Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or Harry Potter, and both works are the property of their respective authors.

Cold. Harry felt very cold. More cold than he had ever felt in his short life, in fact. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see snow-a very large amount of it. This would be a truly wondrous thing, except Harry was not dressed appropriately for this situation. Perhaps with some good winter clothes he could enjoy it. But he was not wearing good winter clothes, for that matter, he did not even have any good winter clothes at 4 Privet Drive.

These conditions led to two thoughts in Harry's mind: *I'm cold*, and *Where am I?*. And soon another followed, *And how did I get here?*
Harry's shivering grew intense. And thankfully, he had enough sense to realize that he should seek shelter before analyzing the situation further. Harry got to work, removing his glasses and wiping them with his shirt to remove the fog from them. After doing that, he spun three hundred and sixty degrees round himself. A number of houses made themselves apparent to Harry.

It took a while for him to reach the nearest one. Most children his age could easily run that far, even without good winter clothing. But Harry was exhausted(mentally, physically, and magically), and on top of that he was malnourished. When he reached the house's door, he was no longer capable of additional movement beyond shivers.

By the time the residents noticed him, he was quite frostbitten and approaching death.

Amongst almost all instances of homo sapiens, there is a natural tendency for compassion. The residents of the house Harry arrived at were no exception. Unsurprisingly, they didn't want the frostbitten child that showed up at their doorstep to die. What was surprising, on the other hand, was the fact that the only doctor in the area had arrived at the town just a few minutes before. And despite said doctor's truly ridiculous rates for medical treatment, the family that Harry had stumbled into believed that saving a human life, any human life, was worth the cost, any cost short of other human lives. Which is why they were willing to sacrifice half of their retirement fund to pay for young Harry's medical treatment.

Several hours and several amputations, injections, and bandages later, Harry awoke. As much as he would have liked to speak, a variety of factors made him unable to communicate beyond a simple "Ughhhhh…"

His senses, however, were a lot more capable. So he used them.

Feelings. Pain, for instance. That pain was concentrated in his fingers and toes. If there wasn't a blanket(better than any he ever had before in his life) covering his body, he would be able to see them. Seeing them would be wonderful for determining what was causing that pain. But he couldn't see them, courtesy of the blanket.
Which lead him to sight. He was within a somewhat dim but still quite visible room. Made of stone, apparently. Or stone bricks?. What kind of buildings were made of stone bricks? Answering that question was slow, courtesy of the headache he had. But eventually, he got an answer from his knowledge: not many. And definitely not 4 Privet Drive.

So unless he was hallucinating(a possibility), he wasn't there. Hallucinating. No, not likely. What kind of hallucinations came with pain, feelings in all five senses, headaches, and—maybe he was hallucinating.

For his eyes registered something looking at him through the doorway. Peeking. But doing it the wrong way, with a small portion of its body hidden by the doorway and the rest visible.

It yelped and dashed away. Harry decided that he would rather be sleeping right now. He needed rest time. Perhaps he would stop hallucinating afterwards, assuming he was. If he wasn't hallucinating… Harry slept.

When he next awoke, he was capable of speech, he felt. Which was a good thing because there was a rather old woman staring down at him. If he wasn't so surprised, he would have spoken, anyway. Instead he just recoiled in shock.

"Hmph. Good, you're awake."

"Eh?" This was what he was reduced to? Surely he could do better. "Who… are you?" And speaking was still somewhat difficult, it seemed. Doable, but slow. Harry mused, *Hopefully that will get better…*

"You're on Drum Island, and you don't know who I am?" Nope. No knowledge of who this person was. Or where Drum Island was, for that matter.

"No… I guess… not?"

"Well, that's a first." The woman sighed. "I'm your doctor, Doctor Kureha, the only doctor on Drum Island!"

"My… doctor?" As much as Harry wanted to know about this "Drum Island", he wanted to know what happened to him first.

"Your doctor. The one who saved your life."

"My life?"

"Yes, your life, that's what I said! From frostbite, hypothermia, the works! And it was difficult—do you know how tiring it was to work on you? Far more than the usual, I'll have you know." Doctor Kureha sighed, again. "We'll talk more after you rest more. I'll send Chopper up with some water. And when you see him: not a word!"

"But-" Harry got no reply, for the doctor had already left. In the blink of an eye, it seemed. Now it was his turn to sigh. For the moment, so much for his desire to know about Drum Island.

Time passed. Harry took to counting the stone bricks that made up the ceiling. As much as it occupied his attention, it was terribly boring.
Time passed. And the thing he saw earlier was back, slowly moving into his room. Harry thought to scream, to yell, then he realized something- the thing was carrying a tray. With a mug and a pitcher atop it. Harry's mind suddenly drew some rather shocking conclusions:
1* Doctor Kureha said she would send Chopper up with some water.
2* The thing had a tray with a mug and pitcher—things that could likely hold water.
3* Therefore, the thing was Chopper. And Doctor Kureha referred to Chopper as him, likely not the pronoun one would use to refer to an animal.
This was the final straw for Harry's poor, overworked mind. He fainted.

Harry was starting to get tired of this repeated awakening and falling unconscious. Balancing that irritation out, however, was the fact that he was hurting a lot less, and his headache had almost vanished. His thoughts manifested: *Score one for rest and natural recovery.*

Harry opened his eyes. Doctor Kureha's face greeted him once more, and as one might expect, he recoiled. "You're awake? Good. We need to talk about your long-term prognosis."

"My long-term prognosis?" As much as Harry wanted to know about Drum Island, about Chopper, about the mysteries that previously occupied his mind, his mind was now occupied by a focus on his medical health, a focus on the information his unconscious decreed he would need to survive.

"Yes, that's what I said. Your long-term prognosis. You're now missing your right hand and your left foot, your left hand is going to need a rather long time to recover, and even when it does it'll be missing two fingers, and the same applies to your right foot."
Harry opened his mouth, but was promptly cut off. His words and only his words, thankfully.
"Nope! No talking! Now here's what you need to hear- you've fainted again. Dammit."

For how else was a young boy eleven years old supposed to react when greeted with the news that he lost a hand, a foot, and several other fingers and toes? A scream, perhaps. Tears, maybe. More accidental magic, but no, Harry's core was still mostly depleted after sending him to Drum Island. In any case, perhaps fainting was the best choice for Harry, for a scream would have been met with a yell, and tears, likewise. Fainting meant he couldn't hear the tirade Kureha promptly went on, and it gave him extra rest.

When he next awoke, he was met with Doctor Kureha's face. Perhaps he could have gotten used to her face occupying his vision whenever he woke up, if it weren't for two simple factors: she was rather old, giving her face a more scary appearance, and her face always appeared so close to his own. Harry practically jumped. In fact, he did. Kureha stepped back, just in time to avoid getting brained by a blunt impact from Harry's own head. "Looks like you're ready to walk."

This was wondrous news to Harry. For so, so many reasons. What followed was not so wondrous: Doctor Kureha grabbed his arm and yanked, pulling him from his relative relaxation and thrusting him into a world of pain. For the first time in a long time, he stood. And it hurt, so, so, much. Harry vocalized thusly: "Arrrrghhhh."

"Oh, don't be such a baby about this, you've been ready to walk for days. But if you really think you might need it, I can have Chopper get you a pair of crutches."

"Arrrrghhhh…" "Chopper! Crutches!" A few agonizing minutes(during which Doctor Kureha wouldn't let him lie back down for some horrid reason) later, the thing that Harry concluded must be Chopper brought in a pair of crutches. But Chopper looked different than before, when before he was small, his top hat looking comically large relative to his
body, now he was huge, larger than Kureha, even, his top hat looking decent atop his head. And Chopper looked more… human, perhaps.

What kind of creature was Chopper? The mystery only grew, when, after Harry received his crutches, Chopper shifted into his previous smaller form. Shapeshifting. Harry's mind broke, again, and his mind initiated a maneuver known as "fainting" to protect his consciousness.

Harry Potter cancels faint: interrupted by Doctor Kureha. Pain blossomed in Harry's chest. "OOF." "No, not again! This is the LAST TIME I'm having you faint on me!" Harry was thrust back to consciousness. "Owwwwww-" "SUCK IT UP!" Harry stopped making noise. Mainly out of fear rather than actually enduring the pain. Doctor Kureha, though seemingly a good doctor(she saved his life, after all), could be quite violent. "Good. Okay, now listen. Here's how you're going to get back to good health…"

Author's Notes:
Second chapter done. Wonderful. I will appreciate any reviews I get, especially the constructively critical kind that I can use to improve my writing. Also, especially the ones about my character portrayals: In my opinion, writing characters is one of my main weak points, and thus I believe I could use some feedback there.