none of which withed the opinion that she'd rather be doing anything else, Petunia set up the little makeshift bath in the sink, making sure she had some soap, and even baby shampoo. The last of which she planned to use as sparingly as possible.

Not wishing to delay any longer, and wanting to get back to her own precious child, Petunia hurried up, dumping her Nephew into the barely lukewarm water before she began to scrub, albeit harshly.

Harry, the sweet baby he was, fussed minimally, but seemed to be more interested in the colorful suds that floated about in the water and air. He didn't understand what was going on, that he wasn't wanted nor did he understand that his parents were gone.

He was a baby, and he couldn't really comprehend anything. But he did know one thing, that he was unhappy the whole week he was in the strange house. Getting yelled at by a scary puce colored man when he wailed from his discomforted, the feeling of hunger that clung to his stomach like a heavy blanket, or the enclosed darkness he was subjugated to daily. It was horrible.

Yet being let into the somewhat warm, but mostly cold water with its foamy bubbles was nice. It was the nicest thing he had seen, or felt since he'd been in the all too clean house. It filled the dark haired baby with a sense of jubilation, even as his aunt roughly handled his hair, cleaning the locks of its greasy build up.

Now, as many wizards know, when a child feels a strong emotion, they tend to do what is called accidental magic. Accidental magic can vary from child to child, though the effect itself is influenced by the emotion behind it. Like if a child was angry, things would break. If they're sad, their magic would do something to cheer them up. When they're scared or endangered, their magic will rise to defend them. And like sadness, happiness fuels the magic into making the child happier.

In Harry's case, his magical core, unnaturally large for his age or even for an adult, let loose a bit of his magic into his surroundings; trying to fuel that child's happiness even more.

Petunia screamed when she saw the frothy bubbles in the sink animate themselves into the shapes of mythical creatures. One forming into a dragon that flew around, another into a unicorn that pranced upon its bubble plain, and another into a mermaid who waved merrily back; Harry all the while laughing and splashing at his toys.

Anger, unlike any other before welled up in Petunia at the sight of magic being done in front of her. But fear was also present. The all consuming fear when she thought of what magic could do, how it could hurt her family, how it had hurt her.

Such a volatile cocktail of emotion brewed inside her like a sickly bitter poison, setting her veins alight in fury. She didn't know what really pushed her to do it, but one moment she was screaming, where as in the next she was holding the flailing body of the freak, Harry, under the water. His limbs flailing clumsily as bubbles rose up in an unspoken plea for air.

It was no surprise what happened next. Harry whose large magic reserve was barely dented reacted violently to the child's new emotion of terror and pain. It latched securely to the most instinctual desire of the child, that of survival.

Fueled by emotion and desire it reacted violently, in a whirl storm of water that would put a broken water main to shame the magic had done as was its purpose. It had gotten Harry out of there in the best way it knew, and had whisked him away using the very water to a place he would not only survive, but live.

Petunia sat dumbstruck on the floor of her kitchen, staring unblinkingly at where her now cracked open sink sat, her skin red from where the water had exploded outwards and chaffed against her skin roughly. There was no sign of the freak in the wreckage. No body, no blood, or even blood stained water. Harry was gone, no trace besides the wreckage left behind.

In the background, Dudley Dursley let loose a mighty bellow as he was awoken from his nap by the sound of loud, rushing water.


In the holy land of Mariejois, an ungodly wail broke through the grandiose halls of the illustrious palace. Saint Roswald paused in his walk, his thick brows furrowing as his mouth settled into an angry frown.

The land had just recently been repaired since the beast known as Fisher Tiger had ran rampant in it, and no one, not the Gorosei, not the Marines, and defiantly not the Tenryubito were in any mood for tomfoolery. Let alone in the mood from the crying, desperate wail of what sounded like a baby.

Huffing, the Noble looked around him, scowling when he saw that there were no guards in his general vicinity; most likely being busy guarding the outside or helping with repairs on the very edge of their sacred land.

"Looks like I'll just have to do it myself. Good for nothing peons." Roswald huffed irritably as he stormed towards the origin of the noise.

He navigated through the familiar repaired walls, taking no notice to the garish show of luxury he and his fellow Nobles shared, fully intent on his task.

Two sets of stairs and three more hallways later did Roswald find the origin of the noise, sitting smack dab in the courtyard by the pond, it's little body shaking like a leaf in the Autumn winds.

It was a baby, that much he already knew as he stalked irritably over to it, his robes barely touching the ground. The boy, for indeed it was a boy now that he had gotten closer, had quieted upon his arrival; his little pink lips quivering cutely in a show that he was cold, while his fingers clenched the air.

Now that he could see the child more clearly, the crotchety Noble could admit he was cute. With downy black hair and pallid skin. He was a bit skinny, but that could be rectified with some food, if someone minded it. He'd make a beautiful slave in the future, that was for sure. However as of now, the thing was an annoyance, and it dared to desecrate the holy lands of his ancestors. He couldn't abide by that, and he would make sure to end it.

Pulling out his gun in a familiar twitchy motion, Roswald set the barrel against the child's forehead, not at all caring he was about to kill a baby of all things. But just as he was about to pull the trigger, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye, something hidden under the child's raven hair.

Using the gun to but the messy locks aside, the bearded man couldn't help but let loose a gasp. "My god, this can't be!" Roswald cried dramatically, the gun slipping from his hand, and plopping itself into the pond.

There, in stark contrast to the child's skin was a pink, lightning bolt scar, standing up proudly like an insignia. An insignia Roswald was familiar with, damningly so.

"But it can't be, how could a child bear this sign! Maybe it's a mistake?" The man howled to himself, in a tizzy almost. He honestly couldn't believe what was happening, but he had to make sure. Even if the chance was just a smidgen, he owed it not only to himself, but to this child to check it out.

So with some slowness, did Roswald pick up the child, awkwardly cradling him before he waddled off in an awkward grate; cringing at the dampness that seeped into his robes.

Harry on the other hand was more ecstatic than the man, snuggling into the comforting warmth, his little hands grasping onto the material as he cooed. He amused himself greatly by watching the strange man who was practically hyperventilating in his bubble, fogging up the glass as he tore down hallways.

But it didn't take Roswald long to reach his destination, as he used one hand to thrust open a pair of double doors that were obviously more ornament than the rest of the hallways.

Behind the doors laid a dead end hallway, done up heavily in gold, unlike the outside marble and blues the rest of the palace was swathed in. Upon majestic walls were twenty one portraits, ten on each side depicting different individuals, while the last one at the end was a group painting.

Roswald ignored most of them, instead hobbling towards the middle portrait on the left. He glanced between it, and the child who was clinging to him, and he felt his knees go weak with realization on his end.

The similarities between the two were uncanny. The man in the portrait, an older gentleman somewhere in his forties sported the same wild black hair Harry had. His eyes were like bright emeralds, not even a shade different, and he even shared the same cheekbones as Harry!

However, the most damning and oddest evidence was located right above the man's eye. There was an angry pink-like lightning bolt, not unlike the one Harry sported in the exact same spot. However, it was difficult to tell if the lightning bolt was a tattoo or a scar, the age of the painting making it difficult to tell.

But it was enough for Roswald, who looked down at the child with the most amazed yet bewildered look upon his face. There could be no doubt, not in his mind, who this child was.

He, like him, was a descendent from a creator of their world. This child was a Tenryubito by blood! It was the only way to explain the resemblance, and why he would be in their holy land of all places.

As if the wool had been lifted from his eyes, Roswald practically gripped the child in a protective hold, not at all like the awkward one he used on the child earlier.

It was odd, with that little self revelation, Roswald felt a warm feeling spread within his chest. This child, this delicate little, soaked through baby was family. Family was an important thing to him and the other nobles.

Oh sure, they were monsters, undoubtedly so, and he honestly believed everything he did was in his own right. He and his family deserved to own slaves, they deserved to do everything they wanted whenever they wanted, because they were from the very bloodline that created the world.

But while they were arrogant, they weren't fools. Yes they enjoyed intoxicating power, but they could be clever when they wanted or needed to be. There was a reason why the Gorosei hasn't taken full control of their ancestors government yet.

But that was the issue, they were clever, and they knew their reception wasn't well met by a majority, to the point where they'd be murdered if they couldn't contact an admiral. And because of that, all they really had to count on in this world were themselves, and their wealth.

They made sure to take care of each other, and nothing more. To them, the whole world would burn before it could get them or their riches, and this child was undoubtedly one of them.

That made him stall, as he gave the baby another look over. The child was still wet, yet his shivering had calmed down. But he was sleepy, his eyes drooping in a cute manner than made his lips tug upwards.

But it only turned into a frown as he eyed the child's slight lightness. It was obvious to him that someone had tried to harm a child, a Tenryubito child nonetheless. It wasn't as severe as it could be, but still, it looked like someone denied the poor boy a few meals before they tried to abandon him.

Such thoughts made Roswald angry, but he didn't dare clench his fingers, worried about harming his new, precious burden. At least it was early enough that there wouldn't be permanent damage to the child, but he still had to act fast. He didn't think it was healthy to leave a baby wet for an extended amount of time outside of a bath.

He'd make sure this child would have everything he needed, and was comfortable before he went off to destroy those cretins that dared to lay a hand upon a Tenryubito. He'd make sure that nothing was left of them, or their own island.