DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR NOBLESSE.

AN:

This is crazy. Even within the realm of fanfiction. Harry Potter and Noblesse? Really?

I just had to get this idea out though. It seems pretty fun, and makes the whole Harry-Potter-gets-thrown-into-another-universe slightly more unpredictable.

The continuation of this story will depend on your responses. I want to know if anyone actually thinks this idea has merit!

Be warned though: if I do update, it will be quite slow. So don't expect too much on that front... hehe.

Well… onto the story!

P.S. This starts from ch.170 of Noblesse.

Chapter 1: Never Take Advice From A Bored Death

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

...

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The-Man-Who-Conquered.

How would someone describe him? Some might say that he is a delinquent, a rascal, a no-good, dirty boy who causes his normal, good family a lot of grief. Others might squeal and go on and on about how he's the Boy-Who-Lived, and he's so handsome, and heroic, and kind and treat him as if he's the best thing that happened since sliced bread. Others say that he is an attention-seeking brat that gets into a lot of trouble and puts the school in danger, yet gets praised for it. His friends would say that he is a great person, who's always selfless and kind to others, yet somehow managing to attract trouble with his 'saving people thing'.

And the boy- no, man in question. What would he say about himself? Oh, just that he's no one special, and he's just Harry. But if he's no one special, how was he able to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, kill the basilisk, save his godfather, escape Voldemort's clutches multiple times, started an illegal resistance group, break into Gringotts, ride a freaking dragon and single-handedly win a war against the Dark Lord? Oh, that he wouldn't have been able to do any of that without his friends, and that it was sheer, dumb luck, while looking away and blushing horribly.

Harry Potter could not be any more wrong.

Because Harry Potter has been chosen and marked by others other than Voldemort.

Others that will completely change his life.

...

BRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRIINNNGGGGGGG!

THWACK! BANG! CRASH!

Goddamnit, this is the fourth alarm clock this month.

21-year-old Harry James Potter had a hard life. Wait, scratch that. Harry James Potter was- and still is- Fate's punching bag since the day that Trelawney had to sprout that stupid prophecy, dictating his whole life from the age of 1. Defeating Moldyshorts has not changed that at all. You would think that getting rid of the man that's been wanting to murder you for one and a half decades would allow him to have a relatively peaceful life. You know, where there are no murders, no possessed teachers, and no fighting for his life?

Ha! He couldn't be more wrong.

Instead of running from murderers, he's running from fangirls with marriage contracts. Instead of hiding from Death Eaters, he's hiding from the ministry who want to use his fame for their own gain. Instead of fighting Voldemort, he's fighting the enemy that is his own memories, replaying the horrors he had to endure during his life.

Such is the life of Harry Potter.

Bloody hell, why am I up so early? He blindly reaches for his glasses and attempts to brave the room with no lights on.

Getting up, the man stumbles his way to the bathroom cursing as he manages to knock against every sharp corner. He looks up at the mirror. Emerald green eyes that were once full of life and emotion look tired and weary. The rat's nest that is the Potter hair is surprisingly even messier, and still managing to defy the laws of gravity, sticking up into the air. High cheekbones, strong jawline, thin lips, and a straight narrow nose makes up the face of Harry Potter.

At least I was blessed with good looks.

Images of women tripping over themselves to grab a piece of his shirt replay themselves in that mind, one incident of where he caught someone's house-elf stealing his underwear being the prominent.

He shudders.

Maybe not.

As he pays attention to his hygiene - a luxury he couldn't afford for over half his life - Harry thinks about his meeting with Luna. Unsurprisingly, she's an Unspeakable, in the haunt of all things crazy in a world of crazies, searching for Nargles and Heliopaths to her heart's content. Whenever Harry is in the Ministry, he can always feel magic tingling with excitement from the Department of Mysteries, bursting and cackling with solved problems and new discoveries.

At least Luna found something she loves. The sweet girl deserves it.

Unfortunately, the same thing can't be said for Harry. You see, there's something very curious about having 17 years of one's life revolving around survival, whether it be from your cousin's meaty fists, a three-headed dog, or a Dark Lord baby. His whole life depended on Voldemort, Voldemort, fricking Voldemort, and now that he's suddenly gone, Harry is completely and utterly lost. There are days where he wakes up and realizes I don't need to fight for my life anymore, but there's always a sense of loss accompanying that seemingly happy thought. Because Harry's lost what essentially made him alive.

His blood no longer sings with thrill when he arrives at the Burrow, knowing that there's no life-threatening situation that gives him a rush of adrenaline and makes his magic dance. His eyes no longer light up when visiting his godson Teddy, when Andromeda looks at him with hurthurthurt, because there's no Remus or Tonks to smile at their son instead. His muscles no longer tense in anticipation when winning championships in fighting, both dueling and martial arts alike, because who can ever come close to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived at the age of 1, the Man-Who-Conquered at 17?

Life no longer holds meaning for Harry Potter, a fact he realises when he the Golden Trio split apart, when Molly Weasley looks accusingly at him for not marrying Ginny, when he sees everyone else move on from the war. He's stuck in the thrill of battle, the constant vigilance and the addicting high from winning a fight.

Most importantly, Harry Potter is bored. And a bored Harry is a terrifyingly reckless Harry.

….

Coming out of the bathroom, Harry flops right down on his bed. He turns his head to the side and contemplates the wedding invitation from Draco Malfoy and his soon-to-be-wife, Astoria Greengrass.

I bet you the ferret's quite smug about managing to get ahead in something, even if it is something like marriage.

He hardly remembers Greengrass. He was pretty sure there was two, but he never really interacted with other members of Slytherin, so he doesn't really know. Absentmindedly, he summons his mail and flips through the envelopes.

Fanmail, fanmail, fanmail, even more fanmail, daily prophet, fanmail, ministry sealed letter, some kind of offer from the European Dueling Committee, another letter from the ministry-

Wait.

Interest piqued, Harry selects the letter from the EDC, eyebrows raising as he reads:

Mr. Harry James Potter,

Once again, we would like to congratulate you on your well-earned victory at last year's European Dueling Championship. The judges where extremely impressed by your flexible thinking and adaptability, using elementary spells and hexes to combat complex pieces of magic, proving the dueling is not about the amount of spells you know, but how the spells you know can be used.

Honestly, Harry is impressed. This is the first letter he's read where the writer doesn't mention his unwanted status as the Man-Who-Conquered in the first two lines.

In fact, your duels have done a great service to many institutions dealing with a defense, as we are now seeing the merit of strengthening one's physical body in addition to their magical repertoire. Considering your defeat of the Britain's Dark Lord-

Ah, yes. There it is. Harry was almost concerned that there was a bureaucrat that wasn't interested in his fame.

-we, the committee, would like to thank you by offering you a wonderful opportunity. We would greatly appreciate it if you become one of the main judges in the European Dueling Championship within a few years, as your first hand experience in war and unique style of dueling will be a marvelous learning opportunity for everyone involved in the championship, judges and contestants alike. I myself am a retired judge who is now involved with providing dueling institutions excellent opportunities to better themselves, and would be delighted to let you partake in this initiative to teach others about the art of dueling.

We look forward to hearing your reply.

Ian McMaster

Head of Dueling Connections

5th Seat of the

European Dueling Committee

Was the "5th Seat" really necessary? Really? Talk about pride in rank, yeesh.

But seriously, do they actually think that he would want to sit around all day watching idiots butcher their duels and find enjoyment in critiquing them and offering advice? DA was enough, thank you very much. If he has to teach a bunch of kids again, he's afraid he'll turn into Snape. He can already see it. Billowing robes, dark face and a perpetual sneer on his face having to deal with bumbling idiots who think of dueling as a 'manly sport' instead of a beautiful work of art. They'll never understand about the joy of casting, the satisfaction of finally grazing your opponent, or the beauty of seeing of seeing someone being defeated by a hidden Tarantallegra-

Harry blinks as he puts down the letter. Woah. Let's stop there. He's already turning into Snape .

He looks at the clock, hoping that it's very close to lunch for when he'll meet up with Luna. The damning hour hand points at the number 9, smugly informing him that he has to live with his boredom for three more hours. Ugh. Agitated, he rolls over in bed, and his arm smacks onto a slightly open drawer.

"Bloody hell!"

Cursing, he nurses his reddening hand and looks accusingly at the offending piece of wood. He reaches out to grab the handle, and stops when he hears a loud CRACK.

"Master Harry sir, Dobby is hearings a shout. Is Master Harry sir alright?"

Large green eyes on a slightly wrinkled waxy face, bearing huge floppy ears, a large pointed nose and a slightly anxious expression. It's wearing a comfortable looking tea towel, with the Potter and Black insignias woven intricately.

Of course, Harry doesn't concern himself with the beautiful description at all; instead he lets out a short shriek, tangles himself in his blankets, and falls face-first onto the floor. All right next to that still offending, unrepentant drawer.

As expected, Dobby reacts dramatically.

"Oh nos! Harry Potter sirs, are yous alright? Bad Dobby! Dobby gave master a fright! Bad!"

Thankfully, instead of abusing himself, the house-elf snaps his fingers, setting Harry upright on his bed, slightly dazed but nonetheless lucid. Putting out his arms reassuringly, Harry calms the elf down.

"Dobby, Dobby, it's ok, please stop wailing, I was an idiot for tripping, wouldn't you agree?"

"No master, Dobbys is a bad bad elf!"

Sensing some masochistic behaviour coming Harry orders the overzealous elf with an impossible task.

"Dobby, why don't you gather an army and tackle the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts?"

"... Master Harry sir…"

Dobby looks uncomfortably close to falling onto his knees and worshipping Harry as some new diety. Mouth gaping and eyes wide with wonder, Harry sighs at the predictable servitude.

"Just… go Dobby. Please."

Instantly, Dobby straightens at the command, "Yes, Master Harry sir!" and pops right away.

Relieved to avoid another rant about 'the greatness of Master Harry Potter sir', Harry instantly glares at his current enemy. Pulling the drawer out, Harry spies the Invisibility Cloak. Standing, he wraps the cloak around him, almost fondly, and looks at his half-invisible form in the mirror. Seeing that his ankles and feet are visible underneath, Harry sighs nostalgically.

This magical cloth is filled with memories… I wish I could have used it for pranks instead of life-threatening situations though.

He wonders how often the Marauders used the cloak to plan their own. Thinking about the havoc that the Weasley twins would have created with this resource makes him shudder in fear.

Hmm… this is supposed to be one of the Deathly Hallows, but I'm thinking of using it for something as childish as pranking… ha.

To be honest, even though Harry knows that it was the right thing to drop the Resurrection Stone and snap the Elder Wand, he can't help but be curious about what would happen if he collected all the Hallows. What is the Master of Death exactly? Do you become immortal (if that's the case, then how about a hell no)? Do you have the power to communicate with Death? Can you travel between the worlds of the living and the dead? Harry's awfully curious…

See. This is why boredom is dangerous.

Contemplative, Harry changes into some jeans and a black t-shirt. He straps on his undetectable pouch that hides a pocket dimension with emergency money of all currencies, a tent, food, clothes and some books on the wilderness. He attaches his trusty holly wand on his holster and walks to the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place.

This is literally the dummest thing I have ever done. Ever.

And with that, Harry apparates to Hogsmeade, intending to walk to the Forbidden Forest.

...

Ugh… I forgot how creepy and annoying this forest is.

So far, in his effort to retrieve the Resurrection Stone, Harry has encountered Aragog's nasty children, overzealous centaurs, skittish unicorns, seen honest-to-God black flowers and barely avoided intruding upon a group of giants. It's only been 30 minutes. He doesn't know whether Voldemort actually killed him this deep in the forest, or if he's just plain lost.

A stray branch whacks him across the head, and Harry's almost sure that it was about 5 metres higher 2 seconds ago.

Honestly, Accio would be extremely useful right now. Damned rare artefact.

Harry probably wouldn't have minded as much if he knew exactly where the stone is. The Forbidden Forest can sometimes be pretty interesting, and it's nice to see that he can actually get a challenge from a fight by some of the creatures (although nothing has ever come close to the Flying Ford Angela from his 2nd year). But Harry doesn't know where he's going. And an annoyed Harry is an unpredictable Harry.

Just as Harry is debating the pros and cons of using Fiendfyre, he realises that what an idiot he's doing everything the non-magical way. Groaning, Harry leans against the ancient wood, uncaring of the fairy dust dancing around the trunk.

I am such an idiot…

"Point me Resurrection Stone."

Thankfully, he finds the stone after a few minutes of walking. The years of abandonment has done nothing to diminish the ominous blackness of the stone, and Harry almost feels like it's twinkling, as if Dumbledore was looking at him right now with his omniscient gaze. He's almost… intimidated by the strange rock, but the thrill of a challenge makes him excited.

If I find life-threatening situations this fun I really need to see a doctor…

Once he stashes the stone in his pouch, Harry almost immediately knows the way out of the Forest. It's pretty hard to forget the place where you once died.

Now for the Elder Wand…

Here, Harry hedges. After the war, he found that he had plenty of time to think. Almost too much time. And he's come to realise that he's been a puppet for Albus Dumbledore, made malleable through the neglect of the Dursleys, and geared towards Gryffindorish self-sacrifice. The weight of the Wizarding World was thrust upon him, and like an abused puppy he just followed whatever Dumbledore told him to. On some level, he was aware of the manipulation, but, by that time, he had been in too many life-threatening situations that he couldn't just walk out. Not that he wanted to, but what makes him feel betrayed is that he didn't even have a choice.

It's not completely Dumbledore's fault though. After all, what is someone to do when the British Wizarding World puts them on a pedestal and expects them to solve every single problem that is encountered? The same Wizarding World that is stuck in the 1800s, has no true concept of equity, and is so prejudiced that they're blind to the self-destruction that they're encouraging? Dumbledore had no choice but to do what he thought was best. If sacrificing the life of one ensures the survival of tens of thousands, then that's something that he wouldn't pass up. Harry doesn't think it's right to allow magicals to swelter in their self-proclaimed superiority and would have forced them to face their problems themselves, but he understands why Dumbledore did what he did.

Doesn't mean he doesn't resent for it. Only slightly. Maybe.

Anyways, the point is, he's not sure about the whole disturbing-the-dead's-rest-thing just so that he can get the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's grave.

But if I don't do this I'll be forever bored…

The thought of eternal boredom is enough to make him grab the wand immediately. However, he thinks it'll only be fair if he asked permission from the portrait first.

Sigh… I'm too bloody kind for my own good.

…

"So, my boy, you're telling me that because of the threat of eternal boredom, you have decided to collect the Deathly Hallows together at one point in time to satisfy your curiosity about what this Master of Death business entails, which is why you want to desecrate my grave and take the Elder Wand?"

Albus Dumbledore's face is set in a stern expression, glasses on the tip of his nose, mouth set in a slight frown, with his fingers intertwined as he leans against his hands. Harry would think that risking the threat of immortality would result in disapproval. Yet, the maddingly twinkling blue eyes of his former headmaster betrays his excitement at the 'next great adventure'.

When put like that, Harry's idea does seem pretty stupid.

"Yes…?"

"Well, my boy, I'm sad that you don't feel enough of a connection with your old friends to want to permanently stay in this life you have now."

Harry stiffens.

"But, I must say, this is quite the exciting development! Despite abandoning my search, I was always curious to know what would happen if the Deathly Hallows where all collected. How exciting!"

Then, Dumbledore leans forward, twinkle absent.

"Harry James Potter, by embarking upon this journey, you have to be absolutely sure that you're willing to take the risk that your life will never be the same again, and that you might never see your friends again. This has never happened in magical history, so you would be essentially diving in head-first blind, unknowing of the monsters that lurk in the deep."

Harry can't resist.

"Not like that's ever stopped me in the time I've been in Hogwarts, right Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looks carefully at him.

"Yes… you're right…"

Harry sighs.

"Is that a yes or no then?"

WIthout a warning, the old wizard brightens.

"Why of course, my boy! Go ahead and take the Elder Wand. I must say, I'm all fired up, and cannot wait to see what occurs when they're all collected. Go on now! Don't let this old man stop you!"

Harry unwillingly smiles. Even though he's a manipulative old geezer, he can't help but like Dumbledore. Walking away, he says his last goodbyes to the man that's controlled 17 years of his life.

"Thanks Headmaster. Hope the future students of Hogwarts don't bore you too much after the excitement I brought here in my time!"

...

Harry's stumped.

It's been over 2 hours, and nothing has happened. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

He's collected the Deathly Hallows, put them together and expected some wild, crazy thing to happen. Maybe a random magical storm, or the opening of the Underworld. Heck, even a spark. But there's absolutely nothing.

Was the Master of Death thing all a lie…?

Extremely disappointed, Harry flops down onto his bed. He's supposed to cure his boredom and get away from the falsity of the Wizarding Britain but the whole story was a lie?

How depressing.

Turning over, he spies the clock and sees that it's quarter to 12.

Hmm… something's supposed to happen soon, right?

Falling into a pleasant daze, Harry almost forgets the failed MoD experiment. Almost.

Suddenly, he shoots straight up, eyes wide and glasses askew.

"Shit! Luna!"

In record time, Harry puts on a nicer pair of trousers, a button-up shirt, grabs his robes, stuff the Hallows in his pouch with 5 minutes to spare. And no, this isn't a date. The Daily Prophet has a tendency to pop out of nowhere whenever Harry makes an appearance, so he makes sure to look half-presentable just in case he's unknowingly caught on camera.

Ah… The struggles of The-Man-Who-Conquered.

Haphazardly, Harry bursts into the hallway, cursing as he stubs his toes when fumbling for his shoes. Knowing Luna, if he isn't there on time, she'll just wander back to the Department of Mysteries, wondering why the Nargles didn't allow him to show up.

Running to the fireplace, Harry quickly Floos to Luna's office, making sure that he properly enunciates his words (he doesn't think he'll ever forget that time he ended up in Knockturn Alley).

"Luna's office!"

…

"Why don't you just cross the Veil of Death?'

Harry's not sure what genetics was thinking when Luna came to be, but he is immensely grateful. She's not surprised at all about Harry's curiosity. In fact, it's almost like she expected it.

The girl is now a woman, with dazzling sapphire eyes, silky dirty-blonde hair, and a slightly better fashion sense. The faithful radish earrings are still present, and Harry thanks the world that some things always manage to stay the same. In fact, if it isn't for Luna's oddities, he's 100% sure that there would be suitors lining up outside her door.

Sometimes, just sometimes though, Harry gets slightly worried about the things that comes out of her mouth.

"Luna. It's the Veil of Death. I'm going to die if I cross it. It's in the name."

"Actually, you're slightly incorrect."

Here, Luna adopts what Harry dubs "the mad genius" persona.

"You see, the Veil of Death, while it does lead to the world of the dead, is actually a portal to other worlds. The voices people hear when they're close to it just signify the whispers of all the different universes one can encounter. My theory is, that because we're all normal humans, anyone who crosses the Veil automatically travels to the world of the dead and dies. However,"

Luna leans uncomfortably close to Harry's face, eyes intense and bright.

"since I believe that you are qualified to hold the Deathly Hallows, there will be a different outcome when you cross the threshold."

Honestly, Harry is extremely skeptical. Portal to other universes? Really? He really doesn't see the appeal of meeting another Harry Potter. Seeing the idiocy of one British Wizarding World is enough, thank you very much.

But… he can't deny the growing desire to explore new universes that are hopefully completely different from this one.

Luna sees the indecision on his face, and takes the initiative. Taking his hand, she leads him back to the familiar dark hallways, where he remembers the cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange and the laughter of his godfather.

Then, he's in front of a sheet of darkness, rippling with tension as it senses a potential trespasser.

"I'm really not sure about this…"

Now that Harry's here, he thinks about all the reasons why he shouldn't do this. He might die, there are his old friends Ron and Hermione, he might die, there's his godson Teddy, he might die, there's Luna, he might die, there's still Dobby who's probably faithfully cleaning out the gunk in the Chamber of Secrets, and did he forget? He might die.

"Harry. The fact that you allowed me to lead you here tells me that you've already made your decision."

He straightens at Luna's words. Stressed, he rubs his face, and looks at Luna worriedly.

"You've become my sister, Luna. I want to do this, but I don't want to leave you alone."

Luna smiles sadly and pushes him slightly towards the Veil.

"Harry. Ever since you started diverging from the Golden Trio, I knew something like this would happen. You're destined for great things. I'm not going to stop you from exploring the boundaries of what this world, or any world, has to offer."

"Luna…"

Harry's eyes are filled with tears. He doesn't think he'll ever have someone like Luna ever again. He pulls her towards him, hugging her and expressing his gratitude, love and all his emotions into it. She pats his back.

"If you're that worried about me being alone, I promise to ask Neville on that date."

Barking out a harsh laugh, Harry lets her go. He's already prepared. He has his pouch, his wand, and he's even dressed well enough just in case Fate throws him into the frying pan.

"The next time I see you Luna, you better be old and wrinkly with lots of grandchildren running around in the living world, ok?"

"Ok."

Imprinting Luna's smile upon his face for the last time, Harry turns around and is embraced by the Veil.

…

I'm not sure what I expected, but it was definitely not Platform 9¾. Again. Whelp, guess I'm dead.

"Not quite."

A voice full of age and burden ripples through the station filling Harry with wariness as he realises just how weak he feels when hearing it.

"Death…?"

"Hello, Master."

Tattered robes, and shadows grasping every time it glides. A skeletal hand holds a wickedly dark scythe, and a gaping hole is seen where there's supposed to be a face.

The stories about the appearance of Death are wayyy too accurate.

"Actually Master, this form pleases me the most. I find it interesting that you humans perceive me in this way."

And it can read my mind. Fan-bloody-tastic.

Grasping his Gryffindor courage, Harry speaks.

"So what's up with the whole Master of Death thing? Am I gonna die or something? Also, you're Death. Why would you have a freaking Master? Seems like an extremely risky move."

Way to go Potter. Completely blunt and upfront when confronting the most powerful force you've ever met. Nice.

"Do not worry, Master. I am not offended by your queries at all. To answer your questions, I never actually expected anyone to meet all my requirements to become the Master of Death. It was originally supposed to be a curse for foolhardy humans who think themselves gods. However I became quite curious upon learning of you. After all, you're one of the Fates' favourites, and Luck cannot seem to decide whether to love or hate you."

… wut.

Ignoring Harry's mental breakdown, Death carries on.

"The Master of Death is just a title. There is no being, human or otherwise, that can control me. I am Death. The end of all things. Yet, you have caught my interest Harry Potter. You are worthy. I would not mind conversing with you often like this."

… wut.

Death continues to march straight ahead while Harry desperately forces his brain to reboot.

"To be honest though, in exchange for not subjecting you to my curse, I would like a favour from you."

… a favour?

Harry's making progres right now. Complete thoughts still aren't a thing, but half-formed sentences count, right?

"I find myself quite bored these millenia. It has been eons since anything interesting has happened, and I am looking for some form of amusement. There is an interesting universe that is much more dangerous than the Wizarding World, and involves a war between humans and slightly higher beings."

I don't like where this is going…

"Would you like the chance to abandon the identity of Harry James Potter, and explore another world unburdened by the expectations of the Boy-Who-Lived?"

That's… extremely tempting.

"Just making sure: when you say favour, you really mean that I have no choice, right?"

"I thought that humans like the illusion of making choices, but essentially, yes."

I'm already practically dead. What could go wrong?

"Before I agree to your proposition, you mentioned that this universe is different from the Wizarding World. Is there no magic in that world?"

"There is no magic, but you will be powerful as you will have something somewhat similar."

… That explains nothing.

Harry thinks deeply. This is like, a one in 10 billion lifetimes opportunity. Somewhere where he can be 'just Harry'?

... Fuck it, why not.

"I accept your offer, Death."

For some reason, Harry has the image of Death smiling. Suddenly, Harry is unsure of his acceptance.

"You will be dropped off in a location relatively close to your new parent."

Hold up- what the hell? New parent?

"It's the only way to explain your existence. Do you really think that you'll be able to traverse that universe without attracting the attention of someone powerful?"

Unfortunately, no.

"His name is Frankenstein. Just follow the sounds of cackling laughter, and you will see the blonde mad scientist."

Frankenstein? Like Frankenstein's monster?! Dafuq?!

"If I am correct, which I almost always am, he probably will not eliminate you."

WHAT?!

"Since he is one of the most powerful humans in existence, your powers will not be questioned. Also, you will soon have the ability to speak Korean. Do not worry, your backstory shall soon be taken care of with the help of the Noblesse."

"Hold up, wait- I'm so confused, can we just- just- slow down-"

"Good luck, Master. I assure you, you will need it."

With no time to even breathe, Harry falls into oblivion.

…

Ugh… where the hell am I?

Groaning, Harry sits up and puts a hand to his throbbing head. For some reason, his head feels heavier, as if there was some extra weight, and his hands feel… smaller.

Ignoring the warnings from his body, Harry leans against wall and looks around the room.

Hmm… I'm in a bedroom.

He looks at the beautiful view outside, tests the queen-sized bed, and sees expensive clothes strewn about the room.

It's a nice bedroom, though.

He spies a full-length mirror on the other side of the room, and decides to figure out what's wrong with his body. After taking a few steps, he suddenly stops and looks down.

The hell? Why aren't I wearing an shoes?

Disturbed, he looks at his clothes.

Double hell? Why am I wearing a freaking white dress? Is this some kind of joke?

Awfully confused, Harry continues towards the mirror, hoping to find answers to this extremely weird situation.

All he manages to glean is long blonde hair before the building violently shakes, walls cracking with the force of an attack from right above the ceiling.

What-

Right after, he feels a wave of an extremely powerful force that shakes him to the core, so unlike magic, yet just as supernatural and volatile. For a few minutes, he stands there shaking, reeling from the backlash of its impact. Then-

"KA HA HA HA HA!"

... Harry has no response to that. This city might be suffering from a fight between supernatural beings, and all someone can do is laugh?!

Wait a minute… didn't Death mention something about how my new father likes to cackle madly?

Resigned to his fate to attract all kinds of weirdos, Harry climbs out the window and hoists himself on the top of the skyscraper.

He wishes he just stayed in that room.

The sight that greet him almost makes him want to return to the monotony of Harry Potter's life. Almost.

In front of him are the two most beautiful people he has ever seen. The girl and boy have matching gleaming silver hair, beautiful crimson eyes, and the fanciest looking private school uniforms he's ever seen. The boy looks slightly panicked as he watches the scene in front him while the girl looks remarkably composed.

Harry turns his head.

Is that… that's-

An unfairly good looking blonde man with a blood-stained white shirt is lifting his hands, as if calling upon something from the sky. Facing him looks like a blonde teenager, also with crimson eyes strangely enough, holding a beautifully crafted black sword- and is that… purple flames?!

Ok, stop. I'm Harry James Potter. I'm the person who survived at least 5 encounters with Voldemort, killed a Basilisk at the age of 12, evaded a dragon at the age of 14, was taught by a fricking centaur, have a half-giant friend, and have constant battles with a flying blue car. I can do this. Four hot people who probably have enough power to crush this city definitely can't phase me, even though one of them suspiciously looks like my new father.

For a moment, the atmosphere becomes suffocating. Harry can't breathe. When he takes a gulp of air again, he see that the blonde, bloodied man is now in possession of a dark purple, double-headed spear that seems to devour its owner.

Sentient weapons..ha… ha… ha…

A strong gust of wind almost blows him away, and he's instantly reminded of his state of dress.

Barefoot, confused, and not wearing his own clothes, Harry Potter finally cracks.

"What the fuck?"