Mandatory Disclaimer: Don't own the Harry Potter and Shingeki no kyojin series, they are owned by J.K. Rowling and Hajime Isayama respectively. I am just playing in their sandbox of creative ingenuity.


Chapter One


An Unsuspecting Portkey


Eren Yeager was angry. 'Go into the titan infested woods' they said, 'practice' they said. Well, this doesn't feel like practice. He grunted as he maneuvered out of the way of a titans hand. It won't have been hard, no the 'practice' would have been relatively easier if his ODMG wasn't toothpick for a titan or if he could have a breather so he could transform and bash their heads.

No. It seemed luck wasn't on his side today and if he doesn't make it to HQ immediately, he is going to be the appetizer. He latched onto a vine, using it to swing himself towards another tree. He landed on a branch and immediately regretted that action.

Why? . . . The branch was wet.

He slipped and fell. He watched in slow motion as a hand crept towards him, his demise coming in the form of a titan. He landed on a muddy old and tattered boot that thankfully broke his fall. As the hand drew closer, he didn't know why he did it, but he wished that something - a miracle - will occur, that will save him.

A feeling of dizziness washed over him as he was pulled by an invisible force towards an unknown location. Colours faded in and out of view as sceneries flashed by. He landed in a building filled with weirdly dressed people; a feature he could make out through hazy eyes and as he fell unconscious, one thought crossed his mind:

Maybe luck was on his side.

. . .

. . .

Harry Potter leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. He barely noticed when the other students rose and began muttering between themselves or when the professors drew their wands in tense preparation of a fight.

No. None of that matters. The only thing that did matter was the figure sprawled on the floor, battered and bloodied and next to him, a worn out muddy boot.

A portkey.

He walked forward, pushing past students and professors alike, not caring of the voices or hands that attempted to stop him. He stepped out of the ring of students and stopped in front of the figure - a boy, barely older than him.

Who was he? The silent question hung in the air like the rancid stench of blood.

He hasn't seen him before, at least not physically. But there is no way he can ever forget that face.

He didn't stop himself as his mouth opened, the word rushing out as he beheld the face of the boy that plagued his dreams.

"Eren?"

. . .

. . .


Not slash