Summary: After the war, Sasuke discovers an interesting detour in his lineage. It would seem that his association with snakes didn't come from Orochimaru entirely after all. Honestly, he was sick and tired of seeing his relatives waging wars, so he decided to put a stop to it. The only problem was - it was not his place to stop the 'Dark Lord' - but rather his new classmate's. A lot of annoyance ensured as the last Uchiha tries to deal with the residential suspicious trio on his heel and the ever present cloud of his family's problematic tendencies raging on in a universe full of twats waving sticks back and forth. Slytherin'sHeir!Sasuke
Rating: T for light cursing, violence, minor mention of rape.
Pairing: Sasuke/Multi
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Harry Potter. All rights reserved to the original creators.
Warning: Spoilers for Naruto's ending in the first few chapters + a bit of OOC moments here and there. Slight Dumbledore bashing.
A/N: I'm not sure if a story with a similar plot already exists due to me not reading that much Naruto/Harry Potter crossovers, so I will apologize beforehand if the overall plotline matches someone else's work. I had wanted to do my own take on Sasuke in Hogwarts, considering I had a huge urge to write from his point of view for a long time. He's a fascinating character in my eyes and I hope I'll do him justice. Note: because this will be set after the Forth Shinobi War, Sasuke will have a need to get some sort of redemption for the sins he has committed, so don't be so surprised at his slightly OOC demeanour.
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/An•guis/
Noun – Latin
1. a long limbless reptile that has no eyelids, a short tail, and jaws that are capable of considerable extension. Some snakes have a venomous bite.
2. a treacherous or deceitful person.
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Chapter I
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Dark brows furrowed in silent irritation as rustling paper accommodated the rowdiness of the dusty pub downstairs. A young man sat in the dimly lit corner of his rented room with shrewd intent to read through the quite big stack of ancient books on the barely standing heavily aged desk. He skimmed over them, selectively absorbing and rapidly scanning the information for his own personal use as the column of tied up paper grew shorter by the minute.
To any other person, it would have seemed he was flipping over the pages absently, as if not quite finding what he needed. But the dull tint of red in his charcoal eyes told another story as he flickered over yet another book. With every brush of his long dark eyelashes across his high cheekbones, a mental camera shutter resounded in his mind, imprinting the words deep within his memory. When the letters ceased to make sense to him, he reached his prosthetic hand towards a small container of pills by a discarded scroll on the table surface, his real limb lost from a frivolous war that came and went. He flexed his fingers, getting used to the alien feel that came with the action as his slightly unfeeling fingertips grasped the lid of the tiny plastic jar.
Popping the tablet-like pill into his awaiting mouth, he bit down a shiver from the foul taste on his liver. His taste buds protested as the tablet slid through them, yet the benefit of keeping the knowledge of the English language in his head was too good to pass up simply because he didn't like the bitter taste of the pill.
Keeping the artificial fingers pressed to his thin lips, he glanced at the glimmering bronze rimmed ring on his index finger. He could tell by the pulsing energy radiating from the stone that it had a special use of sort which he was not aware of. The bronze band hugging his skin seemed to be quite recently forged due to the barely noticeable signs of tampering around the edges of the dark stone, a few flecks of golden edging could be seen here and there, as if it was ripped out of something sloppily or without a care.
The man who gave him this ring – his family's heirloom of sort he was told – was Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin first class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
Whatever half those titles were supposed to mean, he wasn't the least bit interested.
The corners of his lips turned down as he grasped a heavily aged parchment in his hands. His eyes raked meticulously across the names recorded on the paper for what seemed like the billionth time, frown deepening when the extended branch of family from his mother's side of things glared back at him in angry black ink. He knew it was ridiculous to keep such an outrageously dangerous parchment that could cause him unnecessary trouble in a shady place such as this, yet he did not fret for he was the only one in a few mile radius who wrote or even spoke the 'Japanese' language it was written in.
The name of Uchiha Mikoto's father in particular had caught his attention.
He leaned back into his less than comfortable chair, trying to recall any mention of the name in his childhood, yet found blankness in his stead. It was now clear to him that there was nothing to be proud of to be related to the man – he was seemingly unstable from the centuries of inbreeding documented in one of the books he just set down – and the fact that there was no line drawn between the man and Kito – his grandmother – made him believe that his mother was conceived in a not entirely consented way.
His fingers, real and prosthetic, clenched the edges of the table in barely hidden fury, knuckles going a pale shade of white at the prospect of somebody laying a hand on one of his family members. Even if it's his own blood, he proved from time to time again that he was quite able to side against his own family members if the circumstances required to.
If only he had known just what kind of people his mother's family were before he touch that damn box – that damn portkey.
The male, between fifteen and seventeen, from an unclear ethnic group sat behind stacks of books that where placed on a broken table, fragments of the shattered wooden surface hanging for dear life by threads. Charcoal eyes, accommodated with the same shade of hair peered under an equally dark hood, glaring holes at the scattered pages resting on the desk before him.
The rigid sound right under his right arm snapped his attention to the damage he had caused to the pub's establishment, a quick wave of surprise washed over his form to see it repaired and as good as new. The owner – Tom, if he recalled correctly – did say that the furniture in the aged rooms had a self-fixing charm of sort placed on them, due to financial issues that yet needed to be taken care of.
He studied the almost good as new surface where he placed his right elbow on, wondering about all the other different mechanisms of magic.
Magic – he'll have to admit, was throughout useful in many ways, more or so. It could fix, and expand space, even make things levitate without much effort. Yet, it could never compare to the range of destruction and power chakra could produce. It was a shame that these people – these wizards – would be left powerless without the item that would stabilize their magical energy to burst out of their limbs, unlike shinobi that used their bodies alone to force the chakra out into the environment without further reinforcement. In case of a war, the chakra he was so found of would be a far greater force to recon with, yet magic made mundane life so much easier. Sasuke could spend the whole of the afternoon making parallels and comparisons of the two, but 'the laws of the Ministry of Magic volume one' at the bottom of the stack was a far more pressing matter if he ever wanted to not make an appearance in the Ministry's radar.
He flipped open the leather confinement of yet another book – this one speaking of the peculiar subject of the Dark Arts – but before his mind could register a single word, his elbow jerked slightly as a ripped envelope floated slowly to the creaking flooring.
He pushed his Sharingan to activate, ruby coloring the black in an alarming rate as the invitation in his hand started to weight his fingers with invisible weight. This was another arguably good reason for his deep regret of coming to this place – this whole other dimension – for he didn't look forward to this time consuming – or wasting – stay in Albus Dumbledore's watchful gaze 24/7.
How he had belted himself this deep into a mess he could not control was beyond his comprehension. His luck was rotten; he knew that ever since he was a small child – but to get dragged into a web of salty affairs of a society full of sychophants and hypocrites – he must be cursed by the foulest of Gods. He had nothing to gain out of this – well maybe except new knowledge and the doubtfully large amount of annoyance and headaches – so he could care less about the brewing war that was coming to wash the people into unnecessary bloodshed.
He had already fought his war; he didn't feel the blinded urge to repeat it. And yet, a small part of him knew that his lack of concern for the people he wasn't even associated to wouldn't mud his conscious if it came down to that. Dumbledore and his foolish little Order was just a torn in his side that thought they had the authorized power to command his path of choice.
Oh, how meticulously wrong they are if they thought that the last living Uchiha would bow down to such an obvious attempt of manipulation. He had experienced a fair amount of that in his short sixteen years of living, and he was determined not to let history repeat itself anytime soon. He decided that he'll play his established game though – he'll amuse the old coot of a wizard with the false sense of trust that he'll convey to him. But in truth, he will come out with the most benefit between the two of them. The fat pouch full coins near his bedside given to him to buy resources for himself was proof of that.
This, however, left Sasuke feeling completely irritated. With the lack of finance of this community that his extinct family didn't leave behind, he had to live off of Dumbledore's ever so gracious support. He'll have to make himself his own person – otherwise he'll start feeling rather indebted to the old wizard. Debts can sink people faster than most things and he was hoping he'll swim out of it before he has the chance of using the opportunity to pull Sasuke's feet further under the water.
And yet, he couldn't shake off the feeling that some of Dumbledore's puppeteering strings were slowly attaching themselves to him for the lack of knowledge Sasuke possessed of the wizarding world. A shrewd smirk curved up his lips when he imagined the utter surprised look that would grace his wrinkly face when he'll realized that the Uchiha was a force to reckon with. He already ate through the theory portion of some of the subjects he knew he'll need in his further studies at this proclaimed wizarding school, but the practical part of things were still unknown waters to him.
He has yet to obtain a stic– wand – to cast spells, but either way if he did possess a wand at his disposal; there was a strict law that concerned underage magic which would prevent him from doing so anyways. He was told that he'll have to wait until he was on Hogwarts' grounds to legally use magic, which was absurd in his eyes. Back home, small children needed to train and learn just to reserve their life to pass through their teenage years, but here – it was peaceful.
That ticked him of for one reason or another.
Releasing a silent breath, he rubbed the pinch between his brows, setting the book he was almost finished going through next to the huge scroll containing his family tree in great detail. Another concern flooded his mind about Dumbledore. From what he could tell – and the unspoken words when he gave Sasuke the ring were anything to go by – he clearly had been associated with his family in one way or another. He felt rather foolish now for doing something that usually only Naruto would do. He had babbled to the old wizard, which was one of the biggest slip ups he had let himself consciously do.
However, the sudden light about his heritage had sparked the Headmaster's undivided attention to him, which was rather suspicious and quite obvious that he was missing out on some great important detail that he had missed during his ventures to the library in Diagon Alley. Ever since the conversation he had with Dumbledore, he had been keeping an eye on him, as if at any second he would spin around and do something rather volatile in front of the rest of the Order who were oblivious of the words that had been spoken between the two in private.
It was a rather stupid mistake, he'll admit, but he knew that slithering beneath his current predicament was fairly easy enough. Obviously, Dumbledore hasn't told his allies about his lineage – considering the incredulous stories he had read about his more than unstable family – for good reason. It was to keep him safe, or so he was expected to see it in this light. No, it was to keep him safe as his secret weapon. He wasn't blind; he saw that the old wizard knew something rather important that if he didn't find out as soon as he could, it could cause him harm.
Sasuke clenched his good hand, blowing out the dripping wax candle on the lithered desk. He was made aware that customary protective wards were placed on every single room for the stayer's personal safety, making the slight kink in his back relax slightly. He knew his research was safe, but just to make sure – he stashed the thick scroll containing names that he would rather keep to himself into the drawer of the desk that creaked in protest with every inch he pulled out. Shutting the wooden drawer shut, Sasuke walked to the back of the room where the bed was located in, figuring he should get some rest before returning to Diagon Alley to finish his errands.
In the blanket of the night, the beams of moonlight shone onto the desk, making its way into the drawer through the slim crack where the ancient parchment that the young man placed laid. If somebody looked closely enough, the pitch black ink seeped into the other side of the thin paper where the names of his mother's parents –'Kito Uchiha' and 'Morfin Gaunt' – could be made out. From the name of the man, a barely visible line connected with another name, signalling a sibling link between the two. From there on, the name of Morfin's sister 'Merope Gaunt' connected with another indicating a more intimate relation, before yet another line of branch went down to the last name in his mother's separate little family branch.
'Tom Marvolo Riddle'