A/N: Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, I'm both surprised and flattered that people seem to be enjoying this… thanks for the support! Please remember that this fic isn't necessarily told in the right order – I write whatever strikes my fancy when the muse heads this way.

Chapter Two: In Which Harry Hunting Goes Out of Season

Dudley Dursley was a boy who was used to getting away with a lot. He could do no wrong, got what he wanted whenever he wanted it, no matter what anyone else said. He could hit, bite, cry, and blame anyone and everyone, and always, the adults in his life bent over backwards to his every whim.

One of his favorite activities by far, was to chase his cousin, Harry. Or 'Freak' as his parents called him. Harry was odd, in more ways than one. There was that time that the clock on the wall in the hallway kept going off, annoying his parents to no end. His mother was reluctant to throw it away, as it had belonged to her great-grandfather, but his dad had insisted that it was now infected by Harry's 'freakishness'. Then, there was the time a few weeks ago, that Harry had somehow turned his cousin's hair pink for a few hours.

Nowadays, Harry often stared at nothing, and at times, whispered to himself in one-sided conversations. Lately, Harry wouldn't even jump anymore when Dudley's dad would yell – in fact, Harry would just stare at him. That annoyed his dad, very much.

Harry was weirder than Harry had ever been.

One day, Dudley decided that a game of 'Harry Hunting' was well overdue. It was a simple game, really. Dudley and his friends would chase Harry; and if they caught him, they would hit and kick him.

So, that evening, Dudley and his friends set out. It wasn't long until they spotted Harry a few houses down from Privet Drive, who was muttering to himself.

"Oi, lads!" Dudley announced their presence, "How about a game of Harry Hunting!"

Harry jolted, and his eyes widened. The bespectacled boy took off running. Dudley and his friends whooped and hollered, yelling out all the nasty things that they were going to do to Harry once they caught him. Shoving dirt in his face was always fun.

The chase was on for several minutes, and Harry turned a corner down one of the quieter streets. Dudley knew that Harry often tried to use this route to escape them. Dudley was thinking of a plan to cut Harry off in one of the neighboring gardens, when he and his friends turned the corner.

All three of them skidded to a stop and nearly toppled over each other, gaping at the sight of… some stranger, standing before them. He was creepy-looking. Far too pale, with weird tattoos on his face, with black hair and half of a white helmet with a horn. His outfit was white and black, and a sword was at his hip. Briefly, Dudley wondered if that sword was real.

But alas, Dudley (nor did his friends) possess the sense of survival that anyone who found themselves standing before such a peculiar person would have. For Dudley, he was under the distinct and very incorrect assumption that he had nothing to worry about. After all, he was Dudley Dursley, and no-one ever did a thing to him that gave him reason to fear admonishment.

In fact, Dudley was now wondering where Harry could have gotten off to.

"What are you looking at?" one of Dudley's friends, Piers, sneered.

Dudley would have laughed, if the stranger hadn't suddenly reached out and snapped Piers' arm with just one hand.

Piers collapsed to the ground, screaming, as one would do.

Dudley's other friend, Malcolm, found himself with a broken arm as well.

Then, the stranger turned his attention onto Dudley – and that was when Dudley began to worry. The entire time, the stranger's expression hadn't shifted even once. The stranger reached out so fast, Dudley didn't even register that he had been lifted by the front of his shirt until the stranger addressed him – by name.

"Listen well, Dudley Dursley," the stranger's voice sent chills down Dudley's spine. "You and your little friends will leave Harry Potter alone. Otherwise, a broken arm will be the least of your worries. I will show you true despair, and trust me when I say that your parents will never see your snotty faces again. They won't even find a corpse."

The stranger pulled Dudley close enough that his warm breath washed over him, and Dudley unwittingly shivered and whimpered.

"Know that the only reason I don't break anything of yours is simply because you are his pathetic, whiny, little cousin."

Dudley was dropped a few feet, where he landed harshly on the road.

"Now, I suggest you run… I do allow my prey to have a bit of a head start."

The three boys quickly turned on their heels and fled, fearing that if they looked behind them, they would see the frightening stranger chasing after them.

000

Dudley's mother fretted over him, due to his damaged clothing, scrapes and bruises. Malcom and Piers' parents were understandably irate, but the descriptions the two boys gave about their attacker matched no-one and nothing anyone had ever seen before. Obviously, people were worried that some hoodlum was attacking their defenseless children while wearing some elaborate costume.

The moment Petunia heard that, she stiffened, and cautiously peeked out her windows several times throughout the following weeks. It didn't help that she felt things were disappearing around the house. She blamed her nephew, understandably, but there was no way that he could have taken any of the items, for those things couldn't really fit into the boy's cupboard – pieces of furniture that were difficult to carry, and even food.

When Vernon searched Harry's cupboard, nothing incriminating was there; it was simply all the things they had provided him. Petunia thought that she was losing her mind.

Plus, her nephew had taken to just staring at her whenever she spoke – or even staring straight ahead, never blinking – or his eyes shifted over everyone and everything. He was being quieter. Not in the 'children should be seen and not heard' sort of way; but rather outlandishly quiet. Harry would move almost silently wherever he went.

Plus, Dudley had started going out of his way to avoid Harry completely. Dudley looked at Harry with fear – but when asked, Dudley could honestly say that Harry didn't do anything.

000

Now, going back… Harry was keeping to himself a few yards down, conversing with Ulquiorra. Because he was a five-year-old, Harry could get away with telling anyone who asked or stared that he was talking to his imaginary friend. He had learned to stop flinching with a voice that went off in his head about a week after Ulquiorra had appeared.

"Oi, lads!" Dudley announced their presence, "How about a game of Harry Hunting!"

Harry jolted and took off, with Ulquiorra asking, / "What is going on?" /

"Harry-Hunting!" Harry gasped out, quickly turning a corner and through a garden. "Dudley and-and his friends'll beat me up if they catch me!"

/ "You're in very poor shape." / Ulquiorra helpfully pointed out.

Harry cringed when he heard a particular threat that involved his being thrown into a neighbor's rock garden.

/ "Why don't you kill them? It would be far easier." /

Harry stumbled, but quickly righted himself. "I can't do that!"

/ "Why not?" /

"Be-cause killing pe-people like that is wrong!" Harry ignored the crick in his side.

Ulquiorra was tired of this nonsense. It was irritating.

Now, perhaps it had to do with Harry's desire to escape, and Ulquiorra's desire to make the boys stop, an odd sensation came over both Harry and Ulquiorra. It felt like they simply turned around 360 degrees, but suddenly, Harry found himself sitting inside a room with a screen, and Ulquiorra found himself standing on a street in little Whinging.

Ulquiorra stared at his surroundings, obviously surprised. "…We switched?"

/ "What…what happened?" / Harry nervously asked.

That was a question that would have to be pondered on later, because just then, Dudley and his friends turned the corner. All three of them stopped and stared at Ulquiorra. Then, Ulquiorra reached out, and Harry could see a pale hand and white clothes.

/ "Don't kill them!" /

But Harry didn't have anything to worry about (at least not really) because only Piers and Malcom got their arms broken, and Dudley was threatened. Alright, maybe Harry sort of smiled at that – seeing the fear in Dudley's eyes when he realized he couldn't bully anyone this time.

That was when Harry realized that Ulquiorra looked like…what did Ulquiorra look like? He had briefly described himself, but a five-year-old's imagination could only go so far.

After Dudley was dropped to the ground, and the three took off, Ulquiorra stared at his hand. How had he come outside, and how long did it last? A sensation came over him, as if he were being physically forced to turn around, and he was back inside the room.

Three minutes… he had been out for three minutes.

Harry stumbled when he was forced outside of himself? Was that how to describe it? He felt sick to his stomach, as if he had been spinning nonstop. He had to support himself by leaning on the fence, and he was exhausted.

"How did we do that?" Harry asked, completely flummoxed.

/ "I don't know…we'll have to figure it out. I wonder if we can increase the time I come out. Plus, we'll have to do something about your endurance. It's pitiful." /

Harry couldn't disagree. "Thanks, by the way…"

/ "It would be inconvenient if you were hurt." /was the practical reply.

0000

Trying to switch themselves seemed to be easier said than done. Merely thinking that Ulquiorra wanted to come out and Harry wanted to…go into the room…? Anyway, it was difficult.

Ulquiorra theorized that perhaps it had to do with a rush of adrenaline, or perhaps it was the threat of injury, but Harry had no desire to willfully endanger himself. Ulquiorra was slightly annoyed by this; because it was a theory that he felt should at least be tested, and the sound reasoning of a five-year-old wasn't exactly something he was proud to admit to having to agree with.

So that plan was out, until they either ran out of other options or they found another way.

Ulquiorra sat down on the floor of the room thoughtfully. What had triggered the switch?

/ "Boy, what were your thoughts when we switched? What were they exactly?" /

"Well…" Harry whispered, staring at his ceiling, "I wanted to get away… I wanted to be safe."

Ulquiorra sighed. / "That means my theory stands where you have to endanger yourself." /

"I'm not going to jump in front of a speeding car just to test this!" Harry's voice raised slightly, but not loud enough to stir his relatives.

/ "Fine… we can try meditation then, since you're so reluctant to test this." /

Harry disliked the disappointment in Ulquiorra's voice, and he muttered bitterly, "You don't have to sound so disappointed, you know. I thought it was incon-con…" / "inconvenient," / "yes, that – for me to be hurt."

/ "That was before we were trying to figure out how we switched." /

There had to be another way, Harry was sure of it. He was too tired to discuss this further, so he settled down to sleep. As Harry slept, a sense of calm swept over the room, and Ulquiorra had to admit that it was rather nice.

Nonsensical images started to flash across the screen: a man whose face was blurry turned into a large stag, and soon, a dog, and a rat joined in. A smiling man who looked disheveled was there, laughing at the antics of the animals; and a woman with a shock of red hair smiled. The dream took a darker turn as there was a flash of green and a scream, before the dream went on to Harry flying over rooftops.

The boy's dreams were always outlandish.

0000

/ "Meditation." / Ulquiorra said a few days later.

Harry paused in doing the gardening. "What's that?"

Sighing at having to explain it, Ulquiorra answered, / "Basically, you sit down comfortably, and clear your mind of everything except the thing you are trying to focus on. I suppose your cupboard at night or on days when you have a break you can do it." /

It sounded safe enough, so Harry agreed.

/ "I'd be careful touching that one plant if I were you." / Ulquiorra said, just as Harry was reaching for a plant. / "That's poison ivy. It'll make your skin blister." /

Harry paused, thinking back to last year when he had touched one of the plants. "…Aunt Petunia said it was because I was naughty…"

/ "Then she is an idiot… perhaps you should save that plant for something." /

"Like what?"

/ "You'll never know when something like that will come in useful." /

Getting a rag from inside the house, and being thankful that his relatives were gone for the day, Harry hid the plant in his cupboard.

Hours later, Harry sat on his cot, snuggled with his blanket around him, trying to meditate just like Ulquiorra told him to. But he felt restless, and honestly kept feeling like he had to pee or itch something. Or, his mind kept drifting. He had little to no self-control.

Harry Potter was bored. Very, very bored.

Ulquiorra Cifer was irritated. Very, very irritated.

A few weeks later, Harry felt something – like a pull. Like there was something in the back of his mind. Ulquiorra felt it too – like something was pulling him forward.

Remembering that Ulquiorra had said something about desire, Harry thought '*I want to switch*'

Meanwhile, Ulquiorra thought, '*I want to come out*'

And the sensation over both of them forced Harry to spin around, while it also forced Ulquiorra forward.

Ulquiorra found himself sitting on the cot, his horn just barely avoided scraping the ceiling. Harry found himself sitting in the room, and he stood up, not realizing that his blanket fell from his shoulders onto the floor.

/ "Ulqui! We did it!" / Harry jubilantly whooped.

"Yes, congratulations to us." Ulquiorra replied so blandly, his attitude match Petunia's cream-colored drapes.

Harry frowned, / "You could sound just a bit happier, you know…" /

Before either of them knew it, three minutes were up. When Ulquiorra appeared in the room, he looked down when he kicked something.

/ "…A blanket?" /

"Ulqui, look, my blanket is gone!" Sounding more enthusiastic than he felt as he was exhausted, Harry marveled at the revelation.

/ "That's because it's in here…" /

That was when a plan formed. Harry needed to increase his endurance, since it seemed that Ulquiorra could only come out once a day, for three minutes. Not only that, but switching left Harry physically and mentally exhausted.

When they switched in the middle of the day, Harry collapsed, and could barely move, much to the annoyance of Petunia and Vernon, as they were worried he might be sick.

Endurance meant physical exercise, and that also meant eating more. Plus, this also gave them a chance to see what could be taken into the room.

They started small. Taking bits of food that wasn't perishable, and then taking food that was perishable to see if it would last while within the room. All they had to do was switch – Harry would bring the food with him into the room – Ulquiorra would bring it out with him when they went into Harry's cupboard, and then Harry would eat – even if he was exhausted. But it was getting easier to switch in and out.

Several weeks later, the eggs that Harry had brought in were still good.

Harry brought in books, several drinks, even money and some of his relatives' clothing. Harry tried to lift something that was far too heavy for him; one of the kitchen chairs, and switch. But, it didn't happen. When Ulquiorra lifted the chair and they switched, the Arancar brought the chair back with him.

/ "It seems that as long as either of us are able to physically lift the desired item completely off of any surface, we can bring it into the room." /

They ended up returning the kitchen chair, and further testing was clearly needed.

000

Vernon stared at the spot where his chair clearly used to be. It was gone, just gone… Logically, he knew that his freak of a nephew couldn't have taken it. There was no way the boy could have lifted it, plus, there were no drag marks.

"BOY!" Vernon screamed, and within minutes, Harry stood in the sitting room, looking up at him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is my seat?!"

"I don't know, sir."

"How can you not know?!" Vernon demanded, nearly turning purple. "You're the only one who could have done something like this!"

Harry didn't respond at first. "How could I have done that, sir?"

Vernon didn't have a response. How could the boy have done it? Well, Vernon may have had an answer, but it wasn't one he wanted to say out loud.

Instead of answering him, Vernon cuffed the boy across the head, and grabbed his arm and shoved him into his cupboard.

"Think about what you've done!" Vernon shouted, locking the door.

"But I didn't even do anything!" Harry's voice shot back.

Vernon grumbled under his breath about having to care for his freakish nephew.

When Vernon went upstairs to his room just minutes later, he found his beloved chair in the corner of his room. How in the world…?

What was so odd about it was the fact that the chair was not only heavy, but it would have been nearly impossible to maneuver up the stairs, around the obstacles in the hallway, and to even fit it through the doorway. How was he supposed to even get it out of here, and back to where it properly belonged?

Once again, Vernon grumbled under his breath about this inconvenience.

When he saw Harry the next day, Vernon shouted, "No food for three days!"

"Okay."

Vernon paused. That response came a little too easily. Normally, the boy would have defiantly glared and grumbled. But there was none of that here; it was simply agreement to the bestowed punishment.

When the entire platter of pork disappeared the next day, Harry was ruled out as a suspect when the platter appeared in Dudley's room days later.

"But I didn't take it!" Dudley insisted.

Food had been disappearing lately, and Dudley was the only one Vernon and Petunia could say was responsible.

That was when they decided to put the boy on a diet, much to his irritation. In response to Dudley's protests, all Vernon and Petunia could really do was say, "It's just for a few weeks, Dudders,"

Oh, how Petunia disliked making their poor son suffer so. Vernon patted Petunia's arm. "It's for the best, Pet."

000

Harry stood in the bathroom and stared in the mirror. He had always wondered what his friend looked like. Ulquiorra would always say things like, 'It doesn't matter, boy,' and the like. It was then Harry had gotten an idea.

"Ulqui! Trade places real quick!"

/…/

/ "May I ask why?" /

"I want to know what you look like…"Harry admitted.

/ "Why do you insist on knowing my appearance, boy?" /

"…I just want to know what the face of my friend looks like." Pouting, he added, "Dudley and his friends know what you look like!"

Would guilt tripping work? Harry hoped so.

Ulquiorra was silent for a few minutes before finally agreeing, if only to get Harry to leave him alone. / "Fine." /

Harry cheered.

Ulquiorra was brought out, and he looked at himself in the mirror. Harry studied Ulquiorra's appearance. He was tall and pale, with messy black hair that reminded him of his own, except it was longer, being passed his ears. His eyes were also green, and had a sad quality to them; emphasized by the teal markings running down his face. Harry also looked at the bone-white helmet on the left side of Ulquiorra's head and the hole in his chest, along with the '4' tattoo on the left side of his chest.

"Are you satisfied, boy?" Ulquiorra asked impassively.

Inside the room, Harry smiled wide. / "You look really cool!" /

"If you think that, then you are an idiot. Any normal person would fear my appearance."

Harry just giggled. He didn't think anything about this was normal. Besides, normal was quite boring, if he were to be honest.

00oo00

A/N: Now the name of the story kinda makes sense. Mind blown.

Until next time.

Check out texasbeanwrites-stuffhere on tumblr if you're so inclined. I post stuff there sometimes.

*kisses*

Thanks for the reviews!

Q&A

Battlesny: In all honesty, I forgot about Yammy. I guess that shows how much of an impression he made on me. I read your review and was like, "oh yeah, that guy existed. I didn't care for him." So perhaps I should have said "largest Human" or "fattest Human".

…Apologies to anyone who is a Yammy fan.

Jh831: It's kinda sad, but maybe Harry didn't freak out because of how lonely he is/was. Plus, odd things have always happened around him. What's one more?

GirlFish: I actually intend to take this quite a ways – I even have an ending in mind. I just need to put all the good stuff in between.

coduss: Just wait, Harry will grow on him. Kinda like a fungus, but you can't get 'fungus' without 'fun'.