A/N: Hello! I guess this would count as my first multi-chapter story and I chose, of course, to write a pretty complex crossover between a well-known series and a very not-so-well-known series.
This may be riddled with spoilers for those who have not read the manga for Nabari no Ou, and will be taking place in the fifth year of Hogwarts, due to the slight diversity of their ages. Unfortunately, being the woman she is, I cannot have Umbridge as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; she would suffocate any plot I could possibly think up. But in doing so, that makes room for more plot twists, mwahaha.
I may have to alter the timeline of Nabari, making the months of the events that transpired to be slightly shifted back. However, every event will remain exactly as it did in the manga and Yoite's condition from Kira persists as it was. For the sake of storytelling and keeping true to how Hogwarts runs itself, please bear with it. Start of term begins on September 1st and I am not sure if that truly changes anything.
I will attempt to not bore you with A/Ns in future chapters, unless it's to answer any questions.
Disclaimer: All characters and places (etc) are the property of J.K Rowling and Yuhki Kamatani.
Feedback is highly appreciated and if any reader thinks I should continue this, please let me know.
Chapter 1 – Revolution
Minutes tugged themselves forward at the speed of hours and hours at the speed of days, all the while Peter Pettigrew maintained his confinement underground with the world's most dangerous dark wizard. The stout man dug around in volumes upon volumes of the most distinguished enchantment textbooks, his hand raw with the unrelenting efforts. The room was lightless and dank, rancid with stagnant pools of leaking rainwater. Most of the useful magic tomes he managed to locate were waterlogged beyond legibility.
He couldn't recall an instant he was granted even a small fraction of a second to recollect or nourish himself. There were no moments to be wasted as they could be used to fortify his lord's defenses until he recovers from his battle with the deceased Potter couple after the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament. The master and servant had been down in this cavernous room for about an entire week with the Dark Lord showcasing no signs of throwing in the towel. His old approaches and tactics to achieve his goal have been thwarted countless times and he's made it strenuously clear he would have no more of it.
In response to his many defeats, his anger had intensified as did his desperateness concerning the whole matter. Voldemort had dispatched his Death Eaters to the four corners of the globe, each in a mad hunt for a different, fresher utilization of modern magic. If he and his followers happened upon some curses, some treacherous spells the wizarding world's never seen before, there wasn't a doubt he'd accomplish his ambitions. He was near certain somewhere it existed, lying in slumber, awaiting discovery for his usage.
"My lord… all these books list spells which already have counter-curses. The current magic hexes and charms will do you no good," Peter informed fretfully, his single metal hand glistening in the dim firelight. "This magic is known and practiced in the wizarding schools all across the world. Every spell you may learn from these here can be easily offset by mere students nowadays. There are more challenging curses but all the same, my lord, it is simply not enough." The page was flipped vacantly, fatigue aching in his bones.
His weakened lord sat idly in a large, rotted green chair, a damp coverlet spread across the back. "Search the more ancient scriptures," Voldemort commanded in a low hiss. "Go back, Wormtail, to the Romans, Egyptian, Chinese, Japanese; just find me what I'm looking for. I will not tolerate you dawdling about any longer. The sooner my Death Eaters locate something valuable, we will move on from this dreary stage and the boy who lived will be one step closer to his inevitable death."
"Yes, my lord." The small man scuttled to an even greater pile of books, strewn with scrolls of primeval kanji and hieroglyphics. The animagus could've swore he'd been through this mound just as thoroughly as the last, but then again, he was very much incapable of differentiating day between night as of late and so he trudged forward, beginning from the top.
Some time had passed by sluggishly, the phrases of each text melding in with one another and becoming unintelligible scribbles to the exhausted man. His eyes burned and he longed to stop and rest a bit, though he shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. Finally, a quiet gasp escaped from Peter's dry lips when his fingers coiled themselves around a scroll he hadn't yet discovered; the solitary article which had been abandoned behind all the others, coated with a thick layer of dust. The parchment had a dissimilar texture to the other scrolls, laced together with a fine oriental sash of red. Peter plucked it off the heap anxiously and drew it closer to his chest as his fingers fumbled untying it.
The lace slipped noiselessly to the ground and the man quickly scampered a nearby torch, feverishly scanning the Japanese wording for smudges and smears of ink. With a terse charm to the worn paper, the content translated itself into neat English, floating as if it were made entirely of water. Squinting in the faint light, he began to read and scarcely completed the first sentence before he exhaled in relief.
"Tell me you've found something of value to me," the Dark Lord uttered upon eyeing his servant.
"My-my lord, you must take a look at this. It's very promising," Peter declared wearily. "This might be the end of our search, the end of our troubles and we can leave this grotto."
"You seem far too delighted at the prospect, Wormtail…" Voldemort appeared unconvinced, refusing to share the other's enthusiasm.
Peter mumbled a quick, nervous apology while making his way over. He then urged the fragile scroll beneath his lord's nose as though he wished for him to consume it. "I-it says that… there is something known as an… art…" he began explaining weakly, the small proximity between him and the other wizard turning his blood to ice within his veins. The fearful quivering of his hands was not overlooked.
"Wormtail," Voldemort warned venomously, causing the animagus to visibly flinch with a start. He feebly shoved the scroll away. "Read to me what it says," he ordered. Peter nodded vehemently in return.
Clearing his throat rather noisily, he began to recite the print. "'Th-… there exists a secret art that reigns over all shinobi, an art containing all power, all knowledge, all desires within its creation, known as the Hijutsu, the Shinrabanshou,'" Peter mispronounced, his voice trembling as a leer of interest was manifestly peaked by his lord. "'Five ninja clans… Banten, Iga, Kouga, Fuuma and Togakushi created their forbidden techniques… f-five Kinjutsu scrolls. The one w-who possesses the Hijutsu, Shinrabanshou shall b-be… ruler of the Hidden World, presiding over all the knowledge and power of the universe.'"
"But what can this art do? What makes it own magical properties?" the Dark Lord interjected before his servant could continue.
"Then t-the scroll lists the Kinjutsu and it doesn't go too much into this Shinrabanshou-" A quick glance from the man easily commanded Peter to carry on reading and he did so, hastily analyzing the descriptions of each technique scroll. He swallowed hesitantly. "Kouga's… Book of Daya… it's a recipe for a cure-all, but it states having one flaw in its preparation… w-would make it a deadly poison. Then there's an ability that enables one to enter and even read another's mind, called Izunashingan within the Togakushi; The Banten clan owns Engetsurin, a memory storage skill, then there's the Fuuma clan's transformation-type ability called Tenpenka… allowing one to change into any appearance at will to animals or… or-"
"These can all be accomplished with simple spells," Voldemort barked at the animagus.
"B-but there's one more!" Peter exclaimed, recoiling under his piercing, livid eyes. "The last technique is known as Kira. It gives someone the ability to shoot their Ki into another being and kill them instantly, with only a point of their finger. A-and all one must do it study the scroll of the technique they wish to learn. It also says here that there're two unidentified Shinobi clan members known to have been granted immortality by the Shinrabanshou. It's simple, my lord-"
"Yes… It is simple," Voldemort agreed portentously. His pale lips twisted into a wicked sneer. "You are useful to me, Wormtail. Where can these be found? I want my Death Eaters to gather these scrolls and this secret art. With this power containing all information and all the force of the universe… I will finally become immortal and Potter will fall at my feet, begging for mercy."
Peter nodded as he rolled up the parchment delicately. "The scrolls are in Japan, my lord. But there is a problem…" Voldemort met his eyes in a quick glare and Peter took an impulsive step backwards. "The scroll says each should be in their respected clans of ninja. T-they could be anywhere on the whole island. And… the secret art? It's not a scroll like the others… my lord…" the man clarified, panic mingling in his shaky words and sending a wave of fear down his body. "It's known as a-a book… but… The secret art is written inside a host. A person, most likely a ninja in one of the clans… it doesn't specify… and it doesn't state who it's in currently."
"We'll locate the host as well, tearing down each clan as we search if that proves to be necessary," the notorious wizard decided abruptly. "If collecting scrolls and studying them is all I need… capturing a muggle will be effortless. I will see this plan to the end and these scrolls of Kinjutsu and their power… It will be mine. Spread word amongst my followers we have a new course of action. Potter's days are now numbered, and if this Hijutsu's residence in its host causes any setbacks at all… The possessor's days will be numbered as well."
"This is of the utmost urgency, Albus. I must have a word with you."
"You have, Cornelius," Above his crescent spectacles, Dumbledore's gaze landed on the Minister of Magic as he entered his large office, and he rose from his seat in greeting. "But I suppose you may have another. It is a lovely day for travel; I assume your journey here wasn't troublesome?" Fudge glowered at the elder man, perceptibly keen with remaining on task. He removed four parchment scrolls from his bag, each wrapped in a single golden string.
"I haven't taken time out of my schedule in order to make blithe chatter with you, Dumbledore. Just as you requested of me, I've collected all the information made available to me about the four children," Fudge sulked. "This dilemma made its way to the International Confederation of Wizards. It wasn't entirely easy, though I managed to get it done."
"Very well."
Fudge nodded dourly. "Yet if you ask me, we should take these youths to the Ministry. Perhaps that would be our best course of action. We'll have someone watch over them at all times. That appears to be the better alternative than allowing them education which could, in due course, make them even more dangerous than they probably are, no doubt," he shared and took a seat, receiving a welcoming chirp from Fawkes the phoenix, his vibrant red feathers seeming to glow in the daylight streaming through the windows.
Dumbledore fell silent for a short moment before he met the eyes of the stern man before him. He sat himself back down behind his desk with a sigh. "We were informed of these children's situation by a wizard whom I've gained quite the trust of recently. He's proven to be quite reliable. We've spoken on many occasions over the last few months and he has enlightened me of the many details I fear the Ministry would have extenuated were they given this information. I've thought it over thoroughly since my first notification. If these four students need an education, I cannot see why Hogwarts shouldn't invite them," he affirmed gravely.
"I trust you know what you're doing while you say such things," Fudge huffed, placing down the four scrolls on the headmaster's cluttered desk. "Mahoutokoro turned them down, you know, without even as much as an explanation. The headmistress simply claimed it would complicate far too many issues and they would be rather unable to handle those students. And this castle has been the target for much attention these years, Albus," the minister reminded, only a somber gaze returned by the elder man. "I question if coming to you was the correct choice. Nevertheless, I am running low on options and as our circumstances came about, here I am. This is a serious affair as well, and I don't want you to take to this lightly. I hope you understand."
As he spoke, Dumbledore leisurely opened the very first scroll, steadily undoing the thread and eyeing the profile of a fourteen-year-old male from Banten, Japan, presently enrolled in his town's middle school. This would be the student's final semester and then he'd be heading off to his first year of high school. He caught a sinking notion the other scrolls held within them similar adolescents and quickly detailed their current livelihoods and whereabouts. They listed the lives he may be required to deteriorate to merely provide security against a potential sea of foes that shouldn't even be on their radar.
"Of course, Cornelius. I do understand," he confirmed earnestly, gathering the other scrolls to place in front of him to be studied at a later time.
The minister continued, "These students are young, however, they are too old to start with the first years. They are the ages of fourth years and even a sixth year. They couldn't possibly catch up accordingly no matter the length of time you allow them to be taught previous years' lessons. Too much is taught each year and you certainly are not going to stop the progress of the classes they'd be assigned now; they'd fall behind and fail. This is harshly detrimental to not only your school but if this continues to be a disturbance any longer, the entire wizarding world will be dragged further down into this chaos. At the very most, we are aware some wizards may be after the strange magic they possess. They could be terribly hazardous to themselves and the rest of the world if we don't get a quick hold of this situation."
"We have faced many hardships and setbacks throughout the years," Dumbledore acknowledged calmly. Fudge appeared taken aback. "I do believe this responsibility may have no other choice than to fall into our care. I'll accept these students."
Fudge eyed the venerable older man and his gaze turned to a stabbing glare. "You haven't read much of a word about them; where they all live, what the Ministry believes their magic could possibly stem from; nothing! That isn't a very wise choice. Please, read these scrolls and consider profoundly before making such a decision. I shall take my leave if you'll be needing it. I'll send Dolores Umbridge to you in two days time to collect your answer, if you don't mind." The minister gathered his belongings, making a turn for the office's exit.
"I needn't think any further," Dumbledore opposed. Fudge halted and circled back to face him, nearly enraged to stay within the narrow-minded man's presence any longer. "Regarding what just you've told me, it seems Hogwarts must allow them to enroll. It gives the impression of our only option, does it not? This would then be a Hogwarts' predicament to deal with; no longer a trouble for the Ministry. If their lives are in any imminent peril and this school can offer protection to them, as well as teach them how to prepare for any assailants that may demand their power, I do not see a single reason why accepting them should deserve any hesitation."
"Don't you see?" Fudge stressed, gesturing to the parchments below him. "Albus…" he sighed, "we are not completely aware how these youths acquired a certain magic that has just emerged a few weeks ago or what any of this means for them. Their magic should have awakened within them by the time they turned eleven years of age. But that didn't happen. It's as though they just materialized out of thin air! But they're just children as well, and the extraordinary magic they've stumbled upon with no background of any magic whatsoever in their blood, their lives have become at risk severely. We ought to get a hold of this the right way. Before they are enrolled into this school, they must be made aware of everything their situation instigates for everyone involved. Everything, Dumbledore. If bringing them here at the start of term could, in any way at all, put your students and staff in jeopardy, then I firmly believe we should turn them down just as well. The Ministry will handle this. You have my word."
"I do agree with you," the headmaster granted. "This is indeed a unique situation that has come about and they should very well be conscious of every factor. However, as unique as it is, there will be plenty of time to investigate the cause. With the type of magic from these children that has spiked and what it means for the wizarding world, I believe their first priority is security and Hogwarts can provide such a thing. Taking them to the Ministry wouldn't assist this quandary they've been thrown into. It will be enough an upset of their lives than need be. For their best interests, they should be with others their age; their minds are still young and have time to shape and grow. Limiting their freedom by locking them away will do more harm than good."
Fudge frowned and scoffed. "This has never happened before. The Ministry will not allow this to turn out of our favor."
Dumbledore rose once more, reaching out to delicately pet Fawkes. "I will have Minerva send the post owls later in the evening," he said. "They should arrive tomorrow morning for these students."
"Are you listening to me, Albus?" Fudge fumed.
"All shall go well. You needn't worry. I will study the scrolls and learn all there is to know about these students, and if at any time I feel Hogwarts would be threatened with their enrollment, I will reconsider. Hagrid can assist me with informing them of all they must be made aware of," he spoke lowly, stroking his white beard in thought.
"You think it wise sending that oaf to Japan with such a task? Why, the kids will be frightened out of their wits, I assure you."
Dumbledore presented the aggravated man a warm smile. "I'd be surprised if he wasn't able to persuade these children the slightest bit. Nonetheless, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'll relay our warnings about their state of affairs and with my permission, he may escort them to the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley and the King's Cross Station should the four accept their invites"
The worn minister sighed, still utterly unconvinced by the revered man's words. He ultimately nodded, settling into adverse agreement. The man reached for his bag and prepared for his leave. With a last glance, Fudge requested politely, "Perhaps I may inquire what you've decided to do with the open Defense Against the Dark Arts position?"
"Ah, yes, I recently interviewed a fine young fellow," Dumbledore replied, gathering his robes and approaching him. "He seems to be a well-rounded gentleman. The students and professors should take well to him. But I do suppose it was wonderful seeing you again, Cornelius."
"Likewise," the minister mumbled civilly, tossing his fury aside in order to leave the office in a more humane manner. A farewell smile was shared by the two men and then Fudge was off, heading towards the headmaster's door, uncertainty growing inside, his irritation fueling his pounding footsteps.
The early morning sunlight swelled through the curtained windows, rivulets of warmth flooding the doubly occupied bed in Miharu's small room. He had been lying quietly in the same location for the better part of the sunrise with his emerald eyes closed, not a single intention of leaving scattered anywhere on his to-do list. Shiratama called dibs on his chest since last night and was still deep in her slumber, purring contentedly in her cat-shaped ball. It was a lonely Sunday, the air restful and quiet. Miharu remained to be absorbed in thought, staring impassively up at his dull ceiling.
His mind had wandered to many things over the past hour or so he's been awake; the lack of cheerful chirping outside, the hushed voices of the few regulars down below a floor at the restaurant. Everything was so normal, even his thoughts of the blue-eyed Kairoushuu member and how he vaguely desired to be with him at this very moment, instead of alone in his room with his sleeping cat. The solitary day he has off from school each week had come once again and lately they've been spent significantly thinking in silence. On these days, he was unaccompanied by his friends, and he wasn't fully able to place the grounds of avoiding them either. The whole thing just seemed to be easier if he wasn't around to bother anyone.
He had almost optimistically planned on staying over Yukimi's apartment yesterday and made his own preparations of lying to his grandmother for when the blond man agreed to it. But Yukimi went and rejected an additional night's stay and as such, Miharu was greatly at a loss of what to do, having skipped nearly the whole week of school. The declination left him no place to go but back to his home. Seeing his grandmother would undoubtedly cause her to ask how classes had been and if he said hello to Raimei's parents for her.
He idly questioned when a small sofa became more welcoming than his own bed, giving a grudging sigh and absently stroking Shiratama's white fur. She stretched drowsily under his touch only for her ears to pipe up in sudden attention, her gold eyes watchfully transfixed in the direction of her master's window. Miharu gradually sat himself up, the cat rising along with him and tentatively prowling to the windowpane.
"What is it?" He asked jadedly, following her gaze. A shadow on the drape depicted that of a large bird, a familiar shape he's seen more recently than he'd like to admit in the form of his school friend. "Kouichi?" He murmured the name and crawled to the edge of his bed. He fingered the yellow fabric and pulled it aside, revealing a chocolate colored barn owl, clutching what appeared to be a beige letter in its beak. Miharu sat there indolently for a moment, then slowly with a small frown, the young ninja gently grasped the paper, expecting the bird to fly away, spooked. But the delivery owl merely hooted calmly in response.
It then abruptly took off, observably having completed its deliverance task, the curtain billowing in its wake. His green eyes flitted to the paper sitting in his hands which seemed to be made of… worn parchment? His frown deepened slightly, running his hands over a dark red wax stamp which held a type of insignia engraved with four animals surrounding a capital "H". Shiratama brushed against his arm with a small mewl and Miharu turned to her, lowering the paper enough for her eyes to see what he couldn't believe his were.
In perfect Japanese print, it stated neatly, "Rokujou Miharu, the northernmost bedroom, second floor of the Rokujou Okonomiyaki restaurant, Banten, Japan." Miharu flipped it over to the front, intending to read the return address only for the content to further his confusion. The words were written in English with fine ink and he couldn't read much of it; the only meaningful word he managed to recognize was "school" however that knowledge didn't assist him in the slightest.
"It's from a school?" Miharu muttered, his cat peering up at him curiously and sweeping her tail. Why would a place like that send him a letter? And the transportation means they chose was an owl of all things? It all sounded blatantly unbelievable. Half of him wanted to deem this was a joke of some sort; some kind of advertisement maybe? But that didn't answer the various other questions that brought such an assumption to a stalemate. Advertisements don't address letters to the addressee's bedroom window and plainly using Banten as the town wasn't how Japanese mail was delivered.
His fingertips trailed along the edge of the top fold and ruby waxed seal. A knock at the door cut short his thoughts and incomprehension of the letter's purpose, and his grandmother's voice rang cautiously through the door. "Miharu?" He placed the paper on the bedspread and Shiratama sat herself atop it, hiding it just in time for Naoko to enter with an unsure smile. "You're awake," she alerted her grandson. "Why don't you come downstairs? You've been cooped up here all morning. I could really use the help with the restaurant, if you wouldn't mind." She appeared to be fairly fatigued, causing Miharu to wonder loosely about her own sleeping habits. Perhaps being away from her for such long periods of time as he has been… She undeniably had to be spending those times worrying about him.
Miharu nodded. "I'll be there in a second."
"There's no rush," she told him as she opened the door. "And you shouldn't let Shiratama on your bed, Miharu. We know how she disappears for days on end. You should give her a bath if you're going to let her on furniture."
"I'll be there in a second," he repeated lowly and then watched as she left, closing the door quietly behind her. The feline climbed onto the windowsill and gave him a brisk parting tail flick before she headed off. The young ninja sighed, a small shiver coursing his skinny frame and he realized this could have all been avoided would he have shut the window last night. The letter was blankly glanced at once more before Miharu heaved himself from his bed, seized his nearest sweatshirt, and before he too opened his door and made his way downstairs, he dropped the parchment wordlessly into his waste bin.