Hello everyone! If anyone recognizes me from my Year_ stories, don't worry, this is not a rehash of those. It is very different and, (I hope) my writing has improved since then. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Rated for safety and 'cause of a few swear words, but nothing major. Set during Order of the Phoenix and after the Winter War. There may be spoilers.
Disclaimer: All appropriate rights go to the owners of Bleach and Harry Potter.
Cross at the performance of his subordinates, Hitsugaya Toshiro, Captain of the Tenth Division of the Gotei 13, was in the middle of demonstrating a particularly difficult move to a crowd of Shinigami when he felt it. A wave of wrongness rippled through the air, as if the universe itself was screaming out in pain. Every Shinigami felt it, and shuddered, for it was a feeling that set them all on edge.
Captain Hitsugaya looked up from where he had his sword positioned against the neck of his demonstration partner. He stared out across the training field at nothing at all, trying to determine with his senses just what that wave had been. It was nothing he had ever felt before.
Drawing away from the other Shinigami, he held his zanpakuto to his back, absently willing the sheath of ice to form around the blade and secure it to the sash that ran across his chest. "Back to training," he called to his division members. "Pair up."
They did so, muttering with sudden anxiety, while Hitsugaya strode across the field, waving to his Third Seat. The man came jogging up. "Captain, what was that?" he asked. Hitsugaya shook his head.
"Take over the training."
He did not explain further, and the Third Seat left to go pick up instructing the sparring Shinigami. Captain Hitsugaya, meanwhile, went to the First Division.
Every Shinigami in Soul Society would want to know what was going on; as a Captain, he was expected to have the answer.
But he didn't. He was just as confused as they were, so he took to the rooftops to avoid any unwanted questions. It was a quicker route besides, and the Hell Butterfly he was expecting soon arrived with a light chime. He paused to receive its message, planting his feet firmly on both sides of the apex of the roof.
Captain-Commander Yamamoto's voice issued from the butterfly, deep and solemn. "All Captains are to report immediately to the First Division for an emergency meeting." Its message given, the butterfly dissolved on his hand.
Several minutes later, Hitsugaya dropped out of shunpo directly in front of the Captains' meeting hall, startling the two guards standing on either side of the door.
In a normal meeting, planned ahead of time, the Captains would come through the main gate and walk up to the meeting hall. But in order to speed the process along, Hitsugaya had bypassed the gate entirely, choosing instead to go over the wall - something that would ordinarily be considered rude in a Division not his own, but unexpected meetings required haste.
He was not the first to arrive - the Tenth Division was nearly as far away from the First as any of the Thirteen - and so found that the double-line of Captains was close to complete. He slipped into his spot and waited for the last Captains to arrive.
When Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku arrived, completing the lines (aside from the three spots conspicuously empty, remnants of the recent war), Yamamoto spoke. He did not need to slam his staff on the ground to gain their attention; the air in the meeting hall was fraught with tension.
"I am sure you all felt the disturbance not ten minutes ago," he said, and several of the Captains nodded. Movement from beside Hitsugaya caught his eye; he turned his head slightly to see Captain Kurotsuchi fiddling with a small device. "I will be frank with all of you, for this is not something to be taken lightly. That was the result of a being in the World of the Living being resurrected using the darkest of the Forbidden Arts."
The Captains were too disciplined to make a sound, but the air grew even more tense.
The Forbidden Arts were among the highest prohibited actions a being could take, living or dead. They dealt with the mutilation of a soul, and had the ability to knock the natural process of life, death, and rebirth out of alignment. For something to be dabbling with it now….
"Captain Kurotsuchi," Yamamoto rumbled, "have you been able to locate where this took place and who has committed this atrocity?"
"Tch!" the Twelfth Division Captain hissed. He smacked the small device with the back of one hand. "Our instruments are all registering the use of the Arts, but are unable to track them down."
"Something interfering with the signal?" Captain Kyoraku suggested, tipping his straw hat up to look at Kurotsuchi.
"Of course. My instruments do not fail."
"Clearly," Captain Zaraki said, not even trying to be quiet.
"Fix them," Yamamoto boomed, ending the argument before it could even begin. "Captain Soifon, what have you heard?"
"Nothing as of yet." Her mouth twisted down into a scowl. "I have sent out my men, but without the search narrowed down to even a country, I doubt they will find anything."
"There are the month-long patrols in the major cities," Kyoraku said. "One of them must have felt something. We can narrow it down that way."
Kurotsuchi's snort of derision said it all: None of them actually believed the Shinigami sent out for the month-long patrols would be of any use. Those assignments were generally given to the troublemakers of a Division, the soldiers a Captain wanted out of the way for a time. They were neither the strongest nor the smartest in the Gotei 13.
A silence fell over them all, broken only by the clicking of Kurotsuchi's fingers on the small device. His one long fingernail curved around it as he shifted it from one hand to another.
Hitsugaya closed his eyes. He had hoped, like everyone else, that after Aizen was defeated, things would settle down again. But of course they hadn't; they were Shinigami, in charge of keeping the balance, and there were always those who sought to disrupt the natural order.
Always.
"Then we must look at who would want to dabble in the Forbidden Arts," Captain Ukitake, the sickly head of the Thirteenth Division, said.
"And who is capable of doing so," the massive Captain of the Seventh, Komamura put in.
"That would be the most efficient way of discovering who it is," Soifon said. "The Quincy, for one."
"The Quincy were destroyed; they pose no threat."
"Not all of them," Captain Kuchiki said. "That Ryoka, the Ishida boy and his line."
"But he knows that we are watching him. He wouldn't be so foolish as to perform such an act."
"And who would he resurrect, regardless?"
"The other dead Quincy."
"Using what bodies as receptacles? It is not the Quincy - it simply is not logical for the boy to do that."
"It could be rogue Shinigami."
"But we have had no reports of any."
As the Captains continued to debate, Hitsugaya stared at a space ahead of him, just above where Tousen would have been standing. He was running through the options in his head, but nothing seemed quite right.
A light chime caught his attention, and he looked up to see a black butterfly fluttering down to him. He reached up and caught it. A man's voice echoed in his ear.
Hitsugaya smirked. Trust his subordinate to prove them wrong.
"I think," Hitsugaya said, interrupting Captain Zaraki, who was arguing in favor of just going down to the Living World and slaughtering anyone suspicious - or anyone with a high enough spiritual power, at the very least, "that this bickering is unnecessary."
"You got something to say, shrimp?" Zaraki scoffed.
"I do." Ignoring the slight, Hitsugaya lifted the Hell Butterfly that was settled on the back of his hand. "One of my men stationed in the UK reported a significant disturbance there. He believes it is connected to the Wizarding World."
~oOo~
The Tenth Division had somehow become specialized in undercover work. Some Divisions, like the Fourth or the Twelfth, changed their focus based on their Captains. Captain Urahara had transformed the Twelfth into the Research and Development Division, the one that creates such devices as the Hell Butterflies and monitors all the technology that the Shinigami used on a daily basis, and Captain Kurotsuchi continued the work.
Some, like the Tenth, just grew into their specialities.
Either way, Hitsugaya enjoyed undercover work. It was far different from the Second Division's duties - they were the spies, the watchers in the night, focusing little on Hollows. The Tenth, by contrast, ran reconnaissance, scouting the best routes for supply lines or camps or where to attack and defend. It appealed to the strategic side of Hitsugaya, the part of him that enjoyed planning things out and then seeing them executed.
As he ghosted through the hills of the World of the Living, heading for the meeting place that had been set up, he wondered if that was part of the reason he'd risen so quickly through the ranks.
The Shinigami stationed in this general area had requested to meet in a small village located in a valley - small being the key word. Half of the village was clustered on one side of the valley, facing a surprisingly-large graveyard. An imposing mansion was on the other side of the graveyard, its rough stones dark in the afternoon light.
Hitsugaya arrived at the meeting point: a narrow jut of rock on the mansion's side of the valley. With the way the sun was casting shadows, he and his subordinate were indistinct shapes against the mass of rock behind. The man himself was standing on the edge of the rock, but looked back as the Captain arrived.
"Sir," he said, straightening to attention and giving a salute. Hitsugaya waved him down, walking up to gaze out across the valley.
"Report."
From here, Hitsugaya could easily sense the place where the Forbidden Arts had taken place; the graveyard seemed to roil with it, dark and oozing.
"I was patrolling several miles away," the subordinate said, gesturing vaguely away from the setting sun, "when I felt it happen. I couldn't locate it at first, but then Hollows started swarming the area."
"What makes you think the Wizards are involved?"
"I ran across a plus. He used to be the gardener of the house up there."
Hitsugaya raised his eyes to the mansion. The angle of light played about its walls and turrets, making the place seem not quite three-dimensional. But even from this distance, he could see the vines creeping up the weathered stones, and the wild, overgrown gardens surrounding it. It had not been tended to with any vigor for a long time.
"Not a very good one," he murmured, returning his gaze to the graveyard. He could see why the Hollows would be attracted to the place; it was giving off enough dark energy that he would be more surprised if they weren't.
"He was very old," the Shinigami said. "I asked him how he died, and he said that one night he saw a light in the house."
Hitsugaya's unimpressed look prompted the man to continue, telling the Captain what he knew about the intruders, and how the creature in the chair hadn't been natural: like a demon that had tried and failed to mimic a human form.
And, according to the gardener, there had once been a family that lived in the old manor; a family that had been murdered many years ago.
Humans murdering each other were common to the point of mundane; but this particular murder was strange. Done with locked doors, no physical signs of violence, and expressions of utter terror upon the corpses' faces….
"Have you searched the graveyard itself yet?" Hitsugaya asked. The man shook his head.
"No, Hollows keep-"
A screech interrupted him.
"-appearing," the man finished with an aggrieved sigh.
The Hollow was weak, not even very intelligent, and Hitsugaya dispatched it with one stroke. He turned to his subordinate. "Keep the Hollows away while I examine the graveyard." Not waiting for acknowledgement, Hitsugaya flash stepped down to the valley floor, walking carefully between the crumbling tombstones.
The dark, twisting reiatsu of the Forbidden Arts was strongest near the center of the yard, directly in front of a large marble headstone, blackened and streaked with age. Several yards before it, the grass was dead and withered, and it was there that Hitsugaya could nearly see the reiatsu seeping from every crevice.
A flash of tainted reiatsu caught his attention; this Hollow was stronger than the previous, but a moment later it disappeared. Satisfied that his subordinate could handle things, Hitsugaya pulled out his soul phone and dialed.
"Research and Development Institute, Third Seat Akon speaking."
"This is Captain Hitsugaya. I have located the site of the disturbance."
~oOo~
Things moved simultaneously very quick and very slow after that. Within a few days, the source of the Forbidden Arts was confirmed to be a wizard; evidently not a very powerful one, but a wizard nonetheless. Hitsugaya found himself spending an inordinate amount of time in the World of the Living - at least in Matsumoto's opinion, who found herself stuck with the paperwork - organizing his teams and searching himself.
The Wizarding World did not generally involve itself with the soul - and therefore the Shinigami did not bother with the 'hidden' society. Oh, they had their moments, such as the Philosopher's Stones, but that simply extended the life of a wizard, and did not affect his soul. Other than that, the wizards seemed to be largely unaware of how their magic could be applied to things other than mundane tasks easily completed with the hands.
Of course, there were always outliers to any rule.
The Wizarding War had been noted by the Shinigami stationed in the UK, but it just so happened that the Soul Society was going through a war of their own at the time, and little attention was therefore paid to the antics of the mortals. And later, reports on the Wizarding World were scarce, all available resources being used on the first priority of cleaning up after the war.
Hitsugaya found himself regretting this lamentable lack of information as he stood, bewildered, across from the soul of a wizard with blisteringly bright green robes.
Words and names, paradoxical phrases - You-Know-Who (No, I don't know who!) - places and creatures came rolling out of the man's mouth, until he wondered if the man even knew English.
It was not Hitsugaya's first language, and even though he could speak it fluently, it was as if the wizard was making up every third word.
Of course, the stupid pointed hat didn't make the Captain any more inclined to trust him.
"Who is this Prophet you keep speaking of?" he asked, cutting off the man in the middle of a rant about something relating to dumb men and demented somethings.
"The Daily Prophet!" the man squeaked. "It's been saying dumb-dorf's an old coot, and Harry Potter's a liar! Of course, that bitch Skeeter's the one writing most of the articles- I met her once, you know? Her quill didn't copy anything I was saying, but no, she has to use a Quick-Quotes quill, and…"
Hitsugaya cast an exasperated look over his shoulder at the three Shinigami standing behind him. They looked back at him with baffled expressions. One of them had been making a valiant effort at taking notes, but now she was staring down at her notepad with an expression of being very close to either breaking down in tears or murdering someone.
Finally having had enough, Hitsugaya snapped his hand back to his zanpakuto and rapped the pommel against the plus's forehead, sending it on. He sighed and sheathed it again. "That was a colossal waste of time."
"Please tell me you have some super-secret Captain knowledge that can understand this." The woman waved her notes in the air. "Cause I can't, and I wrote the damn things."
Hitsugaya grabbed the notes and looked them over. He could very easily see where the woman had lost the thread of conversation; not that he had done much better. "Unfortunately, no. I'll do some research tonight."
The thought held about the same appeal as would going out to fight Aizen alone. He wanted nothing more than to storm the Wizards' headquarters, demand answers, then freeze the place over in a block of ice, but this was supposed to be a stealthy mission. A large glacier in the middle of a London summer was pretty much the exact opposite of stealth.
"Let's go home, look this over with fresh eyes tomorrow."
His team gave a small cheer as he opened a Senkaimon and led them home.
~oOo~
"Captain! You're back!"
The cry greeted Hitsugaya as soon as he stepped into his office. He looked warily over to Matsumoto's desk, pleasantly surprised to see that the stack of incomplete paperwork was marginally smaller than the completed stack. "You did some work, thank the gods," he muttered, not gracelessly collapsing onto the couch.
He uttered a low, toneless groan at the relief of being off his feet for the first time in what had been a very long couple of days.
"Tired, Captain?" Matsumoto asked in an entirely too innocent tone of voice. Hitsugaya exhaled another groan.
"Don't start, Matsumoto, I'm not in the- Is that a pancake on the ceiling?"
A moment of silence, then: "Oh, is it? I hadn't noticed."
"You know what? I don't even want to know."
"That's probably in your best interest."
Hitsugaya allowed himself a minute or two of just mindlessly staring at the ceiling before opening the file on the Wizarding World that he'd taken from the archives. It was pitifully small, and wasn't much help in clearing up his subordinate's notes.
He sensed the reiatsu nearing the door before he even heard the knock. Sitting up, he called, "Come in." The door slid open to reveal a man he vaguely recognized as one of the unranked members of his Division.
"Sir, there's a disturbance in the dining hall."
"What kind of disturbance?"
The soldier hesitated, a flush creeping up from his neck. "Um, it's rather hard to explain. Could you just...make them stop? Please?"
Well, now Hitsugaya was curious. He closed the file, sliding the page of notes under the front cover, and followed the man out the office and across the courtyard, Matsumoto trailing along behind.
The courtyard was, unsurprisingly, nearly empty at this time of night. The few people occupying it were sitting on the edge of the fountain in the center, trays of food balanced on their knees. One was laughing so hard he nearly choked.
Shouting could clearly be heard as the three Shinigami approached the doors to the dining hall. The soldier leading the Captain and Vice-Captain paused outside, his face now fully red. "They're drunk," he said miserably. "They wouldn't listen to the Third Seat."
Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow. They had better be drunk, to refuse an order from a superior officer. He would excuse that - with a punishment, of course - but he was not known for regarding insubordination with leniency.
The unranked soldier opened the door, stepping to the side to allow him entrance. Shouted words floated out, such words as 'bigger', 'better', and a bellowed "Oh yeah? Yours is smaller than a carrot!" could clearly be heard over the din.
The poor soldier blanched. Hitsugaya took a deep breath. He got the feeling he would need all the patience he could muster.
He walked in.
That's a penis, was his first thought. His second was: Well, it's hairier than a carrot.
Matsumoto barked a laugh behind him. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then snorted.
The dining hall was a cacophony of jumbled shouts, laughter, jeers, and mocking whistles. All of it was aimed at the two men drunkenly swaying on a table near one side of the dining hall. The Tenth Division's Third Seat was nearby, face red, shouting for them to get down.
The two men were completely naked.
Matsumoto's attempts at quelling her laughter were completely ineffectual; she patted him on the back, shoving him a step forward. "I'll let you have this one!" she cackled.
Hitsugaya saw, with some relief, that most of the women in the Division were taking this in good humor.
In the back of his mind, a previously-napping dragon chuckled. He sent a single word up to Hitsugaya.
A laugh burst out before he could contain himself. He fought the grin that Matsumoto had dubbed his 'bout to f- shit up' grin, and let his intimidating reiatsu seep into the room.
His cold reiatsu.
The two men on the table looked down in horror, hurriedly attempting to cover themselves up. A hush fell over the dining hall, every eye turning to him. Hitsugaya took a deep breath in the silence when the door opened, letting in a warm gust of air.
"Captain!" the new Shinigami cried, immediately spotting said officer. "You-" He broke off, catching sight of the unusual sight on the table, then shook himself. "You need to come right away, sir."
"Deal with this," Hitsugaya murmured to Matsumoto as he followed the man out into the night. "What is it?"
"In the Living World, he- There's something wrong with him! He won't respond to us!"
Reaching the gates of the Division, Hitsugaya turned to head in the direction of the Senkaimon, but the man went the other way. "We brought him back to the Fourth. He wouldn't-" The man broke off, and all the way to the Healing Division, Hitsugaya pretended that he didn't notice the silvery tears tracking down his face.
~oOo~
Harry Potter was angry. No - he was more than angry; he was pissed. He kicked at a rock on the ground, sending it spinning away into the street.
The day had started off surprisingly well, considering. But of course it couldn't last. Because he was Harry freaking Potter, and he'd stupidly gotten his hopes up that his friends would come get him today, his birthday. No, instead they sent him candy and patronizing notes.
The chocolates had gone in the trash, and the cards he'd burned with the unused fire-starter his aunt and uncle kept on the mantle.
He was regretting throwing out the chocolate. He'd only gotten a salad for dinner, and now he was hungry.
I bet Ron and Hermione are having the time of their lives, living it up at the Burrow, he thought. Angry, he kicked at another rock, this one flying up and denting the driver side door of a shiny blue car. He stared at the dent, a thrill of shock and genuine regret passing through him.
"Hey! Hey!"
A man was hurrying towards him, having dropped a shopping bag. "Hey you!" he shouted, voice rising in pitch. Harry stared dumbly at the man for a moment before bolting.
He knew the area from all the times Dudley and his gang had chased him, and was easily able to lose the man in the dark. But then he heard the police sirens, and knew he was in trouble.
"It was just a scratch!" he snarled, scrambling over a chain link fence. "What the f-"
A powerful light swept around the mouth of the alley he was currently in; Harry dove behind a large industrial trash bin and waited until the police cruiser rolled away, heart pounding in his ears. He swallowed, and put his hand down to boost himself up.
His hand squished into something slimy. Harry groaned and wiped the gunk off as best he could on the brick behind him, then used the wall as leverage to pull himself up. A flickering streetlight cast just enough illumination that he could see some unidentifiable substance coating his shirt and forearms, no doubt put there in his panicked dive.
"Great, just great," he muttered. "And I can't even use magic to get it off, thanks Dumbledore!"
He wasn't really sure why he was blaming all of this on Dumbledore, but he was tired, hungry, covered in trash, and now, to top it all off, a fugitive.
Dumbledore could go screw himself.
"Chosen One," Harry grumbled, walking out of the alley and heading home. "Yeah, right. Voldemort see me now, he'd probably laugh himself to death. There you go. Problem solved. Happy now?"
He was so engrossed in his mutterings that he didn't notice the cold tint to the air, or the frost that started creeping up behind him. He was in an industrial area, and the old warehouses and building complexes loomed up in the dark, windows black pits.
"Perfect horror movie setting," he said out loud, just stopping himself from kicking at a wadded-up newspaper. With his luck, there'd be a bomb or something inside, and he'd lose his foot.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad, he thought, coming to a halt in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. I wouldn't be expected to do everything all the time, while no one tells me anything!
Foul mood restored, he shivered. Then made a face. It was the middle of a summer night; even in London, he shouldn't be cold.
Then he felt the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, and turned to see a cloaked figure float into the street several meters away. "Crap," he whispered vehemently, backing away. With any luck, the dementor wouldn't notice him.
It did.
For the second time that night, Harry Potter ran.
And hated every single second of it.
The Dursleys' house was only a few minutes away. He could make it. Harry pelted down the street and spotted the path that would lead straight to the park near the house. He skidded around a corner and slammed into something soft.
Both he and the person he'd hit tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Harry raised himself up, groaning, and found himself staring directly at a large pair of breasts. Flushing, he made himself look up, into the partly stunned, partly amused blue eyes of a very attractive woman.
Harry's brain promptly did a flying leap and died.
"Um," he said. The woman blinked a few times and focused on him. Her full lips curved up into a smile.
"Well hello there. In a rush, are we?"
His brain was slow to start up again; when it did, Harry realized that he was partially lying on the woman, and that, propped up on his elbows as he was, her breasts were just barely brushing his chest as she breathed.
A deep, disapproving voice said something from behind him.
Harry jerked back as if electrocuted and scrambled to his feet. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, balling them into fists in an effort to pull the material away from his body. "Sorry," he muttered, head down, and ran as fast as he could. Behind him, he heard the woman giggling.
When he got home, he flung himself into bed, and it wasn't until much later that he remembered the dementor.
It wasn't until the next morning that he realized he was missing his glasses.