So, this was a quicker update than I thought it would be. Shorter than I expected too. I figured I would do the introductory parts in quick succession, and really focus on the meaty parts of the story. First, some responses:

Why is there romance? Because I feel my interpretation will benefit for it.

Why do the personas talk? I feel it makes them more interesting. Mythology is fascinating, and to be able to call on these mythological beings is amazing. To not explore them is a serious waste, in my opinion.

You're a Hermione fan? You might be disappointed. I don't have much bashing in store for her, nor will I give her prominence. She will just not be an important character here.

Arisato isn't going back to level 1, speaking power-wise. Once he starts improving his body, he will be capable of some very serious summons.

Harry's overpowered? Well give me a break. This is end game Arisato that has entered HP. He may be overpowered now, but I have some interesting twists in store. I'll be hinting at one of them in this chapter.

Read and review.

How do I know this? he wondered, as his feeble hands darted around the kitchen, fetching the ingredients he would need to carry out the orders of the piggish man who had yelled at him.

I see two explanations. I have been given his memories. No, I do not remember anything other than this body's name. Then...could it be muscle memory? Did that child do this so often that his body reacts on instinct?

A wave of anger coursed through him, and the demons in his mind howled and snarled, begging for release. Begging to tear away at the ones that would so treat a child. But no, he denied them. It would not do to act without any knowledge of what was happening around him.

The world was much like his own, of that there seemed to be no doubt. He was in England, a place he had known the basics of, in addition to the English language. But he needed more information. What was the power that seemed to be coursing through the veins of this body? Why was it so reminiscent of…

"YOU'RE BURNING THE SAUSAGES!" shrieked an ugly woman, before his vision exploded into a million stars, and he fell to the ground, his head pulsating from the saucepan she had just hit him with.

Wait he ordered himself as his many entities screamed for release. Pain was simple. Pain was something he had seen a lot of during his battles. Burned, frozen, shocked, poisoned, and so much more. He rose from the floor, muttering a meek "Sorry" before moving back to the stove, even as he assessed the damage to his body. His head throbbed, and every movement sent pain through it. But it was unlikely to cause lasting damage.

This body is too weak. First, some nutrition. Then, I summon a persona that can scout for information. I will have to steal the food he decided, and did so carefully, using sleight of hand to slip small pieces of the sausage, and some bread into his oversized pockets. The woman said little else, apart from glaring at him constantly while sitting at the kitchen table.

Thundering sounds reached his ears and he sighed, realizing that the pig-like man was ready to eat as well. But then he frowned slightly when the steps didn't sound like those of a single man.

That sound could only be from a sounder of swine, not just one he mused wryly, the pain now almost gone don't tell me…

His worst fears were confirmed when he saw a miniature pig run into the room, greedily grabbing at his mother's breakfast now.

"Now now Duddykins," crooned the woman sickeningly, "Eat as much as you want."

"Freak!" she snapped, glaring at Harry, "What's taking you so long?"

"Gotta keep beating the freakishness out of him," grunted the man-pig as he picked up his newspaper, while the child-pig laughed at the thought before continuing to demolish the food on the table.

"I am," sniffed the bony woman before pouring herself some coffee.

Freakishness? This world may not have Persona wielders yet, for Thanatos told me so. But this suggests their own brand of the supernatural. These are the boy's relatives, not his parents. Could he be part of this supernatural circle? But why then would be not be with one of them?

With nothing but the faintest of words as a clue, he turned back to preparing the breakfast, and sneaking some away from himself. He would need it for the next step. And perhaps, if luck was on their side, his relatives would survive it.

Teeth ripped cheap meat apart, his tongue cried out in bliss and his stomach wept a little less as he gorged on the food he had stolen early in the privacy of his cupboard. It was late in the night, and he finally had his privacy. It was Sunday, and the people in the house had feasted and indulged in slothfulness all day, though they seemed to take their commitment to beat him quite seriously.

Not quite enough to beat the freakishness out of me, I'm afraid he thought amusedly, thinking about when Pharos had been sealed into him. Months of combat had given him a strange ability to detach himself from his pain. Or had he merely accepted it entirely? He could no longer tell.

"This much nutrition should suffice for one mid-level persona," he muttered out loud. He no longer had his evoker. But when had he truly needed it? He, who had walked with death for so long?

I summon you from the sea of my soul, the fifty-fifth spirit of the Shemhamporash, the guardian of knowledge, Orobas!

He smiled slightly as his persona shimmered into being, even as his knees buckled as his energy was drained. The fierce demon looked down at him, it's equine face studying him impassively.

"To think I would find you thus, my Master," it said solemnly as he sat shakily on the floor, his legs able to support him no more.

"You know why I called you," he said, his breath beginning to come in short pants. Summoning one persona hadn't affected him this badly since he had first called out to Orpheus.

"But of course. The guardian of knowledge must know. The entity born of your soul must know."

His lips twitched slightly in response to that, "I suppose you're right."

"You have not the power to give in recompense for all you seek. But I will set you on the path, yes. Knowledge to begin this journey will be yours."

It reached out with its hand, eyes glowing with power, and placed it on his head. Even as the knowledge rushed into his head, millions of images and words tearing their way through his min, his vision began to fade. The last words he heard were

May fortune favor you, my master.

And then he knew no more.

This has been happening far too often was his first thought when he was pulled out of unconsciousness yet again. He stood and stretched a little, his body having recovered a little from the rest.

I see. So this world has wizards. Entire societies of them, hidden away from...the term was Muggles, yes? he mused to himself as he left the cupboard and reached the kitchen early, intending to cook himself something quickly before the rest of the family would awaken. With an idea of where to start, he could no longer allow the status quo to continue.

A few minutes later, he had eaten and quenched his thirst. The darkness began to lift from his eyes a little more. Now, it was time to begin. With his knowledge, he knew that he had a far greater chance of improving his physical condition using the potions that these magical people had created.

But first, he would need an illusion. And he knew one persona that was within his power to call forth at the moment.

"It's been a while, Taraka," he said, once the summoning was completed.

"So it has, boy. Although you're a child now, aren't you?" teased Taraka. The female yaksha was capable of changing her form to just about anything, which made her exactly what he needed at the moment. At the moment, she was in the form of a bewitchingly beautiful woman.

"What do you need me to do?" she continued. He furrowed his brows slightly.

"I will not be able to keep you summoned the entire day. Take my form and wait until the three people in this house assemble here. Cast a persuasion charm on them, making them send you out for the entire day. Then, you may disappear. I will be back in the evening, and they will be none the wiser."

Taraka nodded her head in understanding. Seconds later, he found himself looking at an exact copy of himself. He nodded to her and left, pausing to take some change from his uncle's overcoat. He took only enough for a bus to London, an amount small enough that it was unlikely to come to his uncle's notice.

I sincerely hope Orobas' skills haven't gone faulty. Who on Earth names an establishment The Leaky Cauldron? he wondered to himself as he found the bus he needed. Were all British people so strange? Or was it merely these wizards that were strange?

Yes. Wizards are definitely crazy he thought to himself as he looked at the ramshackle establishment that was supposedly the gateway to the wizarding core of London. Strange smells leaked out of the establishment, making him wrinkle his nose. It surprised him to see that none of the normal Londoners seemed to notice the smell.

Perhaps the rest of London must smell similar he shrugged to himself as he tentatively pushed open the door to the inn, entering a dimly lit, smoky parlor. It was, he was rather relieved to kind, rather quiet, despite the multitude of wizards that were crowded around the tables. They muttered to themselves as brooms cleaned by themselves, pots refilled themselves, and stools arranged themselves.

Oh yes. Crazier than that drunk monk Mutatsu** he remarked to himself as he walked towards the innkeeper, intent on adding on to the information to add on to what Orobas had given him.

"Aren't you a little too young to be in here alone kid?" asked the hunchbacked man behind the counter, roughly, but not unkindly.

"I just need to get into Diagon Alley. My parents will meet me there soon, they told me I could go ahead and look at the stores!," he exclaimed, trying to sound as earnest as he could.

The man's face softened, and he moved from behind the counter, gesturing to Harry as he did so.

"Well, there's a trick to this, you see," he explained as he stopped in front of what appeared to be a blank wall, "But you'll need a wand before you can do this on your own. My name's Tom, by the way. Nice to meet ye kid"

Tom drew what appeared to be his own wand, and tapped certain bricks on the wall in a pattern. He watched closely, making sure to memorize the pattern. His eyes grew wide as the bricks began to tuck themselves away in a bizarre manner, revealing a street bustling with activity.

Now this is a sight to see he thought appreciatively as he thanked Tom childishly before walking into the Alley, taking in every sight he possibly could. Even the Tower did not prevent him from being surprised by the many sights he saw around him.

But first, this bank called Gringotts. Orobas made quite a point of sending me information about it. No strategy without finance, I suppose he mused, thinking back to the many materials he had bought, sold and forged to keep his teammates well-equipped and well-supplied.

So engrossed was he in his past memories that he ran into the person before him, who stumbled forward with an indignant sound. With a start, he looked up to see a young girl with blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes. Eyes that were, at this very moment, trying to glare at him with an intensity that he had only seen before in Mitsuru.

So shocked was he that he forgot to apologize immediately, which had only made the situation worse, as she glared even harder, if such a thing was possible.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she ground out venomously, "Do you make it a point to shove people around and not apologize?"

He shook his head and lowered it slightly, even as two adults came up behind her. He assumed they were her parents.

"Forgive me, I was lost in thought. Stumbling into you was unacceptable, and not apologizing immediately even more so. I really am very sorry," he said, keeping his head down until he was finished.

When he looked up, he blinked when he saw that the girl was no longer glaring, instead looking at him amusedly.

"I've never seen an apology quite like that," she said, and a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. Her parents appeared to be similarly amused. With a start, he realized that he had been speaking as a Japanese teenager, instead of a British child. He would have to be more careful with his mannerisms and speech.

"I guess my own reasons are pretty unique as well," he said, smiling slightly. He had just spoken the truth, but oh, how little would these people realize just how much truth there was to it.

"Well now, an apology has been made and all is well," boomed her father, a burly man who nevertheless radiated a sense of eloquence and nobility.

"And the boy is so cute, you must forgive him Daphne," said her mother, smiling, looking like an older version of her daughter.

"Mother!" exclaimed Daphne, looking horrified, while his own eyes widened, though in disbelief. The lady thought a half-starved child to be cute? Although, he had to admit that Harry Potter had eyes that were of a beautiful green color. He still had not completely come to terms with the idea that the body was now his, as was the name.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass. This is my father Damien Greengrass, and my mother Isabela Greengrass," said the girl, once the look of horror had faded from her face, "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter, pleased to meet you," he said, resisting the urge to bow as he spoke. He was surprised when a look of shock and disbelief came across the face of all three people, and they looked at him as if they were seeing a ghost.

Why? he wondered, searching through the information Orobas had given him.

Oh he realized when he came across the fact that Harry Potter was famous in the wizarding world, for surviving a killing spell of some sort as a baby. His parents had been killed in the attack, and that was the last the wizarding world had seen of him.

I've grown careless. I should have fully ingested the information. But I never expected this identity to have such significance he groaned internally, while projecting a look of confusion on his face. This child would not know of why he was special, having never been around this kind.

"Um...is everything okay?" he asked them timidly. The question seemed to pull them out of their shocked daze.

"That scar…you really are Harry Potter. Why didn't I notice it before?" muttered the man to himself, while Daphne's face was now switching between disbelief and curiosity.

"Damien," chided Lady Greengrass, "You are making the boy feel uncomfortable."

"What? Oh, yes. Forgive me. May I call you Harry?" asked the man, and he nodded immediately. Ceremony was one thing he would never willingly stand on.

"You seem confused, Harry. Don't you know why we seem so shocked?" asked the man. Harry Potter did not know. So he shook his head, channeling confusion into his emerald eyes.

"How is that possible?" demanded Daphne, looking at him suspiciously.

"Um...could you please tell me why you know me?" he asked Lord Greengrass, ignoring Daphne for the moment.

Lord Greengrass sighed, and motioned towards Gringotts, "It seems you were heading in that direction. May I explain along the way?"

He nodded and began to walk at Lord Greengrass' side as he heard about the Dark Lord, about the thirteen years of terror, about his parents, and finally about how he had defeated the Dark Lord before he could even speak.

That certainly qualifies as special. Now the next question is, why would this special child be sent to an abusive home, far away from his heritage? he wondered.

"Um...sir…" he said hesitantly, "Why did I grow up with people who beat me? I never knew about any of this before now."

Lady Greengrass' eyes widened in surprise, "What do you mean you were beaten?"

He pulled his small frame in even further to look as if he was frightened, and replied, "I-I live with my uncle and aunt. They beat me and made me do chores every day. I-I didn't even know about magic until a little while ago."

"What?" exclaimed Daphne, looking furious.

"Daphne," said Lady Greengrass firmly before turning to Harry, "They told you nothing at all about your parents? About the magical world?"

"N-No. They just called me freak all the time."

"Bastards," hissed Lord Greengrass just as they reached the steps leading to Gringotts.

"So how did you find out about the magical world?" asked Daphne curiously, ignoring the goblin guards who were glaring harshly at everyone.

"Strange people would walk up to me and know my name. I thought it was really weird. One of them shook my hand a few days ago, and he happened to mention the Leaky Cauldron. I was tired of living with my relatives, so I thought I would get away and come here," he said meekly.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked them nervously, his eyes darting from one adult's to the other's.

The Greengrasses looked at each other for a few seconds, before turning back to him and shaking their heads.

"I suddenly cannot recall anything you told me," said Lord Greengrass, looking around the main lobby of Gringotts nonchalantly.

"It's good that you decided to start with Gringotts," smiled Lady Greengrass, "Your parents were one of the few clients they truly respected, I believe. They will help you in many ways."

"Well then, Harry, we have to attend to our business now," said Lord Greengrass, stopping near a teller's desk, "Good luck. Your parents were not close friends of ours, but we certainly respected them. Send me an owl should you need help."

"Goodbye Harry," said Daphne, and for the first time, her face was a little soft.

"You'll meet Daphne again soon, I suspect," said Lady Greengrass, "She starts Hogwarts this year, and so will you."

He smiled at the family, and nodded at Daphne. As they walked towards their teller, the Empress personas within him shifted faintly, as if resonating with something. Perhaps I have begun to find allies he realized, as he turned away from them.

For the first time, he really looked around at the goblins. Despite Orobas' information on them, he was still startled to see such beings walk the Earth outside of the Dark Tower. One of the desks did not have a client at the moment, and the goblin sitting there reminded him suspiciously of Igor.

He walked towards that desk, and spoke to the teller, "Excuse me, do you have a moment?"

The goblin looked up with a scowl on his face, a scowl that lessened slightly when he realized that there was only a small child before him.

"What do you want, child," he growled.

"I-I was told I could find out about myself here," he said, making sure to maintain eye contact with the goblin. Something told him he could not afford to be caught with a lie here.

"You know nothing of yourself? Not even your name?" asked the goblin, this time disbelievingly.

"My name i-is Harry Potter," he said, now beginning to feel irritated at having to play the part of a child.

The snarled softly for a moment and stood, beckoning to be followed.

"The Potter family has always had a Senior Accountant to help them. I hope for your sake that you do not lie, child. Helmsbane is not sympathetic to liars."

He said nothing, choosing instead to study the tunnel that they were walking down. There were very few wizards here, and a lot more goblins. Despite the many people bustling around, the tunnel was quiet. Soon, they arrived at a heavy, plain-looking door.

"Please, go inside. If you are indeed Harry Potter, your questions will be answered. If you're not...well…" the goblin left the sentence hanging as it departed, leaving him standing at the door alone. He knocked.

"Enter" came a low voice and he walked in, only to find an ancient-looking goblin sitting behind a simple desk. The goblin looked at him through suspicious eyes that rested on his forehead, and then moved to meet his own.

"You have your father's face and your mother's eyes. You have the scar left to you by the Dark Lord," he stated.

Nothing was said. After a moment, the goblin continued, "Appearances, however, are quite often deceiving." Here Helmsbane picked up a wicked looking dagger, looking at it almost lovingly.

(A/N: He'll be referred to as Harry, in the interest of the universe he's in. But it's still Arisato under there)

Harry - he had to accept that name now - smiled internally at the goblin's theatrics. He had no doubt that many full-grown people would be afraid by now, so he let an appropriate amount of fear shine through on his face.

"Will you take the test of blood, boy?" asked the goblin, now looking back at him, "Prove to me that the Potter blood runs in your veins."

He nodded resolutely, knowing that this would be the first significant move he would be making in this world. Nyx would lie dormant, but he could not afford to. The Potter family seemed to influential in this strange world - a world which seemed to be a cross between nobility and democracy. Should his family have resources, they would help enormously.

He took the dagger, making sure his hand trembled a little, before making a small cut on his palm. He held his hand over a yellow piece of parchment that Helmsbane held out, watching as a few drops of blood fell upon it.

He watched, fascinated, as the pool of blood on the parchment began to split off into dozens of thin lines, gliding through the parchment as if with a mind of their own. Soon, the lines began to stop, and the blood curved and flowed to form writing at the center of the parchment.

Harry James Potter

Age: 10

Blood: Half-Blood

He sighed in relief when the test proved to have positive results. He was about to speak again when he realized that the blood was still moving, crafting two words that almost stopped his heart.

The Fool

The silence that followed was deafening. Suddenly, Helmsbane began to laugh, the guttural sound echoing through his chambers.

The room was luxuriously decorated, and the lighting dim. Servers moved expertly through the room, ensuring that their clients were kept comfortable. There were very few people in the room that night. One of the most noticeable patrons was a man with long, blonde hair and silver eyes. He held a goblet of wine in his hand as he talked in soft tones with his companion.

His companion presented a much more disagreeable visage. With a heavily scarred face and a constant scowl marring his mangled features, his face was a stark contrast to the gaudily wealthy clothes he wore. He too held a goblet in hand, though he seemed to ignore it for the most part.

The scarred man was frowning as he spoke, "Are you sure the Minister alone will suffice, Lucius? The man has the spine of a flobberworm. Will we not be better off cementing our position with more people in the Ministry?"

A darkness moved through the shadows, silent and unseen. It prowled the room, looking for the perfect host, just as it had prowled the city for so long. It neared the blonde man and halted, as if studying him. Just as the man was about to speak again in protest, it entered him. Tendril by tendril, maliced thread by maliced thread, it began to influence him.

"The moment man devoured the fruit of knowledge, he sealed his fate."

"Lucius! Are you alright?" asked the scarred man as the blonde man suddenly slumped in his chair, his eyes seeing but unseeing.

"To find the one true path, one must seek guidance amidst uncertainty."

The blonde man suddenly sat back up, his eyes alert once more.

"I'm fine, Nott," he said smoothly, "Merely considering your idea. And you're right. Our guidance of wizardkind cannot depend on one man. The masses will need to be led on the right path. We will find more people in the Ministry."

"Eternity awaits."

Orobas - Fifty fifth spirit of Hell.

Mutatsu - A character from Persona 3

Well, what else is there to say? Till next time. REVIEW!