Authors Note:
I have decided to write a story.
I will be writing Harry Potter and Naruto (since it is so frequently used) but I am not an obsessive plot purist of Harry Potter or nitpicker of the story characters personalities. So it will be OC and it might have inconsistencies, if so please tell me.
I am a slow updater, I will torture you with long waits between updates.
THIS WILL BE YAOI! SLASH! BOYXBOY! HOMOSEXUAL ACTION…eventually. There will also be gore.
THE IDEAS OF THE HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE IS NOT MINE- IT IS J. K. ROWLING. I am not make money on this. I am putting up a disclaimer.
The ideas and long term actions of OC characters are mine but everything else is not.
I have a weird way of writing 1,000 words per chapter then consolidating them into Chapters A, B, C, etc. Each Chapter A, B, C, Etc. will be 5,000 words or more.
Chapter One
When a human being is born they come into the world wet, squalling, naked, cold, and in pain. If they are lucky they will not die in the same way.
Harry was never so lucky.
About 76 years after the final battle, and about 75 years after he graduated his 8th year of Hogwarts Harry James Evans Black-Potter was finally breathing his last - naked, cold, wet, and in pain.
He didn't plan to leave the world like this. His great-grandchildren from his deceased wife Ginny shouldn't have to find him dead in the potion cellar. Well, at least he thought it would be his great-grandchildren that would be the ones to find him since they were supposed to come and visit him for his 93rd birthday.
Harry actually considered it to be kind of silly that he would die in this manner. After all he had survived that evil psychopath Tom Riddle and then had survived his fanatical Death Munchers retaliation attempts. They didn't touch him of course- he had the privilege of being trained by several groups of the most vicious fighters he could find alongside the most brilliant mind of his generation and the most strategic battle master of the world - so of course those pathetic attempts didn't faze him, but the same couldn't be said for his late wife Ginevra's psycho lover.
Ginny was his Hogwarts sweetheart and he married her after he graduated from Hogwarts.
But just as usually happened to young couples that married in their late teen years he and Ginny really didn't know each other, and really didn't even know themselves.
Ginny had married Harry while he was still going to Wizards College in London, England and she was about a month out of her 7th year of Hogwarts. Not too soon after the honeymoon she was already giving birth to his first son – Albus Severus Potter. She kept having a child every two years like clockwork till she died in 2008 after birthing his last son, one Draco Neville Potter. Her death occurred due to the continued stupidity of the Ministry of Magic and the laziness of the Mediwizards which allowed the remnants of the Dementor race to invade the Maternity ward of St. Mungos and suck out the souls of 54 infants and mothers, including Ginny's soul, who fought so hard she was at least able to save her newborn son.
Of course Harry sued the hospital for allowing dangerous creatures to attack his wife and child and ended up owning over 74% of St. Mungo's. This ended up being a good thing later on in history. Mostly due to the Civil War of Britain in 2033 over the sudden 'unveiling' of Wizards and Witches among the muggles (aka: non-magical/mundane) in the Saturday Night Live TV series. The Minister of Magic did not appreciate Fred and George Weasley 'expanding' their business of laughter into the muggle world. Harry always thought Fred and George really didn't' expect such a huge reaction when they exploded onstage beside their longtime friend Lee Jordan. Their arrival happened just as Lee Jordan was giving an interview of his coming attractions at Magic Amusement Park, right as international television went live.
Harry had wished for a long while that he had spent less time trying to save and repair a permanently damaged society that didn't want to be saved and had instead concentrated on his children's lives and keeping his friends closer than his enemies. Maybe then he wouldn't be dying alone on this sacrificial alter or even dying at all, after all he still had plenty of centuries left in him!
Harry wished his dead wife's psycho lover who was killing him didn't think that this bogus ritual bring the dead back to life. It was really irritating to hear a crazy person muttering something like, "wonderful Gin-Gin….Going to be together forever! ...when you are back everything is going to….Ginny, love wh…" and other such nonsense ramblings during a ritual that Harry could tell was never going to work. The fact this is happening years after Harry had moved on from the grief of her death and his anger at finding out that she had been cuckolding him for years just seemed to be twisting the knife in his side.
Harry really didn't try to hold onto his anger though, it was getting kind of hard to think with dizziness and pain saturating his mind, probably due to whatever drug the guy dosed him with…and maybe due to blood loss from the same guys inexpert skinning of his arms and chest.
Harry never did like the scars on his body that came from the war and all his school boy adventures but at least he could see the scars before and knew the stories behind them, now there was only red meat and dripping blood.
'Well, at least he hasn't touched my waist or anything below…'
Harry contemplated the fact that he really should have updated his will because by the end of this night he would most likely no longer be in this world. After all he intimately knows what the feeling of approaching death tastes like.
Just as the Insane Psycho started digging into his forearm with that stupid little pocketknife Harry started to think about past regrets like being paranoid in his old age - paranoid of all the wrong things.
If Harry had kept his friends and family closer than his enemies he would have enjoyed life more. He would have been able to honestly say at the end of his life, that his life was worth something to someone. That his life had been worth something beyond money, something beyond his actions that should have been common sense, something that would have had those he loved think of him with something other than loneliness and a bewildered 'who was he again?' 5-10 years after his funeral.
And while he and Ginny never really became very close beyond the perfunctory escorts and thin surface niceties society lived under Harry thought that he had at least loved Ginny like a husband should love his wife.
Harry knew Ginny cheated on him…at least he probably knew deep in his subconscious where all the little inconsistencies connected into something he did not want to know. He now knew that when she would say that she was going to be taking a business trip to Australia or Ethiopia that she was really going to visit the Psycho. He didn't really begrudge her that, she used her own money to do so (he checked) and at least she kept it safely hidden from the family…unlike some married couples he could talk about. Harry had always noticed when Ginny got anxious or angry and would try to console her by going with her to a session with the St. Mungo's Mind Healers and he always honestly tried to work at patching up their relationship but Ginny would always get restless again; she would start leaving for longer and longer periods of time that would eventually end in a screaming match between the two of them behind closed doors.
However, Harry had loved her. Harry loved his beautiful children Ginny gave him and while they were not all his (again, he checked) they were still his.
But through all the war and through all the pain and the heart ache and the soul deep introspection that Harry worked through, Harry had found one thing to be true.
He could never stop loving people.
Dumbledore had been right and wrong. Once Harry started loving it was his greatest strength but it was also his greatest weakness.
Dumbledore was also right in the fact that his parents love was what saved him at the beginning and his friend's love that saved him in the fight with Tom Riddle.
Dumbledore was wrong though in that Harry's 'magic power' was love. Harry's 'magic power' was his luck and his stupid, persistent instinct to always survive. After all, Harry doesn't love everyone he just loves the select few that he would then love forever.
'Just look at Ginny,' Harry thought bitterly as he hissed in a pain soaked breath through his teeth as yet another strip of bloody flesh was ripped from his body, 'though I tried to love her as best I could and as well as I could, we still always had those screaming fights, and she still slept with people like the Psycho who is now ripping my skin off 65 years after she died. I loved her I probably still love her but right now I probably hate both her and him,' Harry admitted painfully.
Harry can just imagine the disappointed looks righteous Dumbledore might have given him for that uncharitable thought. Now, maybe Harry was being too harsh. It wouldn't be Dumbledore giving him the looks it would probably be the wizarding public because while the wizarding public has gotten smarter and has attained some common sense since the British Civil War Harry believed that there must be something in magic itself that causes the practitioners of magic to lose all frontal lobe activity after several years of exposure or use. Because even at 93 years old Harry was still the hottest topic of magazines and newspapers in the Magical World. Now Harry might be the richest person on the planet but the wizarding world didn't know that. After all Harry sealed all his heirlooms and wealth and knowledge in a chain on his ankle in order to avoid losing any sentimental mementoes to the vengeful hands of the goblins long, long ago. Now he and the goblins were on better relations now but Harry guessed that keeping the majority of his possessions on his person had just become a very strong, paranoid habit, so strong that it might as well be the Runes tattooed on his flesh...
Harry suddenly gasped in surprise as a thick, surprisingly sudden whiplash of red agony seared across his senses.
Choking through the agony Harry heard a demented cackling not too far from his panting form and the pop and hisses as something wet and heavy was slapped onto something hot.
After a couple of minutes of sizzle the sweetly sick stench of what seemed to be roast pork wafted through the air and Harry was finally able to control his breathing and slowly opens his eyes.
Acknowledging the fact that for the past couple of minutes he had been able to successfully detach himself from the ongoing torture he could now not help but feel how heavy his limbs felt and how very tired he felt as he approached the precipice of Death. Harry had felt this sensation several times already. This knowledge seems to come with being a survivor and dealing with bloody violent mood swings all the time.
Several minutes of peacefully floating bliss was interrupted as something wet and cold and smelly was smeared over his face and upper chest. Harry gagged at the uniquely vile filth and then started choking as the Insane Psycho shoved several globs of what tasted like rancid diarrhea into his mouth.
Harry never did catch his breath after that.
Several hours later Harry's great-grandchildren finally arrived in front of #12 Grimmauld Place in London, England en mass. Of those 63 relatives present it was a little girl of 3 years old that was curious enough and disrespectful enough of the King-Of-Magic who followed what seemed to be the sickly sweet odor of burnt pork into the cellar. There she found the blackened and tortured mess of who she later found to be her Great-Grandfather Harry Black-Potter.
But all she could do at that exact point in time was scream.
Chapter Two
After what felt like an infinitely long wait spent floating in pain and choking Harry sucked in one heavenly breath of air. And then another and another.
He still felt the pain of his wounds but the burning need for air in his lungs wasn't so crucial anymore.
While lying there gasping in short, sweet breathes of air Harry could vaguely make out some voices in the distance.
Given the fact that the voices seem to be composed of both male and female tones Harry assumed that his relatives had finally arrived for his party.
Given the fact that the Psycho wasn't cackling or cutting him the Psycho must of run off when he heard them approaching.
However, Harry noted that he could not smell that sickly sweet stench of burning pork or hear the sizzle-pop of the flames that the Psycho had started in his cellar.
Feeling a growing sense of unease, Harry, having finally caught his breath, tried to stand up and quickly fell back with a groan of pain as his chest flared with burning agony.
Panting through the pain Harry's sense of unease grew while the agony died. It wasn't as painful as it should be.
The Psycho had skinned him; Harry should be feeling the slick of blood draining from his body and the raw agony of the grass digging into the muscles in his back.
Wait, what grass?
Harry had no grass in his cellar.
Harry's eyes popped open with this realization and he started to roll sideways.
Even though he didn't really know where he was now, he was not where he had been and it was usually a good idea to get away from where 'they' initially dropped you. Especially, if you were Harry. The kidnappers had most likely dropped him in the middle of some horrific rune sequence that would turn him into a cannibalistic monster.
Harry suddenly stopped rolling with a grunt of pain as he slammed into something solid.
Glancing over his shoulder cautiously, because it would be just his luck to roll right into his waiting captors, or a barrel of acid, he saw brown. The brown was part of the trunk of a tree that as he craned his eyes upwards got higher and higher, bigger and bigger.
Gaping in awe at the largest tree he has seen since the Forbidden Forest's Heart Wood Harry wondered why his captors would deposit him outside at high noon in November or October.
Closing his mouth with a decisive snap Harry's eyes narrowed as he realized that it was supposed to be summer, it was supposed to be his birthday.
Using the trunk of the tree to slowly sit upright Harry scanned what he now saw to be a meadow surrounded by trees he did not recognize.
Having finally sat his butt onto the root of the tree he was sitting under Harry furrowed his brow.
Either the tree was bigger than any he had ever been beside or someone had shortened his spine.
Finally glancing down with trepidation he noticed white.
Clear, white skin that covered what looking like a little boy's body and what looked like a teeny tiny ding-a-ling.
Harry's mind blanked white.
Passing thoughts started coming to his attention faster and faster.
He didn't feel the pain he should because he wasn't skinned anymore.
His ding-a-ling was no longer his pride and joy and, dammit, he has to go through puberty again.
He felt shorter because he was shorter.
He still had his anklet and his runes but no clothes and no glasses.
He could see just fine, he didn't need glasses. Is that because his eye sight hasn't gotten that bad yet or that the eye correction from before is still working?
He was cold because he had nothing covering him and if he didn't get covered soon, in this wind, he would freeze.
His stomach was aching but it might be because of hunger or that goop that he was previously been choking on which might or might not have been poisonous.
His mouth was dry and tasted like crap and now he recognized that he is thirsty.
This shrinkage might be the result of a potion or curse or a ritual. If it was a potion, that wasn't permanent, then he would revert to his real age and his skinned condition might kill him. If it was a curse, unless he knew the counter curse, it was permanent. If it was a ritual, he was screwed.
The voices he had been hearing for a while now have been getting louder and louder, thus they had been getting closer.
Snapping his head up as this last thought pinged his danger senses Harry looked around the clearing to pinpoint the approaching voices and hid himself behind a tree at a right angle from them, that was far enough away they wouldn't see him.
Several minutes after Harry had settled down into shivering silence a group of people walked into the clearing while casually chatting.
Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration to hopefully see more detail.
It was a group of 10 to 15 Asians who wore some form of archaic clothes and shoes.
The long black hair seemed to be typical and the yellow eyes with red eye makeup were all indicative of either a family or a cult that was trying to mimic someone or something.
Given the fact that all he could see were chattering women and children Harry wondering where the men were.
The women were carrying backpacks and scrolls or sitting in the wagons that the oxen were pulling.
The children ran dangerously close to the huge wheels of the carts and in between the oxen legs, the same oxen that were heading towards the center of the meadow and thus the sun dappled grass with singled minded determination.
Harry started easing backwards as his danger senses pinged, away from the family of women, children and oxen that had regressed considerably from the 22nd century.
The family that according to his magic was magic but not.
The family that didn't have any protecting men but were still laughing and smiling and talking loud enough for anyone to hear them coming kilometers away.
The family that he swears sounded like women and men.
Harry suddenly was brought to a sudden stop as a huge hand subsequently clamped down on the top of his head.
Chapter Three
Harry jerked violently and then tried to run.
Usually when someone, that you don't know, clamps their hand down on any part of your body it is a very good idea to try and get as far away as fast as you can. If you can escape the grasp then you probably escaped a serial killer or a rapist. If you can't get away you are already screwed, usually, so what was the harm in trying?
Harry unfortunately could not escape the hand of steel that was fastened over his head and as soon as he made movements to escape he felt the grip tightening down and another hand closing around his stomach.
Feeling his feet leave the floor Harry stilled into vibrating tension and prayed that he wasn't going to be killed, again. Because even with the women and children right in front of him the hands holding him might not be a part of the group and if he wasn't then what if the Hands went after the other children when Harry escaped or died?
If the Hands let go then great, Harry could take him out and escape! If the Hands killed him then at least the women and children in front of him will hopefully hear the scuffle/scream and know to be alert to danger in the vicinity.
As the Hands started walking through the trees towards the clearing Harry twisted and squirmed but couldn't make the bands of steel around his head and stomach budge an inch. At least he now knew that the Hands and the group in the clearing were probably together, otherwise the Hands would be backing away not moving forward.
While Harry had been imitating a worm on hot pavement Harry could catch glimpses of movement up in the trees and on the ground as the Hand jerk stepped into the light.
There was silence and Harry stilled.
Feeling the familiar pressure of eyes on him he heard a gentle woman ask, "Desu?"
Noticing that the hand of steel had loosened up a smidge Harry gave a lunge forward and freed his head, but was unfortunately jerked up short from freedom by the fleshy leash around his stomach.
Dangling forward about a foot off the ground and hanging by your stomach is not a comfortable or fun way to be carried. Grabbing the arm that was holding him prisoner Harry steadied himself against the body of his assailant and proceeded to mule kick any part of the body holding him captive that he could reach.
Hearing a weird rumbling coming from his captor Harry paused in his struggles to wonder if he was going to explode, hopefully not – blood was so hard to wash off. But nope, of course not, the Hand was laughing at him.
Hearing increasing noise and chatter coming from the group of women and children Harry twisted his head to look towards them and frowned at the gossiping women with the evil smiles hidden behind hands and their gestures towards him and a low hum of conversation…that he could not understand a word of.
Unable to hold back a slight whine of growing despair Harry twisted back around to try and kick the Hand and just as he proceeded to kick he was dropped.
Curling into a fetal position from the pain Harry proceeded to do a forward roll away from the Hand and finally felt his feet hit a hard surface which on a quick glance was a huge wheel of one of the wagons that were stationed in the center of the valley, crap wrong direction.
Lunging into the relative safety of the underside of the wagon Harry ran smack dab into another kid a bit bigger than he. Thankfully the kid didn't fall over but the pale skinned, dark haired brat did backhand Harry across the face hard enough for him to hit the ground. Ouch.
Harry gasped in surprise at the new pain in his jaw and rolled sideways to get to his feet and away from the surprisingly vicious child.
While rolling in the opposite direction of the brat Harry heard one of the nearby women bark an incomprehensible word that nevertheless had a tone of reprimand in it.
But that could be a reprimand for the child not killing him.
As he watched suspiciously the brat sneered at him in disgust, mumbled something, and then just stalked away. He just walked away like backhanding a smaller child was normal, or even expected. Brat.
Sliding more cautiously into the darkness of the underside of the wagon Harry carefully and gingerly laid down on his chest with his palms flat and his legs half curled under him. To allow him better leverage for a sudden burst of speed…for when he decides to make a run for it, of course.
But by the time he had settled into his crouch and was prepped and ready to move he noticed that his tiny dangly bits were waving in the wind…with nothing to block the view.
Blushing with mortification but staying still was one of the hardest things he has had to do in the last dozen decades.
While continuing to blush like a red cherry he noticed that the person, who was a male now that he could see him, who had originally caught him and dumped him into the middle of the camp seemed to have finished talking to the woman who had greeted him.
After then accepting a bundle of cloth from the women the Hand started casually strolling towards his hiding place, waving a cheerful hello to all the distant men that were now emerging from the woods and giving bloody animals to the women or tossing the animals on the floor around the campfires or just prowling around the perimeter.
Tensing in anticipation of the coming confrontation Harry prepared for the battle of his life and just as he was ready to spring a surprise attack the Hand bent over at the waist and tossed the bundle, hard, right into Harry's face.
Chapter Four
Aborting a lunge when a ball of cloth and things smacks you right in the face is difficult. Especially, when you are straining you ears and eyes to try and keep track of dozens of moving people that might stab you if given the chance and with your cheek throbbing from a previous blow.
Untangling himself from the length of cloth was a nerve wracking experience as he struggled to keep himself from blindly flailing around in panic and denial.
These cruel people who dragged him kicking and squirming away from his tree and hit him were giving him clothes?
Crouching there for several long moments and waiting for the other anvil to drop on his head Harry ignored the aching of his body and waited. When no other movements were made towards him, whether good or bad, for several moments he slowly relaxed.
Curving his back into a more comfortable position and keeping his head tilted sideways so as to keep watch on the people around him from his position under the cart he slowly dragged the now dirty cloths and, yes it was shoes, towards himself.
Even though he absolutely, positively, abhorrently did not want to accept anything from these awful people he couldn't just go running around in the world with nothing to cover his fragile and now blemish free skin. Well he could but it would be embarrassing and it would probably hurt…a lot.
Shaking out the shirt which was made of stiff unbleached linen, which resembled a button down but was asymmetrically long on the curves and had ties instead of buttons, Harry got most of the dirt off and proceeded to shove his arms into the sleeves.
Unable to figure out exactly how the shirt tied close Harry knotted the trailing edges in front of his chest and let it go.
Grabbing the pants made of what looked to be roughly woven hemp Harry shook those out and leaned back on his butt to shove his leg into the pants.
With both legs on Harry rose to a crouch and pulled the pants over his bottom…well this isn't the first time he's gone commando but this is the first time the pants were such a stiff and scratchy material. After freeing his feet from constrictive cloth Harry tied the rope that seemed to be part of his pants closed and set to figuring out the shoes.
The shoes weren't that hard, the shoes were wooden sandals with hemp in the front holding the toes and two blocks of wood on the underside…Harry could already feel the blisters forming.
Opting to not wear the torture devices until he absolutely needed to Harry returned the majority of his attention to the surrounding kidnappers and finally noticed a tempting smell wafting off one of the nearby fires.
The bloody animals Harry had noticed the males bringing to the females earlier were now hanging skinned and gleaming with herbs and oils over a fire on a spit while the slightly older children did their chores which seemed to consist of turning the spit of meat over the fire with the supervision of the women.
Swallowing some reflex vomit upon remembering his own skinning and sympathizing with the small animals Harry tried to ignore the gurgling demands of his now protesting stomach.
Harry held out through the cooking, serving, and cleaning of the utensils before he slowly approached the cooling left overs that the women had left near the fire as they went a little ways away to clean.
Just as he was starting to reach his hand towards the tempting food that he had been smelling for the past several hours there was a demanding bark of sound right behind him.
Jumping and thus lunging away from the food in fright Harry twisted around and stared wild eyed at the Brat who had hit him earlier.
That Brat was now staring at him with a frown on his face and his hands on his hips, the classic pose of disapproval that all Mothers the world over hold over the heads of their disobedient offspring.
Jabbing his finger at Harry the Brat starting chittering a rapid fire stream of words with that high pitched tone of voice that is prevalent to children everywhere and with the absolute incomprehensibility of an unknown foreign language.
Seeing that Harry was staring in incomprehension and wary mistrust at the moving hands the Brat rolled his eyes, heaved a put upon sigh and before Harry could do more than widen his eyes and attempt to get away the Brat grabbed his ear viciously and started dragging him over to a nearby knot of women who were doing something mysterious with threads of string and a wooden contraption.
Yelping in pain and twisting every which way to claw at the iron grip the Brat had on his person Harry sought to escape his inevitable fate. His fate of being eaten!
Having finally arrived at his destination the Brat swiftly twisted the ear to make Harry turn towards the group of women.
Jabbing his finger at Harry while talking at the women he started talking in a tone of voice that people used for the mentally retarded. Staring at the Brat through watering eyes and in confusion of what he was saying the Brat sighed once again and pointing at the women and then moved his head up and down, up and down. Then the Brat turned and pointed towards the fire and nodded his head up and down, up and down. Tilting his head curiously Harry mimicked the movement. Scowling in anger the Brat shook Harry's ear firmly. Barely holding down a whimper Harry's eyes watered anew. Turning in a 90 degree angle the Brat pointed towards a group of lounging men and shook his head side to side, side to side. Then the Brat pointed towards the perimeter of the clearing and shook his head side to side, side to side. Harry mimicked. Growling audibly the Brat twisted Harry's ear viciously and threw him forward to land among the women.
The women startled and looked down at the sprawled Harry and then looked up at the Brat before saying something in a scolding tone of voice. The Brat grumbled back a response and then stalked away.
Frozen from the pain and the shock of the fall Harry jumped slightly when one of the women clothed in pink arose and approached him, crouching beside Harry as she crooned and smoothed his hair back.
Staring at her wide-eyed Harry wondered why this woman, who smelled of lavender, would stroke his head. She might be trying to find the perfect place on his head to stab.
Having that thought Harry ducked his head away from the hand and shuffled away slightly. Then Harry blushed when his stomach gave a loud and demanding growl of hunger.
The Lavender woman chuckled slightly and rummaging in her dress handed him a piece of bread that seemed to be stuffed with something.
Cautiously taking it from her Harry sniffed to see if there was any scent of poison. He inspected the entire loaf for any points of entry or discoloration. Seeing and smelling nothing unusual Harry took a small bite and slowly chewed for any weird taste. Finding anything different turned out to be pretty impossible since he had never tasted anything like this.
Shrugging his shoulders Harry decided that he might as well satisfy his stomach if he was going to die anyway and inching towards the Lavender women, who had since returned to whatever she was doing, and settled slightly behind and to the side of her.
Eating.
Chapter Five
Seasons Arrived and Departed.
Harry learned how to function in the clan. He learned to talk their language and how he could contribute to the clan. Basically Harry learned what he had to do to eat.
That rude man with the huge hands that had grabbed his head and thrown him into the campsite was actually Haruto of clan Orochi and he was nominally in charge of this expedition. Mostly because he was the youngest son of the clan head who was with another expedition somewhere that was traveling the lands and gathering supplies. But really the one who actually ran the show and made the decisions was Old Man Chinatsu of clan Orochi.
The reason Harry kept adding 'of clan Orochi' is because that was the clan that this group and everyone in it was sworn to. Harry was considered too young to know what that meant but he had the bad feeling that they considered him part of their clan anyway because they had fed and clothed him.
The Brat, who by the way was the main instigator of all fights Harry ended up in was Sota of clan Orochi and he was an arrogant little brat. He kept getting into fights with the other kids, which he constantly lost by the way, about how he was going to be Orochimaru in the future. Harry thought that this must be some type of title but nobody would explain it to him.
The nice women who smelled of Lavender and fed him was actually Akiko of clan Orochi and she was also the wife-to-be of Haruto. Harry felt bad for her, having to marry such a brute but she didn't seem to take much offense or mind Haruto's manners towards her or Harry. Actually she didn't seem to really care what Harry did as long as he wasn't destroying something or getting hurt. She even ignored him running through the oxen's hooves as they were traveling! Well besides yelling at him for almost spooking the oxen.
Harry was the smallest child in the camp, the only one smaller was the unborn child one of the women was carrying.
During bathing time one day Akiko did try to take off his anklet but the spellwork held strong and she couldn't get it to come off and as soon as she stopped paying attention to it she forgot all about it.
Sota however was a pain in the butt, he kept noticing the chain and when he did he then tried to rip it off of Harrys ankle or he started accusing Harry of stealing it but as soon as he stopped paying attention he forgot, but then he noticed it again and started attacking again, it was aggravating and got really tiring really fast. The adults actually started slapping Sota upside the head every time he started yelling about Harry stealing jewelry, due to how often this cycle happened.
Also due to Sota's constant attacks on his person, Harry had started mimicking some of the men who used some linen bandages to wrap their lower legs.
But by doing that the men seemed to think he was trying to copy them and wanted to be hunter like they were… well that wasn't the word they used, they used the term Shinobi but most of what they did was roam in the woods around the caravan and hunt for meat.
Harry didn't really mind the attention and the men were nicer to stick around then hanging in the same vicinity as Sota. They taught him how to move silently through the woods and how to trap and skin the squirrels and rabbits and stuff they caught. They also taught him how to throw those star knife things that they carried everywhere. Harry didn't understand why they had them, they made hitting the target so hard, but when Harry was able to hit the target it make a nice sounding thunk into the wood.
The women of the camp were pretty nice too. They taught him what plants to look for that were good to eat and how to actually dress himself properly in what he learned was a summer yukata with geta and the pants were actually supposed to be underwear, Harry blushed for days after learning that he had been flashing his underwear before.
It was fairly peaceful for a few seasons but around summer Old Man Chinatsu started noticing his rune. The anklet had a forgetfulness spell attached, thank God, but his rune tattoos didn't. Harry never did figure out how to put the rune for forgetfulness onto his tattoo network without having his whole body be forgotten by everyone around him, it had caused some pretty bad situations back home, at least till the temporary rune wore off.
At first there were just some questions about how he got them. Harry hemmed and hawed and finally blurted out that he didn't remember.
Then Old Man Chinatsu started asking about what they meant or what did they do, like they did something. Harry started to grow paranoid about Old Man Chinatsu's questions and started trying to hide from him.
How did he know that the runes might be able to do something? Did he know they were runes? Did he recognize them as a rune network?
Usually seeing runes denoted danger, like the bright colors on a poisonous frog but without the appropriate supplies and with no knowing where he could get them they basically signified the years of study that boiled down to nothing but wasted space in his head and on his skin.
It all came to a head when Old Man Chinatsu grabbed Harry one day and forced him to sit still next to a fire. He then grabbed a scroll and started comparing whatever was in there to the runes on Harry's arm. Harry grumbled and squirmed but the Old Man had an iron grip.
Whatever he was looking for he didn't find. He was growling and grumbling under his breath for days after that uncomfortable experience and then one day he gave a final grunt of frustration and then went to talk to Haruto.
Around 5 to 6 nights later Harry was bundled like a rug into the back of a much smaller cart and was taken away from camp towards the east. The driver never did tell Harry where they were going but the way the driver was moving the cart they needed to get there in a hurry.
But for right now…Harry was cart-sick.