Disclaimer: I am still in no way in possession of the ownership of the media franchises Harry Potter and Naruto. So much for birthday wishes

School was boring.

There was no other word that fit the feeling that the very idea of school now engendered in Harry James Potter. It was a rather odd feeling to know exactly what the teacher was taking pains to convince the rest of his classmates to study. Yet he had no real opportunity or the inclination to demonstrate that he had already mastered these (to him) petty topics. He would have cursed at Richards, who was the one who had convinced him to read ahead and use his burgeoning intellect at his own quicker pace. On the other hand, Richards was feeding his newly burgeoning appetite for higher knowledge. And that too with books and ideas that he had never even imagined existed. It literally was a whole new world.

Not that it made up for the horrible, horrible school. Even if ninja were supposed to be patient fellows, sitting in a class of people who were starting to literally turn into drool monkeys was doing him no good at all.

Harry in a definitive way could claim an average eleven year old's knowledge. And despite frequent sensationalist reports of child prodigies, Harry knew quite well that in the overall grade of human potential, smarts like his were very very rare. In the 2 weeks that had passed since his return to school, he had found that simply trying was more than enough to further increase the distance between him and the rest of the human sheep he spent his day with. It was not a very encouraging thought - for the rest of humanity at least.

The sciences were fascinating, after all, learning to use the world around you was a very important skill for a ninja, and understanding how the world works gives you quite a head start in that department. Language of course, he was cultivating at his own pace. After all, people listen when somebody speaks well. And in the world of today, English was very very widespread. Art was something he had a very moderate interest in. His abundance of practice in the garden had, out of necessity given him an extremely steady hand, one that if he set his mind to it, he could use with great effect to make his vision to reality. Unfortunately, his actually not bad pieces of art were the ones done at home and shown to Richards and Richards alone. Simply the way the art teacher looked at him told him that her mind and soul were infected with the plague of 'Harry hating' the Dursleys loved to spread.

Seriously, the amount of influence his so called normal relatives seemed to wield made him question for a second if the Dursleys had high level connections to some crime syndicate or the sort. Then again, if they did, they'd get minions to make his life a living hell(which it technically already was).

Whatever the case, Harry was quite convinced that all of Surrey was convinced of the quality of juvenile delinquency present in 'That Potter boy'. He could see it in the way everyone who was considered sane seemed determined not to see him, hear him or acknowledge his existence. Those little glares, the ever present hint of disapproval and the slightly upturned noses that everyone who deigned to speak to him had. Only his newly practiced observation skills allowed him to be aware of the full scale of the negativity that was directed at him. Pitiful fools, all of them...

While normally this sort of thing might have broken the victim eventually, reducing all of his newfound spine to jelly, Harry dealt with it by reminding himself that he could drive the Dursleys insane with genjutsu anytime he chose. It was quite an effective image, certainly it made him sneer at the stupidity of these people who thought themselves above him and his existence. But now when he thought about it, it certainly suited him. While being branded a criminal was rather annoying, it served to distance people from him, and whatever said and done, if the only thing anyone could say about him was that he was supposed to be a juvenile delinquent, even a Surrey based police officer would be unimpressed. Anonymity, even if negative was, especially for ninja, is quite a valuable thing to have. and in this manner, he wasn't forced to hide behind a facade of politeness, hiding his skill and intention all Kabuto like.

The trend of 'ignore Harry Potter' behavior was best seen in the teachers. All day, he sat at the back, with no fear of any interruption to his activities whatsoever. They came in, sat down and did their other stuff normally. When it came to roll call, the teachers skipped over his name. Instead, they chose to look at him from the corner of their eyes, as if to confirm that the abomination they simply could not eliminate had indeed dirtied their esteemed class by his very presence.

It was so amusing now, when he thought about it. For a while, it had contributed to a growing resentment when he first started school. But now, it was buried in the certainty that he was better than them by simply choosing not to exact his revenge upon these self deemed superior human beings, in spite of his clear ability to do so.

Since nothing he did was going to change what happened around or to him, Harry decided had decided that he might as well make use of this behavior. Last year, he had only dared to read ahead in the same academic topics and areas that were taught in school. Granted, it was giving him the equivalent of a full 3 years head start on his classmates in his studies. Something, which at the moment was quite useless, but there were now so many things he just had to learn. Things so wonderful, that meekly trying not to avoid everyone was going to get him nowhere. So he decided that if he was going to take advantage of this constant apathy, he would use it in the most effective way possible.

If his teachers had bothered to look at him during class, they would have found him doing a very curious thing, even for a juvenile delinquent, who as a rule are quite fond of doing distinctly odd things. Harry Potter was learning Japanese.

Now, even Harry was quite convinced that this was something he just had to do, but he had this very vague idea in his head that it would be useful, if for nothing else than to give insight into the land where ninja originated. He also told himself that having a second language was nothing if not a useful skill to have. If nothing else, he could find work as a translator, even if that was somewhere below Politician in his list of possible future occupations. The list did not have child superhero on it.

Of course, learning a foreign language that very few people in the British isles had any use of in a regular manner was not the only thing that Harry did. He also spent a great deal of time trying to improve his genjutsu. Not to say that the illusions he crafted were in any manner unsound. It was just that they, in his own words, 'took too bloody long to do'. The problem was a bit curious. Harry was quite proficient in the use of handseals. He understood how any particular seal affected the molding of chakra. However, the handseals, he had noted, tended to have more pronounced effects in certain 'chains' which, when focused on, drastically improved the rate of formation and the strictness of 'boundaries' of his chakra matrices. This in turn meant that his various illusions, which were differentiated by their complexities in presentation to the various senses, all had their own handseal shortcuts that were quite fixed, even if he did not know of them.

Handseals, in genjutsu, were used to affect the amount and potency of the chakra used to manipulate each particular sense. With practice and instinct, it was possible to eliminate these various 'stages' in the genjutsu construction and directly apply the matrix on the target without prefabricating it from within – using handseals. Harry however, was developing the whole field of genjutsu from scratch. His handseals had very minute effects on his matrices individually because of his lack of prior instruction that would have reduced his dependance on pathetic experimentation. His prized annoyance tactic of putting a mole on his aunts face, took a solid twenty seven handseals to first materialize. Setting Vernon on fire took just over a hundred.

It was like having to invent flour so that he could invent the pie. Of course, as far as he had advanced right now, the same level of illusion of the mole would not need handsigns and the fire used 6, which was what experimentation brought in terms of results. But it was not the most combat useful ability at the moment. On the other hand, he could convince Vernon to parade naked if he wanted to in five minutes, once he figured out the chain of illusions necessary. His hope was that since his chakra usage was focused only on the illusory arts, he would develop the skill to avoid handseals and use focus points instead, like a potential expert could do. However he knew that even if he mastered it to the best of his ability, he would need at the very least a ram seal to use illusions. It was simply unlikely that he could use the tip of the finger or eye to eye contact as a way of implanting illusions. He was not Uchiha Itachi. And as for material, after what the Dursleys had done to him and his resulting nightmares, he really had no need to find material to use on his victims.

Of course, when he realized that he would have to do the whole process again for elemental ninjutsu, specifically the elemental part, he nearly had a conniption. Truly, the life of the shinobi was fraught with peril. Not to mention, he had no idea exactly how he was going to make any progress in fuinjutsu. Yet again, Harry Potter screamed in mental agony at the thought of the intellectual undertaking he had signed himself up for.

XXX

Could he kill his relatives? The question unexpectedly crept upon Harry as he read the side note that mentioned another meaning of the Japanese equivalent of the number four. 'Shi' after all also meant death. Death, was quite a weighty concept. It was a mild thought, in a tone almost as routine as a stray thought about wallpaper or the color of the sky. It was almost simply too mundane to bother with. Harry rolled the word in his mouth, watching attentively in subdued fascination as the word seemed to lose all meaning, turning into syllables, as meaningless to him as the sound of somebody snoring. It was quite frankly, disturbing. For a long time, that word, along with one, namely other seemed to define his existence, and his future.

Death was the end, a cessation of existence, and nothingness, all rolled to one. It was as necessary to any ecosystem as the concept of zero was to mathematics. With death came rebirth, and the renewal of all things. It was also one of the most feared things in human history.

Everybody feared dying, with almost zero exception. The the fear of the transition from the living to dead is something that is permanently written in stone inside every living organism. No being tries to die for no reason; survival instinct is quite the motivator. What few realize is that the oft quoted, and horribly clichéd saying 'there are worse things than death' is quite true. Pain, is a terrible thing. It twists, ravages and destroys without mercy. Torture is the judicious application of it in methodical means, to achieve an objective, no matter what it is. In this sense, one would readily say that Harry was tortured, spending many a night in the silent agony of pure pain at an age that most would consider too young. But it also taught him one thing. Death was not something to fear. It was merely the end to all suffering. But could he kill someone? Anyone? Even in self defense? With the full implications that taking a life, denying another their right to existence entailed?

This train of thought eventually spiraled back to the one important question: could he kill his relatives?

This question, at first glance is wrong on many a level. No eight year old should be engaged in the contemplation of death, especially when it is to be dealt to others. On the other hand, he was, quite frankly an extremely wronged individual who the very gods might forgive, if he indulged in retribution. Which itself brought to question the competency of the Dursleys as examples of homo sapiens, but that was a query sans reply.

But the problem was that Harry essentially did not want to be a bad person. It was an ideal drilled into every human being in a 'civilized' world. There was an instinctive desire to do the right thing that battled with his desire to unleash unspeakable tortures upon those who wronged him. But ninja did not pursue vengeance. And the remembrance of the word 'Uchiha' rang true as an example of an avenger gone awry. And some emotions were too dangerous to let live. It was all too much to think about at this age. Harry finally decided to let it go for now and think about it when the Dursleys tried their old tricks again. After all, when one had a mean streak like Vernon Dursley, it would be simply too much to expect this ceasefire of sorts to continue.

XXX

The year on the whole could have been considered quite...useless. However, Harry spent most of his time trying (and for the most part succeeding) to increase his latent shinobi abilities, while letting his 'normal' academics plummet. The Dursleys were happy, Harry was happy, Richards was most definitely...confused. All year Harry had drastically changed. And whenever he asked the eight year old what had changed, he got the very short and loaded answer - "I found what I want to do with the rest of my life". It said everything and nothing, so he let it go. On the other hand, the very books the boy had requested, in the most polite and respectful tone possible ('when did he learn that?') told him something (he hoped) of what the boy was learning and consequently what he was eventually aiming for. The Japanese language manuals were a surprise. Certainly, he would have remembered if Harry had previously mentioned an interest in that language. It was quite disconcerting, at least until he remembered the books that he had gifted. Not that it made anything easier, but it gave him a lead, a connection, that hidden as it was gave him somewhere to start from. Of course, that generated more questions than answers. The manga, as he learned that particular style of comic was called, was popular mainly in Japan. But there was no sign of one called Naruto anywhere. It simply didn't exist. He'd even called up his son, who was in Japan, an electronics engineer, who promptly confirmed the non-existence of said entity. It was frustrating. And where the hell did the books come from then? And the sad part was that he didn't remember how the box of accursed comics got in his library to begin with. It was enough to make one lose what little hair they had.

Harry of course knew none of the internal turmoil his mentor was going through. He merely focused on his genjutsu, his Japanese, and his (limited) projectile throwing ability. He was glad with his progress, even if all he could really do was make people see stuff, which was useless unless you knew what motivated people-something he needed a wee bit more experience doing. But he couldn't deny the usefulness of said ability, limited as it was at present.

Then, one day late November, Harry suddenly had an epiphany. He had been thinking of the possible 'coolness' factor of dressing himself as ANBU when he had the annoying revelation that his glasses were quite detrimental to his putting on any kind of animal mask. Sure he had the whole Kabuto thing going for him, but that was just plain weird in the end.

His next thought was why he couldn't just get rid of his glasses, at which his ever helpful intelligence reminded him that he was to a small, but definite extent myopic. His laments of biblical proportions were cut short when he suddenly and violently remembered that he had a very useful healing ability. And healing ability meant it could heal almost anything...right?

So the last Sunday of November, the 27th, was spent in his room brainstorming on exactly how he was supposed to achieve his rather lofty goal. It did not help that the cupboard under the stairs was a very cramped space. His first and immediate thought was to gouge his eyes and let the healing factor take care of his eyes. He discarded it on the likely probability that the newly grown eyes would be accompanied by the very same flaws his eyes previously suffered from, namely his shortsightedness. It is quite telling of his upbringing and mentality that he didn't consider the horrifying pain of having your eyeballs destroyed or plucked out as a serious problem.

So he reluctantly made up his mind to try meditation. After all the immense focus that was necessary to create the more intricate of his illusions had to help him here, or at least he most certainly hoped so.

So, in his attempt to resolve his vision issues, he took his trusty flashlight to illuminate a section of the cramped wall and then painted the out kanji for the closest approximation of the phrase 'perfect eye' he could remember. It was what he was aiming for after all.

In another 2 hours, his relentless stare marathon at the Japanese kanji paid off. The tingling feeling that he had long memorized and recalled as his personal healing factor had come and gone and he finally took in the rest of the room. Cramped as it was, he could see it. And he wasn't wearing any eye wear. He was elated. A mental victory dance later, he decided that he had to find a way to get plain lenses on his old frames. It would not do for him to miraculously develop perfect vision. It would be downright disastrous, in spite of his inability to pinpoint exactly why it would be so apocalyptic. But, his instincts were quite accurate so far and Harry was not above acting on a mere hunch. He left his room to find the closest establishment that could cater to his needs, relying on his arsenal of genjutsu and 20 quid that Vernon had been conveniently relieved of. He left Privet Drive totally ignorant of the fact that his retinas were now imprinted with kanji, the same set that he had been conveniently staring at for a whole couple hours.

XXX

At the same time in London, another man was on his way for his own all important errand.

Takeda was a negotiator. His job was to talk with very powerful people and ensure that both his and the other parties walked away with a smile and absolutely no bloodshed. The fact that he was 56 proved that he was very good at his job. It meant he never failed, a very endearing trait his superior valued in him. And thus it was that he had been sent to the British isles of all places, to negotiate with some pseudo noble that apparently held the keys to his organizations success here.

Takeda was a simple man. He had reached the age where he had picked one vice and stuck to it, to the detriment of all others. His activity of choice was reading, something he spent nearly all his free time in. It was also a great help to his occupation, as had been proved so many times in the past. This was his first trip outside the eastern territories and Takeda found himself distinctly...unimpressed. As far as he was concerned, the whole place was dead.

Not only was the whole area distinctly lacking in any real heritage and culture (in his humble opinion), the whole place made him feel...unclean. But he kept such thoughts to himself. He was the envoy that had been sent here by Hakumei, and he did not intend to let a couple of uneasy feelings deter him from his duty. The consequences of failure were...unpleasant, to say the least. So he shoved his opinions and his growing irritation with the location of this mission out of his consciousness. His first stop would be the Japanese embassy. It was there that his next stage of transportation to his destination would be found. Honestly, these British people amazed him with their stupidity. Their refusal to use modern forms of transport was rather annoying. Why did he have to take a kami forsaken portkey (" those accursed trinkets!") of all things just to get to this...Malfoy Manor? For the first time in quite a while, Takeda found himself muttering.

"Mendokuse..."

A/N: and the fourth chapter is here! First contact with the magical world, and shadowy organizations...what do you think? Reviews please! After all they are the bread and butter of the lone fanfic writer(thats me by the way...). And I like hearing the thoughts of those who (I assume) enjoy my work.

Btw, I'd like your thoughts on exactly what Harry's elemental affinity/bloodline will be. My plot gives me some license in the nature of my protagonists abilities, so I believe an unofficial poll of sorts will be a good idea here. Since this is manga restricted, I can't technically magic shippuden bloodlines or the sort in here. I prefer elemental bloodlines if at all requested. I just have an axe to grind against canon doujutsu and other physical body types(sorry!) review or pm requests. The final choice will be by popular demand. I'll accept requests for 2 weeks from the date of publishing.

ps. I'm really concerned by the distinct lack of negative reviews in here. Either I'm doing something really right or something very very wrong. I'm almost afraid to wonder about that, but I'd like to thank your support, all of it. It gives me a bubbly feeling and justifies my invested time. So thank you all very much!

ARIGATO!

yours

Womgi