Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, because I'm easy come, easy go, a little high, a little low, any way the wind blows... I forget the rest.

Whispers In The Dark

~ And Other Morally Reprehensible Things ~

by Rozen Krone

Introduction: Welcome To Torture And Interrogation

Feathers' Book of Songs

[chp. 17, "Spell Combinations and Chains," pg. 141, "the Mind Meld."]

Spell One: Legilimens (Mind-Delving Charm); Rank: Master

Spell Two: Compulso (The Compulsion Charm); Rank: Novice

Summary: "The Mind Meld" is a combination technique where usage of the Mind Arts can temporarily superpower the novice Compulsion Charm. By sinking the caster's focus deep into the target's subconscious, the usual simplicity that is the Compulsion Charm can be used to rewrite the desires, goals, ambitions, emotions, attachments, and even personality of the target on a whim.

Pointers: True, insidious use of the Mind Meld combination technique takes from five to thirty five minutes, depending on the quantity and quality of the Melding. Through usage of stealth charms (chp. 9, "Stealth Charms and Artifacts") one can apply the needed change in a public place without being spotted. This is highly useful for ease of access.

Requirements: High degree of skill with the Offensive Mind Art. Constant eye contact for the duration of the spell.

Note: "The Mind Meld worked yesterday. Undersecretary Umbridge finally pushed me off the edge during class, though of course I let no one know. Engaged target during dinner under the Cloak, a Muffling Charm, and a Scent-Blocker. Umbridge is now a creatures' rights fanatic, although she will maintain a facade of a pureblood supremacist for two years or until I rework the Compulsion.

"I learned that she is in charge of all the bribes Minister Fudge accepts. She will now divert those galleons along with the Minister's personal coffers into a proxy account for me to liberate. However, diverting all of the money into the same account would be suspicious. The other half will go to Saint Timothy's Fund for Orphaned and Needy Muggleborn Children."

Legilimency is, and always has been, my single most favorite talent.

I was able to score Outstandings on all of my NEWTs despite never once studying by Legilimizing all of my Ravenclaw yearmates. To this day they never found out how I had so much free time.

As perhaps one of maybe four Masters of the Mind Arts in all of Wizarding Britain, I am familiar with all the faults in the spell. Such as the requirement for eye contact. I'm also, however, familiar with the lesser known perks of the spell, such as the ability to place Compulsions halfway through a Legilimizing so deep into the subconscious that one's very personality and hard-set beliefs can be rewritten on a whim.

But more on that later.

The Elder Wand isn't the only Hallow infused into my soul. With a thought I vanish like dust in the wind. I become a ghost, not only invisible but intangible as well, incorporeal. Death himself cannot touch me.

I had always wondered why my Cloak never seemed to have any special effects. Other than its supernatural shelf life, it was not at all superior to a common, ragged Demiguise hair cloak. Even a Disillusionment Charm was superior. The Stone was the same, having no practical use. The Wand, while potent, wasn't anything to worry over either; even after claiming it from the Dark Lord, I still preferred my holly and phoenix feather.

So what, I wondered, could make these Hallows legends of over a thousand years?

I stalked through the winding streets of the Hidden Leaf, walking right through the crowd, phasing through the blissfully ignorant citizenry. Humans, buildings, stands, shinobi, I walk right through all and sundry and none are aware of so much as my existance.

I can't keep it up forever, of course. I'm Death's champion, not Death herself. But for a solid two minutes maximum I might as well be one with the wind.

Those with an intelligent spark in their eyes, or pouches of blunted kunai strapped to their sides, are subjected to my Legilimency. After thirty seconds I know more about these Elemental Nations than I ever did about Britain.

I slip into an alleyway and sever the connection between myself and the Cloak. Only half a minute passed since I activated it and I'm already down a quarter further of magical power. Even with the second pool of spiritual energy I now have at my beck and call, I cannot last long drawing upon the ancient artifact. Unlike before my ascension as Mistress of Death, the new Cloak is more suited for short bursts.

I shake my head to clear it of such thoughts before Conjuring a shaft of wood and incanting the Four-Point Charm. The stick keeps spinning. Progressively stronger and stronger Dowsing Charms are chanted nigh inaudibly as I try to divine the location of Sirius Black.

It seems to me that Sirius, despite his lack of talent for the Mind Arts, has maintained some level of awareness in his new body. Idly I wonder if he merged with his vessel, developed as a split personality, or completely overtaken the poor sap who's lived a life akin to the Black reject. How else could he erect anti-Dowsing Wards?

Still, a particularly insidious spell I picked up in Japan during my three-year holiday after the War finally manifests results. A Disillusionment Charm, coupled with a Muffling Charm and a Scent-Blocker enshroud my form. I scale the building side with dexterous grace and begin my trek out of the village proper.

I repress the urge to Legilimize the shinobi roof-hopping all around me. None of the civilians whose mind I've walked through knew of any ninja version of the Mind Arts, nor has the lower-level shinobi-in-training in the streets below, but I'm not taking any chances with these obviously stronger ninja. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone.

I arrive on the outskirts of a massive compound. I recast the Japanese Dowsing Charm, just to double check. There's no doubt about it. Sirius is in here.

While I wait for sundown I thread through all of the data and tidbits of information I picked up from my Legilimency spree. All of the information was in my mind already, yes, but I hadn't understood much of it yet. The theory was similar to a USB memory drive plugged into a computer; there and waiting but having yet to be downloaded. I needed time to sort through it, else it'd act like baggage and slow down my whirring thought processes.

Still, the data is useful. Knowledge is power. And if I'm going to hunt my Dark Lord, I'm going to need all of the power I can get.

The sun flees and the Hidden Leaf is bathed in darkness. Like a thief in the night – which I am, I mockingly realized – I activate my Cloak and bleed through the walls like a ghost. The compound is like a maze to me. Luckily I can cheat and make my way to my godfather the way a crow flies.

Before long I arrive in a dark bedroom. It takes me a moment to realize this, as the decorations are both somewhat spartan and austere, and the bed is covered by a hanging curtain. I look around, only mildly surprised to notice the walls done up in a bloody Gryffindor red. I erect dozens of Muffling Wards, Notice-Me-Nots, and Obscuring Charms for privacy. My godfather has a habit of squealing like a little girl when I wake him up. While funny, I'd rather not be chased out of the Leaf by one of the village's strongest Clans.

I still don't know how shinobi stack up to wizards. From what I've seen so far, they assuredly lack a wizard's compunctions about killing. I'm not sure if I should be relieved about this or not. On one hand, they won't be as irritatingly naive as the Light had been during the Second Blood War, and they could make strong allies. On the other, the more killing power available in this world, the stronger the Dark Lord has grown in the years since his arrival. I might have difficulties catching up.

I shove my musings to the back of my mind. I can hash out the details with a confidante later.

I flick a light Banisher at my sleeping godfather – not much, just enough to give him a scare – and blink when nothing happens. My mind whirs as I attempt to divine the still resting shinobi's apparent immunity to the spell. It had worked on the matron, and the only difference between the two should be shinobi training.

And nothing in my Legilimizing alluded to practiced immunity to instant spells or attacks. And even civilians have chakra, so it can't be that.

Blinking, I realize that's probably it, actually. Larger and larger quantities of chakra, or chakra control as the case may be, may provide a resilience to instant rather than physical spells. It would explain why the weaker Dowsing Charms fizzled out when aimed at the shinobi in front of me.

Which means I would need a much more powerful Banisher if I want to shove Sirius around. And as fun as it may be, I don't feel comfortable aiming such a powerful Hex at the only family I've ever had, minus Tonks.

Still, this theory only applies to instant spells, like Banishers, Summoners, Vanishers, and Levicorpus. Ray, Mist, and other physical spells like the Iron-Shackler should still work just fine.

To test this theory, I fire off a moderate Aguamenti at my sleeping godfather. For science, of course. The wizard is soaked and forcefully shoved off the bed and onto the floor.

I repress a snicker. I want to see what Sirius Black has been doing all this time.

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!" The air in front of his gaping maw flickers and ignites, manifesting a surprisingly large sphere of red-hot flames. I watch in amusement as it spirals towards me, intent on incinerating me. Seems like Sirius finally got over his Dumbledore-inspired battlefield mercy. Which makes sense, since if he hadn't been throwing Stunners around he would never have been forced through the Veil by Bellatrix in the first place.

I activate the Cloak, having no space to run in an enclosed space such as this. The flames phase right through me. White light flashes throughout the room, blinding in its intensity. It is almost enough to cover my godfather's bold leap right at me, obviously planning a straight up Taijutsu match. His eyes flicker red, triple tomoe spinning dangerously.

I disrupt the Cloak, knowing I can't launch an offensive with it active, nor can I maintain the severe magic drain required for more than forty seconds or so after my trek through the compound and the Metamorph'ing hours previous.

With Sirius gaining on me with speed he never had back in England, I realize I need to fight back before he breaks my neck. A wave of my hand Transfigures his clothing into a raiment of venomous snakes, fangs frothing with paralyzing venom. A Compulsion makes sure they avoid the neck, face, and crotch. I'd rather not kill him or piss him off to much.

I'm only mildly surprised when he flies through a set of handseals and explodes into a burst of white-hot flame. The serpents are incinerated instantly. A moment later the flame dies away, leaving a naked Sirius Black. Still, his breathing is labored and his movements sluggish, and I see two distinct bite marks on his body, showing me my trademark Transfiguration paid off.

He vanishes in a swirl of wind and reappears behind me. I recognize the technique: the Body Flicker, one of the rare techniques every shinobi knows of, along with the Academy Three. I'm surprised, as I also divined from my Legilimizing that it is both chakra draining and lacking in accuracy, making it lack combat viability. Of course, conventional wisdom never meant anything to Sirius Black.

He strikes out with a lightning fast punch. Of course, I never had any intention of actually fighting him, so I catch it. It hurts, but with his fist in my palm I can fire off a point blank Stunner without hope for evasion. He falls to the floor unconscious.

I laugh, waving my hand and repairing the room. I leave the burns on the wall so he can always remember how he lost.

I Levitate him, only to remember it won't work. I'm surprised when it actually does work. I shake my head, deciding to worry over a shinobi's apparent selective immunity to magic at a later date. Sirius is released on his bed, and I force him to stay there with a Sticking Charm.

An Enervate bleeds from my fingertips, the red light flashing in the dark. I follow it up with a Werelight, the floating orb illuminating my godfather's room, casting long, creeping shadows across the walls. Lastly, I Conjure a highly comfortable, plush chair, albeit not as garishly coloured as Dumbledore liked to make his.

Sirius awakens, sees me, recognizes me, and it's like a dam broke. He breaks free from the Sticking Charm – somehow – and tackles me. I sigh, stroking his raven hair as he cries, and try not to join in.

Forty minutes pass and Sirius Black, exhausted, falls asleep. I tuck him into bed in a rare moment of tenderness. Still, I ransack his bedroom for some cash. I'm his goddaughter, I have the right.

Taking one last look at my godfather, I make my escape. The only sign of my presence is the parchment tacked to the door, the burns on the walls, and the tear tracks on Sirius Black's face.

I arrive at one of the more distinguished apartment complexes in the Leaf's very own Red Light District.

I find myself pleasantly unsurprised when I realized that the race of man that calls this dimension home, while far more physically able than my own, have nigh identical psyches. The existence of such a District even in a Hidden Village like this sets me at ease, reminding me that this new world isn't so different after all. I find myself amused that locating such a den of sin, and so quickly, no less, sets my mind at ease. Wonder what that says about me?

Not that I particularly care, beyond the entertainment factor alone, of course.

And so I slip through the back door window. A nifty variant of the Extrasensory Charm grants me the talent for seeing heat signatures even through walls, and within moments I sneak through the employee break room, round the washroom's corner, across the lobby, and into a sleek if cheap office.

I spare a glance to analyze the business front of the owner's quarters. Habit and learned pragmatism alone has me cataloguing and then ignoring every last detail, before at last turning towards a thrice-locked door; a door I can sense leaking this... chakra. It is quite well-protected, and I don't require a diagnostic spell to tell me how difficult it'd be to unlock. Too bad for my latest target no mortal defense can best the Cloak and the mind of the Mistress of Death.

And so I phase directly through the wall beside it.

Looming above the sleeping and still blissfully unaware civilian, I almost lazily wave a hand over his face. A flash of red light ensures the mortal won't be awakening until I give my say-so. Cracking his eyelid open with a single finger, I enter his mind with the ease of long practice, and delve deeper... and deeper... and ever deeper. Soon, I find myself at the core of his being, the depths of his subconscious mind; the closest even I can get to the soul.

"Obey," I command him, lacing a Compulsion into my telepathic words. "Obey me, the Mistress of Death."

I miss my coffee.

Hermione Granger, perhaps the only Gryffindor in my year I don't hate with a burning passion to rival a thousand suns, brought some with her fourth year. She let me try some during my all-nighters before the first trial after she saw me sleeping in the library early some Saturday morning. "You can't keep Enervating yourself like that, Rose," I remember her telling me. "It's not healthy." Of course, hooking me on coffee was even less healthy, so her brilliant plan somewhat backfired.

That was the year I learned the heaven that is owl-order forms. Coffee, muggle candy, pencils, you name it, some enterprising muggleborn is selling it.

If I had known the Elemental Nations didn't have coffee, I would've just laughed and let Voldemort destroy it. A world without coffee is a world not worth saving. I'm used to a certain standard of living, and this isn't cutting it.

I was halfway through working out a delusional plan to Enthrall some shopkeeper to reinvent coffee for my drinking pleasure when my godfather arrived. He waved the server over, ordered a green tea (of all things), and turned to me with a piercing gaze.

"Yo." I gave a two-fingered wave, tapping out "call me Feathers" in the Marauders' code on the table. I kick back, relaxing my knee-high boots against the table.

"It's really you," he whispered, before giving me the most honest, happy smile I have ever seen on his face; even if this new face of his is new to me. "What happened?"

"It's an, ah, a long story, Sirius..." I smile sheepishly. I thread long fingers through my raven locks, hair like spiders' thread. (Is it weird, taking pride in hair I can grow out and change color and hue of on a whim? I've always chalked it up to some long buried vanity, some urge to rebel against Madam Petunia that I'm not ugly, but I don't know.)

"Shisui," he cuts in with a similar smile, knocking me from my thoughts. "I go by Uchiha Shisui, now."

"And how's that working out for you?" I reply with an easy smile on my features, and realize with a start that I've smiled more since diving through the Veil of Death yesterday than in the last three years combined. It is not a pleasant realization. "You're neither a metamorph nor an Occlumens."

"I am too an Occlumens," he huffed with mock pride. "Just not as crazy good at it as you are." He paused. "It was... difficult, at first. It was like having a split personality, but being the voice inside someone else's head. It was... weird... letting someone else have the body's reigns, but of course it wasn't my body in the first place, so..."

"I can imagine," I smirked, even if his casual admittance of not being the same man as my godfather pierced something inside me. "Did Sirius and Shisui reach an accord?"

His lips twitched into a crooked smile. "Got it in one. Next near death experience that came around, we... merged, so to speak. Now I'm both Shisui and Sirius. More Shisui, though. Sirius, he..." my godfather sighed. "After Azkaban, he- I- whatever. Azkaban just sucked, you know? This is my second chance." He shook his head. "What about you?"

"Some five year old kid named Uzumaki Naruto," I began, only to stop when Sir- Shisui - and isn't that like a sucker punch to the gut? - winced. "You know him, then?"

"Everybody does. He's the vessel of the Nine-Tails Fox."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm aware of that. What I didn't know was that it was apparently common knowledge outside of the orphanage."

"You know about the S-Class secret aspect of it, then?"

"When I first got here yesterday, I ran around under the Cloak Legilimizing people- don't give me that look, Black- so I know the basics of this world. Having trouble with the language though. Speaking of, should I erect a Muffling Charm?"

"No need," Shisui waved me off. "Everyone speaks the same language, so it doesn't even have a name. Anyone trying to eavesdrop will just think we're speaking code, which is true enough, considering we're the only people who speak English here." He paused, as if remembering something. "So those ears I saw yesterday..."

"Those were real," I smirked in amusement, discretely casting an Auditory Illusory Charm anyways, one that would obscure our words and replace them with a conversation about bird-watching. And in Elemental, too. I've gotten rather good at the language, considering I found myself in this dimension yesterday. "Got a tail to match, as well. They're covered up in some basic Illusions and Notice-Me-Nots, at the moment. Though you could probably flash your oh-so-famous eyes at me and see all my secrets."

Sirius just grinned roguishly, which looked so foreign on his harsh and aristocratic features that I couldn't help but look away. "You can't hide from these eyes, sweetheart."

"Whatever," I rolled my emerald greens. "Anyways, Uzumaki Naruto is basically this world's me, but in reverse. My soul overpowered his on accident." Which was a lie, but Shisui died long before the war hit its climax, and I'd rather he not know how dark and twisted I've become. Yet, anyways. It's a given he'll figure it out eventually. But never let it be said I'm not a coward. (Is it so wrong to wish for simpler days?) "Anyways, I Metamorph'ed myself back to my old form and went looking for you. Did you set up any anti-Dowsing Wards, perchance?"

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Just something I've noticed. Most of my tracking spells completely failed to locate you. Then, before I woke you up, my Banisher just fizzled out. But after you were, ah... knocked out... my Levitation Charm worked just fine." I thought it would be wise not to mention the orphanage matron I callously murdered or the apartment complex owner I Enslaved to my will. "Might be troublesome. You know what's up with that?"

"Awareness? Willpower? Chakra levels?" He shook his head. He then took a long draught from his tea, thinking. It was rare, these moments of thought, but for all his immature attitude never let it be said that Sirius Black was an idiot. "Here. Legilimize me."

I did. A mere moment later I was shoved ruthlessly out of his mind, left reeling with a killer migraine. I groaned, Enervating myself before downing half of Shisui's horrid green tea.

"Didn't work, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock." I ignored his amused laugh with all the ease of someone long spent suffering from the Weasley Twins' pranks. "You been working on your Occlumency?"

"Nope," he grinned. "Here. Try again."

"Fuck you," I replied. Still, I dove back in. It only took a moment to establish contact, whereupon I immediately left, not wanting to see the kinds of things my godfather gets into when I wasn't around. "Success. What changed?"

"I willed it," he replied, shrugging. "Just a theory, though."

I waved my hand, giving him permission to continue. He hummed.

"Obviously, there's no Occlumency involved, as I can't really remember how to do it in the first place, to be honest." He shrugged unrepentantly. "The first time, I didn't want to let you enter my mind, so my chakra refused you access. Second time, I gave you silent permission, so you entered just fine. Did any of the civilians offer you trouble?"

"Not a one," I replied honestly. "Not even some of the trainee shinobi. Although, I only Legilimized a few. Not the greatest sample size to make sweeping generalizations with."

"As I thought," Shisui nodded. "Civilians aren't as... in tune, with their chakra. Hell, they don't have much more than the minimum necessity for living." He hummed. "Seems to me like willpower and chakra take the place of Occlumency barriers."

"And the instant spells? Levitation Charms, Banishers, and the like? Both times you were asleep, yet, different results."

"You succeeded in Levitating me after I was knocked out, you said?" When I nodded, he continued. "Right. Well, being knocked out and being asleep are two very different things. A loud enough noise, a bright enough light, a near enough presence will all wake me up if I'm asleep. Semi-awareness, Itachi-senpai called it. But after that Stunner I wasn't getting up come hell or high water. Or, apparently, an Enervation."

I nodded my head, deferring to his experience. Shisui may not have been the brains behind the Marauders, but he could duel Bellatrix to a standstill, and knew the little things about magic I've never picked up being muggle-raised. Plus, I sacrificed my pride years ago for power, so I didn't suffer deferring to his experience. I blinked, then, something he said resonating in me. "Itachi-senpai? That name sounds familiar."

"It should," he replied, some lingering sense of pride flashing in his Uchiha black eyes. It was... off, seeing coal black where I expect a stormy gray. "Uchiha clan heir, Uchiha Itachi. ANBU, prodigy, and all that rot."

"Mm-hmm," I hummed noncommitedly. Shisui tried to shrug it off, but I could see right through him. He had that look in his eyes, like young parents the day their little girl graduated preschool. It was adorable and mildly terrifying all at the same time, and I tried really hard not to be jealous, I swear. But the urge to hunt down and Avada Kedavra 'Itachi-senpai' never went away. "Anyways, I can tell you're just dying to ask me something. What is it?"

"Why are you here?" It comes off harsher than he expected, but he's quick to backpedal. "Sorry, I just mean, the only way here I know of is through the Veil, and, well..."

I sighed. "Don't know how long it's been on your end, but for me it's been ten years. The Dark Lord split his soul seven ways, making seven horcruxes in all, for a total of eight if you count the original. Hufflepuff's chalice, Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket, the Gaunt family ring – better known as the Resurrection Stone – his childhood diary, his familiar snake, and, ah, me." I smiled mirthlessly. "To summarize a very, very long story, I got them all, even the fragment hidden in me. All of them except for that fucking diadem."

"... What happened next?"

"Last ditch effort. He launched an attack on the Ministry after I... retook control... of his Imperious'ed puppets. Somehow made our way right back into the Department of Mysteries. I faked an injury, he got arrogant, I slung an overpowered Banisher at his kisser and he was sent hurtling through the Veil. It was... anticlimactic, you know? I was expecting fireworks. All I got was silence."

"Fuck, Rose," Shisui sighed, visibly aged at the prospect of the Dark Lord fucking things up again. "Worry about Voldemort later. What happened next? Did Moony settle down? Tonks? Andi? Dumbledore still Headmaster and a thousand other titles? I've been worrying over this shit for the last year, kid."

I swallowed thickly, unable to catch his eye.

"Rose...?" He shook his head. "It's not good, is it?"

"Let's just say, when I heard the Dark Lord was kicking it in an alternate dimension, I swandived through the Veil of Death to get rid of that fucking silence."

I lie on my back, curled up in the filthy dirt, half-naked three miles away from the Leaf clutching my chest in pain.

I'm wearing naught but a loose pair of linen underclothes and a raggedy tunic, torn from branches and sporting a layer of tree sap, dirt, sticky blood, and grass stains. My beloved hair was ripped up as if I fed the once-silky smooth locks to a paper shredder. The excess amount of visible skin was covered in a criss-cross mesh lattice-work of scars and yellowing bruises. Those were newer, timed perfectly to still show when the ANBU patrol arrived right about...

...now. ANBU Weasel makes a flurry of handsigns before speaking lowly to his partner, a brown-haired Mouse-masked shinobi I fail to recognize. He then forms a Shadow Clone to carry me and returns to the Leaf post haste.

And, despite knowing the situation, I can't help but rage at Shisui in the helpless confines of my own mind for putting me in this situation.

I was engrossed in a journeyman's guide to chakra theory I stole from some unsuspecting Academy Student. I was kicked back on my feather mattress, ignoring the ray of sunlight that snuck through the window and struck me right in the eyes, suffering from the rare form of academic overfocus that plagues all Ravenclaws.

My apartment bedroom managed the unique kind of messy clean that is only possible to create by using magic for all your chores without actually getting out of bed. I didn't mind, seeing as I spent the last three weeks either visiting Shisui, reading books, or both at the same time, and as such cared little for trivial housework.

I sighed despondently for the hundredth time that all the good ninjas wouldn't let me ransack their minds. Then I wouldn't have to read books for knowledge like the rest of the mortals. I could just kick back and let others do all the heavy lifting and hard work for me. It worked during Hogwarts, I mused, letting me get away with my more esoteric studies, so why shouldn't it work now?

Shisui, who likewise was attempting to read a scroll on Fire Release Techniques but rather reveling in the renewed camaraderie with his goddaughter, finally decided to break the silence. "So..." he began, drawing the word out. "What are we going to do about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't go around claiming you're Uzumaki Naruto, everyone thinks he either ran away or was kidnapped. And he's five years old. And a dude. Plus, it'd just bring all sorts of unwanted attention down on our heads."

"You've got a plan, though, Padfoot?"

"Of course I do," he scoffed. "You'll need power to kill Voldemort, which means we have to make you a kunoichi. The way I see it, we have only so many choices. The first would be for you to morph back into a kid, show up at the orphanage with some new name and try for the Academy."

"And waste my time around arrogant little shits for the next four to six years? I'm twenty five, Shisui."

"Thought so, which means that plan's out." He waved his hand airily. "As I had predicted, of course. The next would be to Legilimize and Enthrall some of the top brass, get them to slip you through the system. I read about the Mind Meld in that little Grimoire of yours, Rose." He heard my snicker and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, not even you could get away with that, and that's ignoring my soul screaming about betraying my Village."

"Got anything else?" I asked.

"How good are you at Occlumency?"

"Good enough to hide information even from myself."

"Perfect," Shisui grinned. "The Yamanaka are more combat-focused with their Mind-Walking Techniques, you should be more than a match for Inoichi-san."

"Who?"

He smirked. "He works for Torture and Interrogation. Come on, you'll love this plan."

I did not, in fact, love this plan. Every moment I was cradled bridal style in the arms of "Itachi-senpai's" clone was another moment I spent plotting Shisui's brutal death.

Yeah. I'm a jealous bitch.

I clutched my fox's tail to my chest with all the single-minded devotion of a toddler seeking comfort. I tried to avoid the stares of what shinobi were still up and about in the middle of the night and instead worked on my Occlumency.

All too soon I had hidden the vast majority of my memories under a hazy cloud of magic which, after extensive study alongside Shisui, we determined to be nigh undetectable to even a sensor (or so we theorized.) Even if magic could be caught by the Sensory Arts, the spiritual energy that surrounds the mind anyways should be more than enough to enshroud it. I also regulated my thoughts under a series of strict guidelines, as Shisui didn't really know how invasive Inoichi-san's Techniques are going to be, and I didn't feel comfortable relying on my English thoughts to hide my musings. If I picked up the Elemental language in hours, I theorized, I wasn't taking the chance that the Yamanaka couldn't do the same in reverse; plus, it would tip him off to a foreign presence in a five-year-old native's mind. Which means I'll have to think in Elemental, which even for me is a difficult task to manage.

Itachi-senpai (I will never not be a bitch about that) didn't carry me to the hospital or infirmary, although I didn't expect him to. His partner - Mouse - ran off to explain the situation to the Sandaime Hokage while Weasel and his clone arced towards the T&I Department.

I didn't watch. I clutched my tail tighter in genuine terror. I may have been the Dark Lord's single greatest enemy, after the old man's death, but unlike Tom Riddle I wasn't a magical powerhouse with no mortal fears. I made more of an impact in the war than anyone else because I wasn't afraid to shed blood, sweat, and tears for my achievements, and what I couldn't achieve through elbow grease and poison I stole with my Legilimency. Mad-Eye Moody once told me that four out of every five duels are won by the side that's not afraid to go all out, and I am never afraid to bleed my enemies.

And even that wasn't enough. Like Hermione, Bellatrix Lestrange got her filthy dagger on me. For days I rubbed my scar with increasingly more acidic soaps until Luna had to restrain me. Not even my Metamorph'ic talent could get the word Traitor seared into my skin off of me. It only further propelled my vanity, taking increasingly more beautiful forms as if to distance myself from the helplessness I've felt in my more mundane skin.

Twice since my fall through the Veil of Death I woke up in a cold sweat rubbing the smooth, flawless skin where that word once lay etched like an engraving, a mark of possession.

It was a subconscious thing. Associative memories. Madame Petunia always made me morph my form into something horrid to make herself feel better, although it didn't make the abuse hurt any less. Bellatrix had been the same. Was it a surprise, then, that once I clawed my way towards freedom I would refuse to be anything less than flawlessly beautiful?

I don't know when I start to shake. It only makes the Uchiha prodigy run faster.

We pass through hallway after hallway, taking what seems to me like a needlessly complicated route deeper into the underground complex, but I know it's the fastest way. The Torture and Interrogation department, like most of the shinobi buildings in the Leaf, were constructed like mazes to confuse escapees and infiltrators. It's an understandable and logical choice. Doesn't make it any less irritating.

Itachi eventually carries me bridal style into what is labeled Interrogation & Extraction Room 401. The, to be blunt, torture chamber is entirely black save for the single flickering lightbulb hanging by a thread in the center of the room. The moderately sized interrogation room is empty save for a sleek, metallic table in the corner and The Chair in the far side of the room.

I...don't quite know how to explain it. We didn't have contraptions quite like it back in Wizarding Britain. It reminds me of the shackled throne Igor Karkaroff was bound to in Dumbledore's memory, but different. Rather than an actual chair, this invention is more like a slab of cold iron arched at a forty five degree angle.

Itachi presses me none too gently to The Chair, holding me high enough that my bare feet are nine or ten inches off the ground. He sticks me to the torture contraption with what I assume to be a variation of the basic chakra exercise Leaf Sticking. He then binds me to the table with no less than twelve lashes and belts welded into the contraption. I can feel my chakra draining from me by the Seals etched into The Chair at a prodigious rate. Thank the Baron my magic isn't affected, or I wouldn't be able to maintain my Occlumency.

I wonder if he'll administer basic first-aid at the least, before realizing this is a military dictatorship and they probably wouldn't care if I lived or died, had it not been for the tail and ears marking my relation to the Kyuubi Jinchuuriki and, thus, a Konoha problem. (Of course he wouldn't bother healing me first. As roughed up as I am, I'll break all the easier.)

Itachi leaves, then, to go do whatever Uchiha's do in their spare time.

Time passes weird in that dark torture chamber. The only way I can measure it is with the pacing of my breath and the healing of my wounds. Had it been under any other circumstances, I probably would have been fascinated watching the augmented healing process. As is, all I feel is mildly sick.

Shisui and I could only detail out this plan so far. It's been around a month, now, since Uzumaki Naruto disappeared alongside the Vanished corpse of the orphanage matron. No doubt they believed I had been either assassinated and disposed of or, worse (in their opinion), abducted and raised an enemy of the Leaf.

The hope is that, when it becomes clear I suffer from "amnesia," they'll think I was taken and experimented on. It would explain the shapeshifting, advanced mind, and whatever powers I decide to bust out in the future.

Shisui didn't think they would hurt me too much. They don't want to alienate their Jinchuuriki, after all. I disagreed. After ten years under the Dursleys, my faith in the human race is rather low. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they try to break me so they can recreate me anew. Fuck. I'd probably do the same if I were in their place. Anything for the power to massacre my enemies.

So I'm not surprised at all when my interrogator comes in with a sadistic grin and a case of scalpels, knives, vials of poison, and other tools of the torturer's trade. Nor am I surprised when her greeting reaches my vulpine ears.

"Well aren't we just the most adorable thing? My name is Mitarashi Anko. I'm sure we'll have fun together."

I am a little surprised when I whimper in genuine terror. I am so killing Shisui if I make it out of here.

A/N: Enter stage left, Anko! I thought long and hard how I wanted the two to meet, and my favorite idea was on opposite sides of the torturer's table. Isn't it romantic? Considering how fucked up I've been making Potter-Black, I can totally see her having the hots for her torturer. She's a masochist, definitely. Can't you tell? And I don't hate Itachi. I love him, actually. But Rose is a possessive little bitch, so she doesn't like anyone who takes her godfather's time from her. There's a deeper meaning, but that won't be revealed for a bit. Cheers.