DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.

IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Eleventh
Who We Are

-0-

Ichigo emerged out of the fire into a dark and dingy-looking pub. No one looked up as he stumbled to his feet, wiping dust and ash of his clothes. Mrs. Weasley bustled over to him and, with surprising strength for a woman of her age, hauled him upright.

"Oh, thank Merlin, you made it. Come quickly, we don't want to block the fireplace…" she led him back towards the bar, where a balding old man waved at the pair of them.

"Afternoon, Molly! Who's that you got there? Not another one, I 'ope," he called, grinning toothily. "I gotta new batch o' Gillywater just in from Australia, care for a glass?"

"No thanks Tom," Mrs. Weasley replied, ushering Ichigo through a door near the back. "I've got lots of shopping to do before term starts, all those books to buy… here we are," she said, stopping at a wall near the back and drawing her wand. "All right. One up, three across…"

The brick she had tapped wiggled. Then the one next to it twitched, and then the next one, and the next one, and within seconds the wall had vanished, replaced by a magnificent stone archway.

"Come on, this way," she urged, dragging Ichigo by the arm. "We need to stop at Gringotts first."

"'Gringotts?'" Ichigo repeated, eyes darting back and forth at the various shops that lined the alley. Dozens of witches and wizards in robes of varying colors filled the streets: teenage students weaved around the adults, trying to do some last-minute shopping, small children hurrying back and forth clutching sweets, vendors hawking their wares – Diagon Alley was jam-packed with people.

"The wizarding bank," Mrs. Weasley supplied before plunging deeper into the throng. "Come quickly."

Ichigo followed the Weasley matron down the street to a large, marble structure that seemed to be teetering on the edge of falling sideways. He tried not to stare at the small creatures that stood guard on either side of the massive golden doors as Mrs. Weasley led him inside. Behind the gold doors were another set, these ones solid silver, bearing an inscription:

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed;
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned: Beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Friendly, aren't they?" he commented idly, eyeing the guards warily. They glared back, shifting the large halberds in their hands threateningly.

Mrs. Weasley shrugged, walking up to one of several long lines in front of the desks. "They're goblins. Bill told you about them, didn't he?"

He frowned for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I remember." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Er – Weasley-san, how am I paying for everything?"

She waved him off, stepping forward to the nearest teller. "Don't worry dear, Professor Dumbledore gave you access to the Hogwarts vault – hello," she said brightly to the goblin. "We'd like to make withdrawals from Arthur Weasley's vault and the Hogwarts trust vault, please."

The goblin glared at her down his long, crooked nose. "You have the key, miss?"

Mrs. Weasley dug around in her handbag for a moment before extracting a tiny golden key at the end of a long chain. She passed this to the goblin, who examined it closely for a moment. Then he pressed a small button on a box near his elbow and spoke in a gravely, rasping language that Ichigo could make neither heads nor tails of. The box seemed to be a communication device, for after a second, another equally harsh voice issued from a tiny speaker embedded in the side. After a moment, the teller nodded curtly. "…That seems to be in order. Ragnok, Griphook!"

A pair of goblins emerged from behind the counter. The first – presumably Ragnok – led Mrs. Weasley toward a small, rickety-looking cart on tracks at the back of the lobby. The teller turned to the remaining goblin. "Please escort him to the Hogwarts Vault office, and get him what he needs. Manager Vogrok has given his approval."

"Yes sir." The goblin – again, Ichigo assumed this to be Griphook – motioned for Ichigo to follow him through a side door and into a long, marble lit by flickering gas-lamps. After a moment Griphook spoke, his voice low and gravelly.

"We will permit you to use our services this one time only, as you have made no move to harm us or our gold, but after today neither you nor your ilk are to set foot in this establishment."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "…Come again?"

Griphook scoffed. "You can hide behind that shell of flesh all you want, Reaper, but that does not change the fact that you are no more human than I."

Ichigo hummed thoughtfully, hands in his pockets. "Ah, I see. How did you know? Most people can't tell the difference between a living and dead soul."

The goblin snorted derisively. "You positively reek of death and blood. Anyone with half a brain could tell you that – which of course explains why the idiot wizards have noticed nothing."

"…Don't think much of them, do you?" Ichigo asked lightly.

Griphook paused midstride to glare at the Shinigami. "They look down upon my people. They believe that they and they alone are the supreme magical being. We are denied the rights and privileges they afford themselves with hardly a second thought. We are not even second-class citizens," he seethed. "You will forgive me if I do not think highly of the fools."

"…I see." They walked in silence through another large, mahogany door, coming to a halt before a heavy steel vault. An elaborate seal decorated the front, featuring a golden lion, silver snake, bronze eagle, and obsidian badger all intertwined around a large letter 'H.' The guard beside the door stiffened at their approach.

"At ease, Bogrod," Griphook said sharply.

Bogrod's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he did not loosen his grip on the long, deadly-looking pike in his hand. Ichigo watched it carefully, alert for any sign of attack. He had bad memories of fighting against Ikkaku's shikai, and he wouldn't have put it past the Gringott's goblins to have put several nasty enchantments on that spear of theirs. Like poison. Or something that kept blood from clotting. Curses weren't entirely unfeasible, either. Besides which, the serrated edge on the spearhead looked rather painful; he didn't know how well Shiro's regeneration abilities could affect a physical body, and he wasn't particularly eager to find out.

"…He is one of…" Bogrod hissed.

"Yes."

"Then…?"

"Manager Vogrok has given his approval. Step aside."

Bogrod reluctantly drew back, though his grip on the spearshaft didn't weaken in the slightest. Griphook approached the vault, laid his palm against an indent in the sprawling gold-leaf carving, and immediately the vault door dissolved into a fine golden dust. Griphook stepped inside, scooped several little gold, silver, and bronze pieces into a small leather bag he'd produced from nowhere, and stepped back out. With a snap the powder flew back into place, leaving a very solid steel door behind.

"Fifty galleons in total. It should suffice for the school year," he snapped. "Seventeen silver Sickles to the gold Galleon, twenty-nine bronze Knuts to the Sickle. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Griphook nodded curtly and whirled around, striding back towards the main lobby. With a brief glance at Bogrod to reassure himself that the guard-goblin wouldn't attack him the second his back was turned, Ichigo followed.

Halfway down the corridor lined with portraits of famous goblins, he said, "Can I ask you something?" The goblin's dark eyes flickered to him, and he took this as a cue to continue. "Is there a particular reason you don't seem to like my kind?"

Griphook turned and fixed him with a level stare. "Our memory is long, Reaper. In the past, your people protected mine from the totenmaske in exchange for our silver and steel. But you have reneged on your end of the bargain – every year we lose half a dozen of our children to them. We are businessmen, Reaper. We do not appreciate being cheated."

And without another word, Griphook pushed open the mahogany doors and ushered Ichigo into the lobby, slamming the doors shut behind him.

-0-

The afternoon passed quickly. Mrs. Weasley took him around to all the shops, collecting the materials he'd need for the coming year. Robe-buying had been an interesting experience, as the sales-witch kept trying to sell him a set of frilly, lurid green robes, claiming they would 'contrast wonderfully with his hair.' Needless to say, Ichigo had refused her offer point blank. The sales-witch was nothing if not persistent, however, and wouldn't let him leave the store without something formal, so with great reluctance he'd selected a black number off a back rack, ignoring the sales-witch's protests that it would look 'absolutely dreadful' on him. Ichigo wasn't sure whether to believe her on that or not, but he'd been wearing black for so many years now that wearing other colors just seemed strange.

At least the black number he'd picked was similar enough to his bankai uniform that it wouldn't be too awkward.

…Hopefully…

Shiro's cackling laughter did nothing to soothe his bruised ego.

After visiting Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, they had gone to the apothecary: a small, cramped store filled with all manner of vials and jars and dried things hanging from the ceiling. Ichigo was unpleasantly reminded of some of the milder rooms in the Research and Development labs ('mild' because there were no live, mutated animals in cages), and he did his best not to think too long or hard on the identity of a lumpy green… thing that might once have been an living creature suspended in a bell jar near the counter.

They stopped briefly at the Magical Menagerie so Mrs. Weasley could pick up owl treats for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. While she waited in line behind a man whose two-headed lizard was shedding lime green scales all over the counter, Ichigo looked dispassionately around at the various creatures on display. While the letter had said he was allowed to bring a pet to Hogwarts, he'd never really even considered it. Pets were something he had neither the time nor the patience for, and it wasn't like he knew how to take care of an animal in the first place.

That was Yuzu's thing. When she was younger she always seemed to bring stray animals back with her to the clinic. Cats and dogs of all shapes, sizes, and colors… She'd tried to convince Isshin a few times to let her keep them, but he always refused, claiming that animals in the clinic would be bad for the patient's health. Allergies, he said. Not to mention it would shed all over everything, which was hardly sanitary.

"(Not like I could take one of you back to Seireitei anyway,)" he muttered under his breath. Ever since Rukia had smuggled that damned rabbit of hers back through one of Urahara's illegal Senkaimon and it had torn up a good chunk of the Kuchiki estate's carefully manicured gardens and – even more horrifying – thoroughly mangled Unohana's flowerbed, the traffic of real world animals had all but screeched to a halt. They'd let Rukia keep Chappy Jr. (mostly because she was fiercely protective of the thing and nobody wanted to be staring down her Bankai), but everything except 'animals necessary to the continued production of basic necessities' – i.e., food – was summarily banned.

Most of the creatures seemed to shrink back in their cages when he approached. Probably intimidated by his reiatsu, he thought absently. He'd gotten a bit better at reiatsu control over the years – enough to use Cero and the odd kidou spell – but it would never be his area of expertise. Another good reason to not get a pet.

"Oh dear, it seems the wafnins have taken a great liking to you."

He jumped in surprise, cursing himself for not noticing the dreamy-looking witch sneaking up behind him. She had scraggly blonde hair that fell to her waist, slightly protuberant eyes, and wore an eccentric collection of clothes from appeared to have been collected from multiple decades. "Er…"

"It's quite possibly one of the worst infestations I've ever seen," she continued blithely. "They're very angry, too. Have you been eating a lot of cabbage lately?"

Ichigo wasn't sure if the girl was being serious or not. "Uh, no. What the hell are wafmims?"

She blinked benignly. "Wafnins. They're insects that infest people's hair and eat their earwax. I've never seen black wafnins before. But then again, I've never really met a thanatos. They must attract a different kind of wafnin…"

Ichigo felt the insides of his stomach grow cold. "A – what?"

"You're one of the thanatoi, aren't you?" she asked. "I've seen them before, you know. There's a pair that live near my house, I talk to them sometimes. Not very often of course, but they're very nice. I've never seen one in normal clothes, though; Daniel and Lauren always wear armor."

"…I have no idea what you're talking about."

She nodded understandingly. "Yes, yes, of course. Dan and Laura don't talk much about it either, I think it's supposed to be secret. Don't worry, I won't tell. What are you doing here, anyway? Are you looking for a pet? I'd get a white-tailed gramdoil myself, since they very much like to eat wafnins. It would help with your infestation, you know. But they are rather hard to come by, since they only live in Brazil…"

Ichigo blinked. "What—? Uh, no, I'm not."

"Well, that's sad. Don't you want any friends? Then again, I don't think you can take animals back to your home, can you?"

He scowled. "…I already told you. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I suppose you did."

Mrs. Weasley bustled over, her arms laden with bags. "Ready to go? Oh, hello Luna dear," she said, taking notice of the blonde girl. "Doing some last minute shopping?"

The girl shook her head, large raddish-shaped earrings clinking loudly. "Oh no, Mrs. Weasley, just stopping by. Daddy wanted me to get a jar of pickled eel livers for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. We're going on an expedition next summer, it will be quite fun I expect. Well, it was nice seeing you Mr. Thanatos, Mrs. Weasley."

The girl vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

Ichigo stared at the spot she had been only seconds before. "…She's an odd one, isn't she?"

"Who, Luna? Yes, I suppose she is," Mrs. Weasley agreed distractedly. "Let's get going. Just the wand, left, yes?"

He glanced at the list, which he'd tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Quickly scanning it, he said, "Yes. That and the textbooks."

"Right. I'll drop you off at Ollivander's, then come back after I've finished at Flourish and Blotts. Is there anything you want me to pick up while I'm there?"

Ichigo paused, thinking. "…No, I think I'll be okay. Thank you for all your help, Weasley-san."

"Think nothing of it, dear. Here we are," she said brightly, stopping in front of a weathered shop. Ichigo peered through the grimy window at the display; a single wand sat on a threadbare purple cushion under the accumulated dust of ages. A sign overhead read 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 392 B.C.'

"Go on in, Mr. Ollivander is waiting."

Ichigo stepped through the door. A bell tinkled from somewhere deep inside the shop. "Hello?" he called, staring around the empty room. He suppressed a shiver; the thick dust and silence were unnerving.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice behind him.

Ichigo jumped almost a foot in the air. A blistering red sphere flew through the air, buzzing past the ear of a pale, silvery-eyed man with wispy white hair to explode against one of the box-lined walls. "Er… sorry about that," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

The man smiled faintly. "Not to worry, not to worry…" He drew a thin wand from inside the sleeve of his robe and with a flick, the scattered boxes zoomed back onto the shelf. "All my storage cases are enchanted with Unbreakable Charms… though I must say, that is the most violent reaction I have seen in many, many years. Well then, what can I do for you today, Mr.…?"

"Kurosaki," Ichigo supplied. "And I'm looking for a wand."

Ollivander nodded, having expected nothing less. "Of course, of course…" A tape measure flew off the counter and into his outstretched hand. "Dare I ask what happened to your old one?" he asked, pulling boxes off the shelves.

"Didn't have one." Ichigo suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was currently measuring the distance between his nostrils, was doing so of its own volition.

"Ah. I see." Mr. Ollivander selected a box from the top of the pile and passed it to the Shinigami. "Cedar, dragon heartstring, ten inches. Whippy. Go on, give it a wave…"

Ichigo took it and, feeling rather silly, waved it through the air. A vase on the counter shattered. Shiro laughed.

"Not that one, then. Try this one: Vinewood, unicorn tail hair. Thirteen inches."

A row of boxes near the ceiling crashed to the ground, scattering wands all over the floor. More laughing.

"No, not that one either… let's see, Birch and phoenix feather, eleven inches…"

And so it went. Ollivander did not seem to mind the wanton destruction of his shop; indeed, the more 'tried' boxes that piled on the floor, the more excited the man seemed to become. "Tricky customer, tricky customer… unusual combination: yew and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches. Rigid. Give it a wave…"

Ichigo took it, mentally preparing himself for another loud crash. To his immense surprise, a number of black-red sparks shot out of the tip, but Ollivander's satisfied smiled faded as the sparks fizzled rapidly away into nothing.

The old wandmaker frowned. "Not a match? I'd thought for certain…" He summoned the abandoned tape measure and examined it closely. "No, there's nothing wrong with it…" he trailed off, eyeing the Shinigami uncertainly. "…I don't think any of the conventional wands will work for you, Mr. Kurosaki," he said at last. "There might be something back in the workroom… I wonder… Follow me, please."

He moved behind the counter and through a door leading deeper into the store. The small workshop was crammed with cabinets and boxes, with a thin layer of sawdust covering nearly every surface. A shelf filled with jars and boxes of all shapes and sizes stood against a far wall.

"You should have told me, Mr. Kurosaki, that you were buying for two," the wandmaker said, clearing wood shavings off the nearest workbench.

"…Pardon?"

"Never in all my years – or even my grandfathers' years – has a wandmaker ever encountered a twin-soul," Ollivander continued, selecting several jars off the shelf.

Ichigo froze, midway through his examination of a box of glittering scales. "…I'm not sure I follow," he said warily.

The wandmaker chuckled. "Oh, I'm quite certain you do. A divided soul… one is two and two are one. Rarely has a true spirit-division been documented in the entirety of wizarding knowledge… Truly, it is a wonder to meet one."

Ichigo paled and slowly set the box back on its shelf, fighting to keep his hands from shaking. So, Ollivander knew. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel Shiro's shock mixing with his own. Even the unflappable Zangetsu seemed unnerved. No one, not even Urahara – though he had figured it out eventually – had been able to deduce the nature of their existence so quickly.

"How did you know?" he asked, echoing both his and the Hollow's sentiments.

Ollivander's silver eyes glinted in the light filtering in through the grimy window. "Most wizards do not understand truly wands, Mr. Kurosaki. To them they are just pieces of wood, little more than tools for casting spells – nothing could be farther from the truth. They are living things, just like you or I. A wand reaches its greatest potential when its magic resonates with its destined partner – its wizard. That is why a one can never get the same results with another's wand.

"There is a rough science for matching resonant wands with their wielders; that is the trial-and-error process you saw in the shop. I thought I had finally found the correct wand for you – too wild for unicorn, too grounded for phoenix; too much power for cedar or pine, but not the right temperament for beech or holly, either." He sighed. "Yew, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches – I was so certain that was the correct combination for you, Mr. Kurosaki. And the wand did react positively – that was the sparks. But it still wasn't the right one." He shook his head. "So why, I asked myself, is it that a compatible wand is not a true match? A split-soul is the only explanation."

Ichigo nodded slowly and breathed a sigh of relief. "…I… think I understand. What should we do? I – we – still need a wand."

The wandmaker smiled faintly. "Oh, it's quite simple, really. The wand chooses the wizard, true, but there is no reason the wizard cannot seek out the wand. Most wizards, however, lack the ability to find the necessary resonance for themselves, thus the need for the testing process. But if the wizard can sense it for himself… You must select the components from these supplies," he said, gesturing to the workbench, where he'd gathered several jars, boxes, and blocks of wood, all arranged neatly in rows. "Feel out with your magic. The correct materials will… call to you. You will know them."

Ichigo hesitated for a moment before nodding. "…Alright."

Shiro?

I'm 'ere.

Let's do this.

Ollivander was nearly blown off his feet by the tidal wave of power that suddenly crashed through the room. The sheer volume of it was enough to cause the oil lamps overhead to flicker and the window to shatter into thousands of shards of glass. It felt like clawed talons had settled around his throat, forcing the air out of his lungs.

As quickly as it appeared, the suffocating aura suddenly vanished. The wandmaker took in great, desperate gulps of air as he tried not to stare in awe at the creature – for surely no mere human could hold such power – who was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I'm – we're – really bad at anything requiring fine control… You said to feel for the resonance, right?"

Ollivander nodded mutely.

"Okay then." Ichigo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling about the room. The materials on the table emitted a weak reiatsu of their own, but all of them paled in comparison to his own flood… but…

…Ya feel that?

Yeah. Ichigo's eyes snapped open, and he stepped over to a tall shelf, looking uncertainly at the items laid out there. Two blocks of wood, one so dark as to be nearly black, another so light as to pass for ivory, and a thin crystal tube containing a number of long, dark hairs.

"Were you successful?" Ollivander asked, coming over to stand beside him.

He nodded. "We think… these."

The wandmaker examined the indicated materials with a raised eyebrow. After a moment he nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose it does make sense in a way… Twin wands for twin souls: one of ebony, the other of aspen wood. And a core of… oh my," Ollivander stuttered, eyes going wide. "Oh my word. Merlin. Thestral hair. Good heavens."

"…Is that bad?"

Ollivander blinked rapidly as though coming out of a daze. "It's a very rare wizard who can use a thestral-hair wand freely. Their magical properties are… volatile, not to mention highly selective. These were collected by my great grand-uncle, Geraint – they've been sitting on that shelf for nigh on three hundred years. I must confess, I am unsure whether I will be able to create proper wands for either of you with it. You… you are positive that this is the correct core?"

Ichigo nodded. "Yes, Ollivander-san. We're positive." He hesitated before continuing. "Will… will you be able to make them?"

Ollivander smiled faintly. "Oh, I shall certainly try, Mr. Kurosaki. But it will take some time…" After a moment he nodded to himself. "Yes, I think that will work. Take the yew wand," he said, gesturing to the battered box. "It is at least a partial match… I will contact you once the new ones are finished."

The front doorbell rang, and Mrs. Weasley's voice called, "Ichigo dear? Mr. Ollivander?"

"Back here, Weasley-san," he called back.

Her figure appeared in the doorway, arms laden with shopping bags. "Have you got your wand, then?" Not waiting for an answer, she looked around the room curiously. "What are you doing back here? He's not causing you trouble I hope, Mr. Ollivander."

The wandmaker beamed. "Mr. Kurosaki simply had a few questions about wand-making, Molly dear. It's rare to meet a youngster with such an interest in wandlore; he'll make a fine wandmaker one day," he said, smiling in the Shinigami's direction. "If he so chooses, of course."

Ichigo smiled weakly.

He paid the old wandmaker ten galleons for the yew wand and shouldered several of the shopping bags, Mr. Ollivander bowing them from his shop.

-0-

Ichigo shut his trunk with a snap and surveyed the bedroom, looking for any missing things he'd forgotten to pack. He, Harry, and Ron had spent the better part of the afternoon collecting their belongings. For what little he'd brought, Ichigo was rather astounded at how scattered his few possessions had managed to become – somehow a spare haori had managed to get trapped in a wardrobe on the first floor, and it'd taken nearly an hour to dislodge the thing from its fangs. He vaguely wondered how it was that a piece of furniture had managed to develop teeth, then promptly decided he really didn't want to know.

"All packed?" Harry asked from the doorway. Ichigo nodded. "Right then, well, come downstairs, Mrs. Weasley says dinner's ready."

The kitchen was decorated with lurid streamers, bright lights, and a red banner hung from the ceiling, bearing the slogan 'Congratulations Ron and Hermione – New Prefects' in gold.

"I thought we'd have a little party," Mrs. Weasley explained as Ichigo and Harry sat down at the heavily-laden table. "Ron, I sent an owl to Bill and your father, they're absolutely thrilled. They're both on their way now. Help yourselves to food, everyone," she said to the room at large.

Sirius, Lupin, Urahara, the pink-haired woman he recognized as Tonks and a tall, dark-skinned man he vaguely recalled as being named Shacklebolt were already there. Moody stumped in few moments after Ichigo had grabbed a glass of water. Harry, Ron and the twins all shot him incredulous looks as they took themselves bottles of something labeled 'butterbeer,' apparently amazed that the Shinigami had turned it down for plain water.

Ichigo ignored them. He had long ago made it his policy to avoid anything even remotely alcoholic whenever he wasn't socially obligated to drink the stuff (like at Kyouraku's parties). The one time Ikkaku had roped him into bar-hopping with Yumichika, Matsumoto, Hisagi, and the rest, he'd woken up in a nondescript village in Rukongai missing both sandals and the top half of his shihakushou and with a pounding headache that briefly made him wonder if Shiro had decided to play Frisbee with several pots and pans inside his head, only to remember that the Hollow – in a moment of unprecedented wisdom – had decided to have 'Playtime with Ken-chan' (as Yachiru called it, and which usually resulted in lots of broken bones, minor concussions, severe blood loss, and the destruction of large amounts of real estate) rather than go out on the town the night before.

Needless to say, Shiro had been less than thrilled with the hangover he was forced to share the next day, which coupled with the injuries sustained when he'd 'played' with the insane Eleventh's captain had him in a sour mood for the rest of the week. Even Zangetsu was annoyed, as the constant dizziness made it impossible for him to stand on his favorite flagpole.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm glad you're here," Mrs. Weasley said when she saw him, smiling widely. "We've been meaning to ask you for ages – could you have a look at the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We're pretty sure it's a boggart, but we didn't want to open it in case it's something really nasty."

"No problem, Molly." Moody's blue eye swiveled upwards, seemingly staring through the ceiling. "Drawing room… desk in the corner. Yeah, it's a boggart," he said, turning to look at Mrs. Weasley with his normal eye. "Want me to get rid of it?"

Mrs. Weasley waved him off, still beaming. "No, I'll do it myself later. We're having a bit of a party, actually," she confessed, gesturing to the scarlet banner overhead. She ruffled Ron's hair affectionately, causing the redhead's ears to turn an odd shade of maroon. "Fourth prefect in the family!"

Moody raised an eyebrow. "Prefect, eh?" The blue eye swiveled to point out the side of his head. Ichigo felt vaguely nauseous just watching it. "Well, congratulations. Authority figures attract trouble, so I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes and hexes, else he wouldn't have appointed you…"

Ron looked mildly disturbed at the idea that he was now a target for curses. Ichigo laughed.

Mr. Weasley (who had arrived a few moments before Moody, along with the pony-tailed son Bill) put a sympathetic hand on his son's shoulder. "I think a toast is in order," he called over the hum of the crowd. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, new Gryffindor prefects!"

The pair of them grinned widely as the chorus of 'Cheers!' went up from the crowd, followed by a round of applause.

"…Course, I was never a prefect myself," Tonks was saying as everyone rushed forward to help themselves to Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking. "My Head of House said I was lacking in certain qualities."

"Like what?" Ginny wondered interestedly.

"Like the ability to behave myself," Tonks answered brightly, taking a baked potato off the top of the pile.

Ginny laughed. Hermione looked like she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown in disapproval. She compromised by choking on her butterbeer.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked, pounding the brunette on the back.

Sirius grinned widely. "You kidding? No one in their right mind would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin here was the good boy, he got the badge."

Lupin snorted into his plate of chicken pot pie. "I think Dumbledore was hoping I would be able to exercise some measure of control over my friends. I'm afraid to say I failed abysmally."

Urahara leaned in, patting Lupin on the back consolingly. "There there, Remus-kun. Such is the burden we in authority must bear. Why, back in the day I had such a horrible time convincing Sarugaki-san to get out of that dark laboratory, out into the sunlight and to finish the stack of paperwork that always seemed to accumulate on her desk… t'was tragic I tell you, absolutely tragic."

"Funny, Hiyori tells it differently," Ichigo drawled from across the table. "Seems to think it was you who let the squad's paperwork pile up."

Urahara paused, looking thoughtful. "Was it?"

The younger Shinigami rolled his eyes. "Urahara, you still have the bruise from all the times she smacked you!"

Urahara winced, patting the back of his head gingerly. "Ah, so I do. Oh well. Kampai!" he cheered, tipping his bottle in the general vicinity of Ron and Hermione. "This stuff's wonderful, almost as good as Shunsui-kun's bicentennial sake… what's it called again?"

Ichigo shook his head at Urahara's antics and made a mental note to stay as far away from whatever the older man was drinking as possible. He wandered through the crowd, nodding briefly whenever someone paused in their conversation to say hello. Moody lumbered over to him, clutching a plate of food.

"That man," he growled. "Who is he?"

"Who, geta-boushi?" asked Ichigo, glancing at the blond, who was attempting to teach Sirius, Tonks, and Remus a drinking song. As Urahara could only remember about a third of the words, the four of them were failing rather spectacularly, but no one seemed to care. "That's Kisuke Urahara. An… acquaintance."

The gnarled wizard sniffed at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose before tearing a strip off it with his teeth. "Know him then, do you boy?"

Ichigo shrugged. "He taught me everything I know. Owe him my life."

"Hm. How'd he get in?"

Ichigo shrugged again. "Same way I did."

Moody's magical eye flickered between Ichigo and Urahara. "So he's like you then."

Ichigo nodded. "Yeah. Older, though. And probably stronger, when it comes down to it."

Moody grunted.

After some time, Mrs. Weasley yawned widely. "Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in. Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? They've got to catch the train early tomorrow. Good night Harry dear, Hermione, Ichigo…"

At the reminder of the time, all the teenagers yawned widely. Harry put his plate down on the table, looking almost longingly after Mrs. Weasley. Ichigo frowned; the boy's mood had been fluctuating chaotically all day, ever since the letters from Hogwarts had arrived. He had a sneaking suspicion Harry was a bit jealous of Ron's being made prefect – judging by their reactions earlier, nobody had expected it – and was refusing to admit it to himself.

Petty, perhaps, but the kid was still young. He'd learn.

"You all right, Potter?" Moody growled.

"Er – what? Oh, yeah. Fine," Harry said. Ichigo and Moody exchanged split-second, dubious glances. Potter was a terrible liar.

"Oh, that reminds me," the gnarled wizard muttered, reaching in the pocket of his robes. "Come here, Potter. I've got something to show you. You too, Kurosaki. You might as well see," he added, gesturing for the pair of them to come closer. Ichigo leaned in, trying to see what Moody was holding. About two dozen wizards gazed up at him, some waving energetically, others shifting awkwardly as though embarrassed by all the attention.

"Original Order of the Phoenix," Moody said, a hint of something like pride in his usual growl. "Found it last night… thought people might like to see it. There's me." He pointed – rather unnecessarily – at what was clearly a younger version of himself minus a couple of scars. "And let's see… there's Dumbledore of course, hasn't hardly changed at all has he? And there's Benjy Fenwick, we only found pieces of him… That's Marlene McKinnon, killed about two weeks after this was taken. They got her whole family, too… Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this. We never found his body… There's Frank and Alice Longbottom, poor devils. Better off dead than what happened to them…" Harry shivered uncomfortably, but Moody didn't seem to notice.

In fact, for a wizard who prided himself on his observation skills, Moody hardly seemed to notice the younger teen's growing discomfort at all as he continued to name the members of the old Order and, more often than not, how they had died. What on earth was he trying to accomplish? Surely he wasn't that dense. "…and… there you go. Thought it would interest you."

Harry froze, breathing erratically and clearly on the verge of panic, as the old auror pointed to a smiling couple sitting on either side of a small, twitchy-looking man. Ichigo saw a flash of vivid red, brilliant green, and jet black before Moody shifted the image so Potter could get a better look.

Moody gave him a rather lopsided smile. "Eh?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, making a half-hearted attempt to sound enthusiastic. "Um… listen, I haven't packed my—"

"What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" Sirius called. Moody turned toward him. Harry took advantage of the man's momentary distraction and fled, slipping through the kitchen door and into the hallway.

Ichigo hesitated for a split second before following. "Oi! Po – Harry! Wait up!"

Harry paused, half-way up the steps to the second floor. "What?" he snapped.

Ichigo ignored his tone. "You alright?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice gentle.

"I'm fine, I'm – oh, who the hell am I kidding," he muttered, slumping down on his step. "You saw that picture, Ichigo. All those people… it's just…"

With a sigh, Ichigo sat down beside him on the staircase. "That's the reality of war, Harry," he said quietly. "Their deaths… it's horrible, but that's how things happen."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know, it's just… my parents were in that photo. They were so… I don't have many pictures of them, you know? And they looked so… happy and carefree… and the man sitting next to them, Wormtail – he's the reason Voldemort… if he hadn't betrayed them… maybe… maybe they'd still be here."

…Oh. That… explained a great deal. No wonder the kid had been panicking. "…Maybe that's what he was trying to tell you," Ichigo said after a moment. It made sense, in a twisted sort of way. "War is coming. Maybe not right away, but soon. That might have been his way of trying to prepare you for it."

"Yeah, well," Harry said dully, "His way is terrible."

Ichigo snorted. "No argument here."

"You were in a war, weren't you?" Harry asked after a moment. "Did… did anyone you know…"

Ichigo smiled sadly. "Ikkaku lost an arm and Yumichika had to learn to walk again," he said quietly. "Hiyori's paralyzed from the waist down and Hanatarou can't breathe most of the time – he had his ribcage crushed near the end – and Kyouraku-san never really recovered from losing old man Yamamoto. No one knows when or even if Hinamori will ever wake up." He sighed heavily. "A lot of people died. A lot of people. Nobody I knew personally, but… We were lucky. Really lucky. None of my friends… There were a lot of near-misses. If it hadn't been for Inoue or Unohana-san, I don't know what would have happened. I know I wouldn't be here." He chuckled softly. "I think I came closer to dying more times than everyone else put together." He suddenly looked much older. "We were lucky the war didn't last longer than a few months, Harry. If it had dragged on… We were lucky. That's it."

"Oh…" After a minute Harry rose. He looked… tired. Confused and exhausted, like he needed a good night's sleep to sort everything out. "I – I think I'll go to bed."

"…Sounds good."

They continued up the stairs. But as they reached the first floor landing, Ichigo paused. "You hear something?"

Harry listened, and sure enough… "Someone's crying. In the drawing room," he murmured, cracking the door open. "Hello?"

No answer. He glanced at Ichigo, who shrugged. He pushed open the door.

Mrs. Weasley was cowering against the far wall, shaking madly and staring, horrified at the figure on the floor. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at the sight of it: Ron's mangled corpse, lying in a pool of its own blood, glassy eyes open and staring…

"What… no…" he whispered. Ron couldn't be dead, he just couldn't—

Wait a minute. He couldn't! Ron was downstairs, gushing to Tonks – Lupin – anyone who would listen about his new broom!

"Weasley-san?" Ichigo called, sounding worried. He looked utterly unfazed by the grisly sight. "Are you alright?"

"Ri-riddikulus!" she cried, pointing her shaking wand at the bloody corpse.

CRACK. Ron's body became Bill's, lying spread-eagled on the floor, long hair askew.

"No… Riddikulus!"

CRACK. Mr. Weasley's corpse replaced his eldest son's.

She bit back a scream. "No… no… riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!"

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Dead twins. Dead Percy. Dead Harry…

"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry shouted, avoiding looking at his own dead body. "Let someone else—!"

She didn't seem to be able to move. Without really thinking Ichigo sprinted across the room and shook her roughly on the shoulder. "Come on, we need to get you out of here—!"

CRACK.

Ichigo froze at the sight that replaced Harry's lifeless body. Cold horror settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and his mind seemed oddly blank. It couldn't be… there was no way… it was impossible… "(…No…)"

The lone standing figure stepped neatly over the mangled corpses, ignoring the way blood splashed up and stained the hem of its white, white clothing. It slid the bone-white mask sideways off its face to reveal a predatory grin.

"(Well well well, what have we here? It's been a while, chico,)" it said, unnaturally red eyes gleaming in the lamplight. "(Far too long. Remember me, Ichigo?)"

Notes:

kampai: a toast, drink, cheers!, etc.

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter eleven. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to JNottle, LaRire, home dawg fo shizzle, Tisha, Shahar Mystral, JessieKage, wrong light, SilverFlameoftheWindScar, animelover1993, One of the Colorless, Daishusi4ka, Furionknight, Basia Orci, ArrancarMaiden, Jiyle, Requiem of Twilight, Obiki Doragon, Brown Cornelia, Mesonoxian, Taio Kaiona, Escapedslave99, Sofia10Soccer (x6), yeah9fun, dragonXXforte, FanFictionFan345, Yami-no-Tamashii, Sadie*spotty (sorry, the document manager doesn't seem to like your name), KianaNic, Anti Rainbows, and mauralucky7 for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

As I mentioned in the last chapter, this is the last of the rapid updates. I too am sad to see this time come to an end, but that is the way the world is. I don't know when I'll post again, but rest assured that it will happen. In the meantime, please don't lose faith in this story! No matter how long the wait, it will continue.

I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know.

Much love and so long for now,
Nesarna
10/26/10