I'm so glad it's the weekend. It's been such a long week…I had a MC test in my hardest class yesterday, then today we had to write a five paragraph essay in thirty minutes in the same class…It's rough. Anyway, the story!

"Harry ate breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he liked watching the other guests: funny little witches from the country, up for a day's shopping; venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today; wild-looking warlocks; raucous dwarfs; and once, what looked suspiciously like a hag, who ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woolen balaclava" (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban 49).

Disclaimer: All rights for Harry Potter and Bleach go to their respective owners.


The dark shape leaned down, filling his entire line of sight. It had moved in front of the sun so he could not see what it was, but he could feel the blade of something below his chin, dangerously close to his jugular.

The fall had knocked the wind out of him, and he was struggling to breathe. His mouth was open but no air was going in, and he felt a rising sense of panic at that fact. He knew, of course, that the condition was temporary – he'd had it many times before, usually during sparring matches and one memorable time during a fight against several Hollows – but it always managed to prey upon a primal fear of not being able to breathe. So he was focused on restoring his lung function when he really should have been paying attention to the man sitting on him with a blade at his throat.

Grunting once in annoyance, the man spoke again. "Tell me!"

Toshiro tried to respond but his lungs still didn't work, and he ended up just gasping on the ground. He hated this vulnerability, that he couldn't do anything simply because he couldn't breathe. His lungs were burning and his heart was pounding, and he was sure that his attacker could feel it.

Once he got the use of his lungs back he was going to slaughter the man! Hyourinmaru was rumbling anxiously in the back of his mind, urging him to take action.

The man leaned down again, and the knife pressed harder on his throat. "Tell me or I will slit your throat!" he hissed just as Toshiro finally got his breath back – at the most inopportune time imaginable.

The man's foul breath filled his nose and mouth, the putrid smell causing him to gag and turn his head involuntarily away, and a sharp line of fire formed on his throat. He grimaced and managed: "Tell you what?"

In the time that it took the man to answer Toshiro was judging how the man was positioned and how it would be best to get away. For he did not like being on his back with a clearly hostile man sitting on him and holding a knife to his throat. He did not like it at all.

"Tell me what you did to him," the man growled, pulling his face back slightly now that Toshiro had answered. He was very glad for the distance between them.

"Who?" he asked, distracted. The man was sitting on his stomach, with his right hand holding the hilt of the knife and his left for balance on Toshiro's chest.

Fool. He should have been keeping his arms pinned.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he glanced over, expecting to see another attacker, but instead seeing the paper he was working on flutter in a breeze and blow into the stream. Anger rushed through him.

Just as the man was taking breath to answer, winter exploded.

It was as if a sudden burst of ice spread across the clearing, freezing the blades of glass into innumerable daggers, coating the base of the nearest tree with an impenetrable coat of armor, chilling the water of the small stream into a thick sludge. The summer sun shone down, glinting off the ice and setting little shards of light dancing all around.

It was beautiful.

The man was instantly covered in his materialized reiatsu: a living statue. He stared down with wide eyes as Toshiro extricated himself from under him, sliding easily from the ice-coated blade. The ice did not harm him – it was his to command.

Even as he strode over to the river he did not turn his back to the man, so deeply ingrained were his instincts. He plucked the paper out of the water, eyes narrowing when he saw that his notes were blurred and some were unreadable.

"You ruined my work," he said, voice tight with anger. "You are lucky I need to finish this. If you attack me again I won't hesitate to retaliate." Stalking past the man, he picked up his pencil from where it had fallen and left the man beside the river in a clearing frozen with the first frost of summer.


The journey back to the Leaky Cauldron was a blur. He barely saw or heard the people around him and didn't notice the concerned looks they threw him. A few started to approach him but backed away at the fell look on his face.

He threw open the door to the pub and let it close with a satisfying thud, making several patrons jump at the noise and turn to the door. The talking inside dropped away as the customers got a good look at him. He ignored them all, marching across the room to the stairs. A voice stopped him.

"Wait – Hitsugaya!"

He turned and was prepared to glare at the man who had interrupted his furious journey to his room when he saw Tom's wide-eyed expression. He was staring at Toshiro's neck, mouth hanging open.

"What?" Toshiro snapped, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. The sound made Tom jump.

"What happened? Your throat…"

He pressed his fingers to his throat, and they came away red. He looked impassively down at them. "Blood," he said. Tom snorted and reached out. Toshiro took an involuntary step back, and Tom pulled away with a hurt expression. "I am fine," Toshiro said, glancing around once more at the silent room. "I will be in my room."

With that he left behind a roomful of stunned witches and wizards.


Toshiro once again let the door slam behind him and strode to the mirror propped against the wall. He stared into it, taking in his condition.

His hair was messy and dirty from being on the ground, but most noticeably was his neck. A bruise was forming around a long cut that trickled blood down his pale skin. He studied it critically, probing it with a finger before getting a towel and carefully wiping away the blood. Once cleaned it looked much better than it had previously, and was less likely to attract attention. Still, he pulled his wand from his boot and cast a quick healing spell, sealing the edges of the small wound and removing the dark bruises. Once satisfied he replaced his wand in his boot and sat on his bed, staring down at his paper.

The words, luckily, weren't all that smeared, but he would have to copy them down onto another paper before he could finish. With a small groan he set it into the sunlight and prepared for a long day.

Copying was a relatively mindless work, so he had time to think. And as he did so he realized he was angry. Angry at himself, the man, and everyone who he'd ever crossed swords with. How had he let a mortal sneak up on him? He snarled, pressing down harder than necessary and tearing the paper in the process. He crumpled it up and threw it with a wordless shout, putting his head down into his hands as it flew across the room to bounce off the wall.

Was all his time in the world of the Living affecting him somehow? Was that why he seemed so weak? Was that why he seemed to care what happened in this world, to Hogwarts and her people?

Toshiro put his head down onto his crossed arms, hunched over the desk. He was becoming weak. The thought flicked across his mind, flashing like a candle-flare. That had to be the reason. He was just spending too much time here.

With that thought weighing down his movements, he reached for another piece of paper.


He had just finished copying everything over onto another paper when there was a soft knock on his door. He ignored it, figuring that whoever it was would just go away, but the knocking continued once. There was a pause, then –

"There's dwarfs!"

Toshiro jumped at the sudden, excited voice, and turned to glare at the one who had dared to break his concentration. "There had better be a good reason for you to come barging into my room," he warned. The Boy-Who-Lived paused mid-step.

"I knocked," he said uncertainly. Toshiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You did. But I did not call you in. Therefore–"

"But there's dwarfs!" Harry said again, eyes lighting up. "Downstairs!"

"Why do I even bother?" Toshiro grumbled to himself. Then he raised his eyes to Harry's. "And why should I care?"

"Well…" The boy floundered for a moment, and Toshiro allowed himself a smirk, confident that he could get the boy to go away soon and leave him to his work. But then he jolted forward, taking Toshiro's hand and pulling the surprised Shinigami out of his chair. "Just come on!"

The boy danced anxiously in the hall while Toshiro locked his door, barely restraining himself enough to let him put the key in his pocket before grabbing his hand again and pulling him down to the stairs.

"Where are these dwarfs?" he grumbled softly, scanning the crowded eating-room as they descended. Harry pointed.

"There. See?"

Indeed he did. Sitting in the middle of the room around a small table laden with food and drink were three dwarfs. They were small folk – the tallest was roughly four feet and the smallest a mere two. Through the milling crowd he could tell that they sported neat, thick beards and wore fine clothes. They were talking animatedly with one another, one hand at their flagons and the other waving wildly in the air.

As the two wove their way through the crowd Toshiro studied the dwarfs with a different eye – military. Two of the dwarfs – the tallest and the shortest – were broad-shouldered and alternately swept the room with a cautious eye. They are trained, Toshiro decided, then looked at the third, but he is not.

There were three axes leaning up against the table, but he didn't think the third dwarf was as familiar with his as his companions. His was further away, the head against the table. The other two, with the heads down and the grips up, were much more accessible and ready. If they were attacked the third dwarf would waste precious seconds righting his weapon.

He was also not built like a warrior. Though all three were stocky and wrapped in muscle, he moved without the grace warriors achieved. His hands were long-fingered and surprisingly agile, not used to handling weapons. Even Toshiro's hands, which were slender, had the roughness and curvature that came from gripping the hilt of his zanpakuto most of his life.

At last Harry reached them and stood awkwardly by their table. The tall and short one noticed him immediately and were studying him, and the third, seeing that he had lost their attention, quieted and also turned to the boy. There was now a cautious air about them as Toshiro stood beside Harry and the two dwarfs focused on him, disregarding Harry as a threat.

Toshiro approved.

"H-Hi," Harry stuttered, jerkily waving a hand. The two glanced at him.

Looking back and forth between his companions and the newcomers, the third dwarf snorted and stuck a hand out to Harry. "Greetings," he said. "I am Fínagua. What is your call?"

"Call?" Harry repeated, hesitantly shaking the dwarf's hand. Toshiro repressed an eye-roll. It seems when it actually comes to meeting them the boy is shy.

"Name," the dwarf amended.

"Oh – Harry."

The dwarf blinked. "The Harry?"

"Yes," the Harry said reluctantly. The dwarf grinned.

"Well, then, you must join us!" He looked around, spotted an empty chair that a wizard had just vacated, and pulled it over to the table. "Come, and tell us of your adventures!"

He sat, and glanced over his shoulder at Toshiro. The tall and short dwarfs, who had switched their gaze to Harry upon the utterance of his name, looked at the captain again. Toshiro returned their gazes steadily. "This is To – Hitsugaya," Harry said. The dwarfs nodded to him, and he returned the gesture, standing to the left of Harry's chair.

"This is Blaiö and Oklatr," Fínagua said, waving to the tall and short dwarf respectively. "We are from the Raeur Clan in the north."

The two warrior-dwarfs looked sharply at Fínagua, as if unhappy to have that piece of information revealed. Toshiro noted this with great interest.

The dwarfs' flagons were full of ale and only contained half of what they could, yet the dwarfs did not seem intoxicated. Their eyes were sharp and their movements within limits. Yet Fínagua seemed to have the loose tongue of a drunkard.

"I haven't heard of that," Harry said, leaning forward.

"I am not surprised," Oklatr said, voice low and as rough as rolling rocks. "We do not give up our secrets to any random passerby." He gave a pointed look at Fínagua, which the medium dwarf completely ignored.

"Yes, we do not make our home well-known," Fínagua said. "But we are not inhospitable people."

"I'll admit, the only time I've seen dwarfs was on Valentine's Day, when our professor hired some to deliver–"

"Messages," Toshiro interrupted, seeing a dark look cross the three dwarfs' faces.

"Aye, we know what they are," Oklatr rumbled. "They are our cousins. Very distant, you should know."

"I understand," Toshiro continued, putting a warning hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy lacked any skills to understand what he should and should not say when meeting potentially dangerous people. "From what I have read you seem like a proud race. I was surprised when meeting your kin."

He had found a large book in the library listing all of the magical world's inhabitants, and had spent several days pouring over it, fascinated. And he thought his world was diverse!

His words seemed to soothe the dwarfs, for they nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed!" Fínagua cried, and raised his flagon. "Well said! Bartender! Two more for our friends!"

Oklatr and Blaiö raised their cups with bemused expressions, drinking deeply when Fínagua did. Tom appeared several moments later, a cup of tea for Hitsugaya and a glass of milk for Harry. He tapped Hitsugaya on the shoulder and jerked his head to the side. Toshiro nodded and followed, glancing back only once to give Harry a worried look.

Tom led him to a corner partially hidden by a pillar before turning and running a critical eye over Toshiro. "You are healed," he said.

Toshiro put a hand to his neck and nodded. "It was nothing."

Tom frowned, straightening as much as his hunched back would allow. "It was not 'nothing'," he said vehemently, "it was bleeding! On your throat!"

Toshiro clasped his hands behind his back, widened his stance, squared his shoulders, and raised his chin. "It was nothing I could not deal with," he said firmly. "And I did. I gave as good as I got."

Studying him for a minute, Tom slowly shook his head. "Students who live under this roof are in my care. It is my duty to take care of them."

"I do not need you to take care of me."

"No. But do not keep something like this from me. I will have to report it, you know."

"You would not."

"I would." Tom started to walk back into the eating room, pausing briefly. "It is not weakness to allow others to help you," he said, and disappeared into the crowd.

Toshiro stared after him, anger rising in him. How dare he? Who was he to tell him what to do? He, who was the Captain of the Tenth Division, leader of–"

"Master, contain yourself!"

Hyourinmaru's words rumbling through his mind, Toshiro snapped back and realized that frost was creeping along the stone floor from his feet, and the temperature in the room had decreased by several degrees. He took a deep breath, regained control of his reiatsu and allowed the temperature to rise back to normal. The frost receded, leaving no trace of it behind.

"The boy is not the only one who needs restraint," Hyourinmaru growled. "You say you are better than the keeper, but if you cannot even control your own powers you do not deserve them! You are a captain, Toshiro, but you are still a child! Master yourself before you think to judge others!"

Toshiro stood motionless in the corner of the hall, chest heaving as he took deep, steadying breaths. He glared after the innkeeper with his jaw set. Then, all his breath rushing from him in one long rush, he drove his fist into the hard stone wall, splitting open his knuckles and sending a lance of pain shooting through his hand. He held it up, watching it bleed indifferently.

"Real mature, Master," Hyourinmaru snorted. "And just what did that accomplish?"

He looked at the wall. There was no sign of his outburst – no blood, no cracks, and no frost.

He turned away.


Harry and the dwarfs were still talking when he rejoined them. He took his place beside Harry's chair silently, and the only sign that the dwarfs had even registered his presence was a quick nod in his direction. Harry did not appear to notice.

Toshiro listened attentively as they talked, registering that they were not talking about anything important. Reaching forward to get his teacup – making Harry jump in the process – he grimaced. It was cold.

Blaiö did not talk once. If Toshiro was not used to all sorts of people he would have been unnerved by the dwarf who sat silently, taking in everything with clear gray eyes. Even as he ate and drank he was studying their surroundings. Toshiro got the feeling nothing escaped his notice.

Finally, after the lunch rush ended, Oklatr sucked in a breath and straightened. "Well, my – Fínagua, we should be going. We need to be home before three, if you recall."

Fínagua sighed but did not complain and scraped his chair back, pushing himself to his feet with hands that had never seen war. "Aye," he said, "but I wish it were not so. I thoroughly enjoyed our talk, Mr. Potter. Yours also, Mr. To-Gaya, despite your lack of words."

Toshiro bent his head in acknowledgement, then frowned. "To-Gaya?" he questioned, striving to keep his tone polite and fearing he utterly failed. "My name–"

"Farewell," Fínagua said, completely ignoring the Shinigami. "We shall meet again, I hope!"

"It was nice to meet you," Harry answered, and the two watched as the dwarfs crossed the room to the Floo fireplaces. Blaiö, the tall dwarf, left first, but they were too far away to hear where he went. Then Fínagua stepped in, and finally Oklatr left. When the last traces of green fire died away Harry turned to look at Toshiro.

"Wasn't that great?" he exclaimed. "I've never met dwarfs before!"

"Neither have I," Toshiro said, still gazing at the fireplace. He crossing his arms across his chest. "That was very interesting."

"Interesting? That's all you – blimey, what happened to your hand?"

"Hm?" He looked down and quickly tucked his hand behind his back and out of sight. "It is nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing." Harry frowned. "You didn't have that before…I think. Right?"

Toshiro sighed. "Potter, do not concern yourself about me. I am very capable of taking care of myself. You have enough to do keeping yourself safe. Do not spare thought for me. It is simpler that way."

"But…"

"Potter." Toshiro spoke sharply, causing Harry's surprised eyes to meet Toshiro's stern ones. "It is best not to get too close to me. For your own good."

To his surprise, Harry snorted. "Bit late for that, don't you think?" He turned. "I'm going back to Diagon. You coming?"

"No, I need to finish my work." Toshiro waited until the boy had disappeared out the back door before starting for the stairs. Just as he put his foot on the first step, however, motion out of the corner of his eye made him pause.

There, on the wall, was a large poster with a black and white picture in the center. The picture was moving, showing a skeletal man with matted hair and shadowed eyes. He was struggling against the two restraining hands on his shoulders. Toshiro was utterly still as he stared at the picture, then his gaze flicked down to the words and started to read.

Minutes later he was in his room, pacing anxiously. Sirius Black. The man who had attacked him was Sirius Black. A murderer. Why had he attacked him? What did he want?

Tell me what you did to him.

Unbidden, Black's words echoed in his mind. Toshiro felt like there was great importance in that short sentence, but he just didn't understand. Who was he? Why did he think Toshiro would know where the person was? He rubbed his eyes and sighed, regretting the fact that the ice would have melted by now. Why, oh why did he let him go?

With a small groan he gave up and settled back down to work on his paper. He would understand, eventually. But for now, he needed to get this done.


The trail ended in a small clearing by a slow stream. He knelt, reaching one hand out to touch a large portion of crushed grass by the base of a tree. A flash of ruby caught his attention, standing out in the emerald grass, and he quickly leaned down to see several drops of blood staining the blades. Puzzled, he sat back on his haunches.

There had been a fight here, obviously. Looking around, he saw no other signs of it, however, so he stood and headed across the clearing, frustrated that his one lead had turned up empty. The reiatsu signature – it had been so clear! He was sure it was…

There! In the dirt by the stream, there were prints!

He got down on one knee and traced the print. Dog. A large one. He looked around once more, stooping low to the ground to find any more prints, heart leaping when he found a set leaving the clearing. But – they were not dog. They were human. His brows drew together as he straightened, staring down. What was going on here? A dog and a human – likely the small boy, judging by the size and depth of the tracks – had entered the clearing, but the boy and a human had left. And the dog certainly wasn't still there.

He swung his head around, searching the park in a fruitless effort. His target wasn't here, and he had no idea where the boy was. His prints had disappeared once he reached the cement city. His only choice was to follow the human prints.

He set off at a quick pace. Next time the boy would not elude him so easily.


Well, that's the end of that. A lot happened in this chapter, setting up future events. It may not seem like it, but the elements are there…

The dwarfs are mentioned only twice (I could only find two references) in the books. Once when Lockhart hires them as love letter carriers and once, very briefly, in the Leaky Cauldron.

Regarding the dwarfs…I do not like the spelling that J.K. Rowling chose for her books. I much prefer 'dwarves' to 'dwarfs', but in the interest of consistency I've kept the spelling in what she originally wrote. Still, it's hard for me to remember not to type 'ves'. Oh well.

Comments? Questions? Random thoughts?