Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and Masashi Kishimoto are the respective creators of Harry Potter and Naruto. I, in no way, claim ownership of any respective character, location, term, plot, et cetera; the medium in which they belong to are owned by the original creators and any publishers and companies, et al, in which the material is legally distributed and used for profit.
If I were Rowling or Kishimoto... well, suffice to say, I'm not them. I'm going to torture Itachi a bit but I'm not going to kill him... maybe.
Beta'd by: miyagiCE and gufymike
The Dichotomy of Salazar Slytherin
01. Death
His little brother stands, backed up against the wall, his gray eyes wide with fear. It was then, Itachi finally knew all he had done, for Konoha and Sasuke, all he had sacrificed, was for naught.
Maybe he had put too much faith in his baby brother, since it was his mistake, he knew, that this young man before him would be part of his home village's destruction. With Itachi dead, this Sasuke would join Madara, would seek to bring violence and war to Konoha. For, Sasuke was simply a boy, a simple boy who would be easily manipulated by that nefarious Madara – like how he was lured to Orochimaru's side.
All he did for nothing, Itachi thought as he raised a hand. At least, the twenty-one year old was willing to acknowledge his potential failure and set a fail-safe in Uzumaki Naruto, who would probably fulfill what he could not.
Itachi poked his little brother's forehead for the last time with effort, leaving a trail of smeared blood as he dropped the hand to his sides again. He took an unsteady step back.
Even now, with what he foresaw Sasuke's path would be, Itachi still loved his precious baby brother despite things.
He smiled.
"I'm sorry, Sasuke. There won't be a next time."
The twenty-one year old wavered, half-collapsing on the frozen teen. He stumbled and supported himself again, before the fight to keep standing was lost and he fell.
He knew he was not going to wake up again, as he lay on the ground, and took his last breath.
Itachi wavered, his vision swimming, suddenly finding himself in a sea of splintered wood and fire, the open sky above dark instead of the brightness of day he had remembered last.
The heavy pounding of blood against his skull was still present, his vision stained red from a head wound he didn't remember receiving, not having expected to still have his sight in the first place.
He was slightly surprised, the first hint of emotion after regaining consciousness. The twenty-one year old had given his Sharingan to his little brother, sacrificing his vision because he was going to die. Itachi should be dead, yet his current state belied the thought and his emotions grew as thoughts started tumbling down like the building around him.
At fifteen, he had been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was terminal, his lifespan predicted to be thirty with treatment not taking into account he was a ninja. The drugs he took to suppress his immune system made him susceptible to infections, eventually developing chronic pneumonia and contracting a virus that attacked the white matter of his brain – the real cause of his vision loss – at seventeen. It was only with a slew of steroids, drugs, and intensive treatment that Itachi had stayed alive long enough to see the last fight with Sasuke.
He had considered it karma, having accidentally killed his former Genin teammate, who would have been the only one able to cure him and whose death birthed those cursed eyes.
Itachi deserved nothing less than death for murdering his parents and Sayo – he had been sick enough to keel over any minute—
He had thought the pain was finally over, that he could arrive at Takama-ga-hara and begin to beg Sayo for forgiveness (Itachi dared not think his female ex-teammate would not have gone to Heaven) even if he didn't deserve it. If not Heaven, then Yomi to lose himself in oblivion.
Yet he was so obviously alive, having seen Heaven before and knowing Yomi was cold and the stars and night sky a distant memory never to be seen again in that realm.
The twenty-one year old was sick of the torture; why wouldn't it end?
A wail of a child sounded through the night, Itachi startling himself so much the control was overtaken and he was unable to stop the exact moment he realized the sound emitted from his mouth.
He took a moment to consider the implications, trying to move and proving he was in a toddler's body when he tumbled like a daruma doll, his blood-stained vision catching sight of a body a few feet away.
It was a woman with – the tears having cleared his vision somewhat – persimmon red hair. Itachi's eyes focused and, suddenly, her face snapped into clarity, showing fair skin marred by tears tracked from blank, almond-shaped green eyes.
The sight broke Itachi – dead, he hated death – and he was unaware of being picked up, the conversation between two men, the flight through the sky. He was inconsolable, the last thread keeping him together having unraveled; Itachi was consumed with grief, pain, guilt, self-hate, (Hate. Hate. HATE.) until the exhaustion of his toddler form consumed him in the void of dreamless rest.
Sayo had been a delicate point for the twenty-one year old, a secret even Madara was unaware of lest the conniving man manipulate Itachi with her memory (Madara had already affected him with his comments about Miho Uchiha, who Madara thought had been Itachi's girlfriend), so it was only obvious that the ninja would snap when confronted with the image of a dead woman who looked so much like his ex-teammate.
Right down to her brilliant green eyes.
The hair like the bloody evening sky fanned across porcelain skin; she would look like she had only been sleeping.
—Sayo had looked like she was sleeping on that hospital bed—
If not for the emptiness of the eyes.
The unseeing gaze of brilliant green haunted him.
In a cluttered office, reachable by a gargoyle revealing spiraling stairs when given the correct password, of a certain magical school, Albus Dumbledore sat behind a large wooden desk, attention on a crystal ball atop a cleared area amongst paperwork and knickknacks. The Headmaster had tuned into Hagrid at just the right time, the half-giant standing before the doorstep of a quaint little Muggle home. The elderly man quickly pulled out the Elder Wand and started silently casting spells at the crystal ball, complicated spells that would add audio to the scene and change the bird's-eye view to something closer to Earth.
His first sight of Harry Potter after a decade was surprising, which was more exaggeratedly mirrored in the half-giant guide when Hagrid inquired for Harry and the boy at the doorway announced he was the toddler whom they left on that doorstep on that early, early November morning.
Long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, shorter layers framing the porcelain and delicate looking face. His eyes were a dark-blue instead of the brilliant green Dumbledore had remembered it to be during times before that Halloween night. If it weren't for the lightning-shaped scar on his bare forehead, it would be unbelievable this was Harry Potter – and even the scar was barely visible against the otherwise unmarred complexion, having only the slightly off texture and being two shades different from his skin to differentiate it.
Dumbledore leaned back, deciding he'd contemplate whether the differences meant anything later, stroking his long beard as light-blue eyes remained fixated on the unknowing pair.
"You've been part of the staff of Hogwarts for a long time?" the boy inquired with a naturally soft and polite tone.
Hagrid replied in the affirmative with a little extra information that set Dumbledore's eyes twinkling in fondness and slight exasperation; the half-giant was a good person and loyal, but had trouble keeping secrets when relaxed because of his tendency to speak before he thought.
There was silence for a long moment, before the child looking up and staring at the Gamekeeper with the unchanging calm expression he had since opening the front door of Number 4.
"Can you tell me about Lily Evans?"
To Be Continued.
End Notes: Will continue if there's enough feedback; if not, I'll just let it wallow for awhile. The premise was spawned from a Naruto Crossover, where Itachi is reborn as Harry's little brother, I read that left me wanting a story that was an actual Itachi-is-reborn-as-Harry fic with a slightly more sober and serious air to the story-telling and characterization.
(And all you Mary-Sue worriers – which would be most of us – don't worry. Sayo is a plot device. Hell, her name means 'lamb', for goodness's sake.)
