Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or Harry Potter
Harry leaned against the barrier between platforms seven and eight, wondering why he was here. To his surprise, after he'd disembarked the Hogwarts Express he'd found himself pulled away from the train by an urgent Remus Lupin. Remus had yet to explain what he'd done, except for a quickly muttered, "You're not going back with those relatives of yours, Harry. We're sending you somewhere safer." Immediately thereafter, Remus had pulled out a handful of muggle maps and started going through them.
Apparently, he found what he'd been looking for - a grungy sheet with faded blue lines and a few illegible black scribbles in pen - and he hurried over the nearest phone booth, dialing in a number and cradling the receiver against the side of his face. It seemed someone answered, because his lips started to move as he spoke to the person on the other end of the line. The call only lasted about five minutes, but it felt a lot longer to Harry, who had an irate and hungry Hedwig hooting in his ear, and whose thin hand-me-down clothes weren't doing anything to keep the chilly air out.
Finally, Remus hung up and emerged, a shaky grin plastered onto his face. "Alright then, Harry?" he asked. "Got all your stuff?" Harry nodded.
"Professor, what's going on?" he queried. Remus jerked his head from side to side.
"Sorry, it's not safe to talk here. We're going to the airport." He grabbed Harry's cart and ran out of the station and towards the street, expertly hailing a mud-covered cab. He pushed Harry inside, dropped Hedwig unceremoniously into his lap and shoved the rest of Harry's things into the trunk of the car. He himself slid into the front seat. "Heathrow, please," he instructed the cab driver. The man nodded and pulled out into the crowded street.
The cab was mostly silent, except for the occasional soft, quavering hoot from Hedwig, as it slowly wove down the wet, cold streets. Finally they pulled up in front of the airport. Remus paid the cab driver and the two of them unloaded Harry's belongings.
They entered the airport and rushed through security. As they skidded into their gateway, Harry balked at the blocky letters announcing their destination. "Japan?" he squeaked. Remus gave a tired sigh.
"Just get on the plane, Harry." Harry obeyed, but he was still wary. Why was he going to Japan, of all places? He took his seat, wracking his brain in a feeble attempt at remembering anything of significance. He was startled to find how little he knew of the island country. All he could really drudge up was a bit of information on kappas and a vague memory of Hermione, after she'd gone there in the summer between their first and second years, lecturing he and Ron on the difference between yen and dollars.
He tried to settle in comfortably, but they were flying business class and the metal framework of his chair dug into his back despite the lumpy padding. Remus seemed to notice, as he reached inside one of the magically enlarged and shielded pockets in his worn coat to withdraw a small vial of transparent lilac liquid. He slipped it to Harry.
At Harry's questioning glance, he murmured, "It's a sleeping potion. Should last at least through the flight. Harry accepted it gratefully and swigged it in one go. It tasted rather bitter and mildly minty. Tucking one of the scratchy airplane pillows under his neck, he relaxed. The seat felt a lot more comfortable now.
His eyelids felt heavy - no, that was wrong. Every part of his body felt heavy. Sinking into the chair, Harry let himself sleep.
-X-X-X-
When he awoke, it was dark out. He clearly wasn't on the airplane anymore; the air was fresh and cold, and he was lying on his back, his chest comfortably weighted down by thick blankets. The room he was in smelled of magic and cats.
He blearily opened his eyes and sat up. He wasn't in any place he recognized. The design of the room was mildly Asiatic, and it looked completely empty, except for the bedclothes and Harry. He sat on a thin mattress, a flat pillow tucked behind him, covered in soft, neat blankets with what looked like, in the dim light provided by a half-open window, graceful gold dragons stitched into the navy background.
"So you're awake." It wasn't said as a question. Harry's head jerked around, and he realized that he wasn't quite accurate in his survey of the room. There was someone sitting in the shadows. He grabbed at his glasses, lying beside his bed and glinting in the half-light, and shoved them over his nose.
A beat of silence passed, before a slim black cat padded out into the half-light. For a wild moment, Harry thought it was the cat who had spoken, but no; that was ridiculous. And indeed, another, considerably larger, form slipped out.
It was a fairly tall man, with a bucket-shaped, green and white striped hat perched atop a head of light blonde hair and shadowing his face. His clothes looked Asian - funny looking wooden sandals, loose-fitting pants and one of those odd, criss-crossing Japanese style tops, with an open brown and white coat over it. In his right hand he carried a cane, but he wasn't using it as support.
"Who are you?" asked Harry. The man chuckled and flicked a small fan partially open in front of his mouth.
"I'm your host," he answered cryptically. Harry opened his mouth to ask him, again, who he was - really, that wasn't much of an answer at all! - when the man elaborated. "Kisuke Urahara. By the way, have you noticed that you're speaking in Japanese?" Harry blinked.
"What?" he asked, only it appeared that Urahara was telling the truth, since it came out as 'Nani?'. He realized that he understood it, too.
Urahara explained. "Remus-san cast a spell on you before he went back to England. Are you hungry?" Urahara's habit of switching from topic to topic was really confusing Harry, who realized as soon as he was asked that he was ravenous. He nodded fiercely. "Alright then, let's get some food."
The cat mewled plaintively and pawed at the leg of Urahara's trousers. "Oh! I've forgotten to introduce you, haven't I Yoruichi?" The cat nodded, and Urahara picked it up. He held in front of Harry's face. "This is Yoruichi." he sang. "She's my best friend." Harry thought this bloke really needed to get out more, if his best friend was a cat. The cat examined Harry, who was reminded eerily of Professor McGonagall.
Suddenly, it spoke. It's voice was gravelly and male, even though Urahara had referred to it as a female. "Kisuke, the boy's hungry and your hands are covered in dirt. Put me down, and lets go get some food." Urahara complied, and the trio walked out into the hall.
It wasn't empty, however. They were confronted by a young boy, probably a little bit younger than Harry - eleven, maybe twelve? - scowling at all of them. His red hair stuck out in the sides and on top, and he wore a white t-shirt with plain, black, Japanese characters in a rectangle on the front, too-big blue pants rolled up over his calves, and socks. Urahara looked at him curiously.
"Jinta? Why are you up?" Jinta shrugged.
"Tessai woke me up when he brought that guy in. Then you guys woke me up again, when you went to stare at him in his sleep. And now I'm hungry and I'm not tired anymore, so I want to come." The conviction in his voice was rather belied by the wide yawn that split his face a moment later. Urahara just smiled indulgently.
"Alright, you can come. But let's let Ururu and Tessai sleep." Jinta nodded. Yoruichi spoke up.
"I'll stay here, make sure they're okay. You guys can take Harry-kun out for breakfast." Urahara nodded and set off down the hall. Jinta fell into step slightly behind Harry.
Jinta and Harry shoved on sneakers, and they left the building, which Harry realized was a shop when they went through the front room. From the outside, it looked far smaller than it really was on the inside, and Harry wondered if it was magic. So far, these people hadn't done anything magical (aside from having a talking, apparently sentient cat).
Harry couldn't tell if they were wizards or just muggles who, like Hermione's parents, had learned about and come to accept the existence of magic.
They'd been walking while he thought, and Harry was startled to find them in front of a small, brightly lit restaurant. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness. Urahara led them in and directed Jinta towards the tables, telling him to save one for them, before towing Harry to the counter and asking him what he wanted to eat. Harry stared at the myriad of dull photos and Japanese letters on the menu, with no clue what any of it was. Apparently his translation spell didn't extend to the written word.
Urahara dropped a hand on his shoulder. Harry jumped, startled, and turned to face him. "Not sure what to order?" the shopkeeper asked him. Harry held up the menu helplessly.
"I've got no clue what any of these things are." he sighed. Urahara peered at the dishes, before looking at the woman at the counter.
"Three bowls of miso ramen, please," he told him. The woman nodded and went to give their order to the chef. Urahara steered Harry over to the table, where Jinta was slumped. He looked exhausted. Harry wondered why he'd decided to come, if he was that tired. But Urahara didn't seem to find it unusual, so he didn't ask.
Silence reigned at the table as they waited for their food to come. Finally, the server brought out an tray laden with three large bowls of noodles and bits of vegetable in steaming broth. Urahara poked Jinta awake with his chopsticks, and the two of them chorused, "Itadakimasu!" Harry wondered what that meant, but before he could ask the two of them had already dug into their food.
They didn't talk much while they ate. Jinta shoveled the noodle dish into his mouth, devouring it with gusto. He'd finished the whole thing in a matter of minutes, and set to resting his head on his folded arms and glaring at Harry. Urahara, on the other hand, calmly picked at his food, and although he barely seemed to be eating it, his bowl was emptying at a surprisingly rapid rate.
Harry jabbed at the soupy noodles with a pair of unbroken chopsticks. It looked all right, but he'd learned from experience that whenever wizards are involved, looks can be deceiving.
He felt two sets of eyes staring at him, and looked up to see Jinta still glowering and Urahara smiling at him - nicely enough, but it was still rather creepy to be watched while you ate. He plunged his chopsticks - still unbroken, but he figured they'd be easier to use that way, into the noodles, hooking some and directing them to his mouth. Jinta's lip curled in disgust as Harry noisily chewed, but he was resolutely ignored. Harry had gotten worse looks from Ron when they were feuding last year.
It took Harry a long while of spearing, twisting, and otherwise coaxing the noodles to finish the bowl, and when he did he found himself sleepy again. Jinta was still watching him, and Urahara had whipped a book out from somewhere and was ignoring them. Harry cleared his throat and Urahara looked up. "Oh? You're done now? Good. I really must get back to the shop." He stood and led them out the door, coat billowing grandly behind him. Jinta trudged along tiredly, and Harry stumbled after them. Now that he wasn't so hungry, he could take time to appreciate all the strange things in town - from the weird, complicated symbols on everything, to the occasional misspelled, out of context English word.
He realized that he'd stopped moving and ran to catch up with Jinta and Urahara, but his foot caught on a rock in the path and he tumbled forward. Suddenly bony, strong hands caught him, and Harry found himself lifted up by a scowling Jinta. "Watch where you're going, moron," he growled. Harry frowned.
"Why do you hate me so much? I haven't done anything to you." Jinta jerked away and stalked off in the direction of the shop. Urahara chuckled and moved to walk beside Harry.
"Oh, that's just Jinta being Jinta. Frankly, I'm surprised he's being so nice to you." Harry gaped.
"That's being nice?" Urahara nodded, an amused smile dancing across his face. Harry just shook his head in wonder.