Disclaimer: I do not own either Naruto or Harry Potter.
AN: I'm still Alive! More or less.
XXX
Ninja are people who give up little bits of humanity at a time until they are no better than the corpses they leave behind.
XXX
Lucius Malfoy sat in a bar, nursing a glass of firewhiskey, brooding and contemplating with a degree of concentration he had not displayed during his NEWTS. He was plainly dressed, and his hair had been tied back to a ponytail. There was no need to maintain any airs at all here. This was America, the land where a Malfoy could get drunk in public – without being on the front page for it.
Looking out at the street outside, Lucius could honestly say that he did not like this. The colonies were frankly boring. There were Shamans, and wizards to be sure, but the whole place was infested with muggles! Why couldn't he have chosen a better place to relocate to in times of need? Like Egypt or Australia? Maybe Amsterdam? But no matter. His time here was at an end. The elegant missive that had just arrived had oh so graciously invited him to return safely, because, "The problem has been removed."
What did that mean? Was the terrible monster that Takeda had spoken of with fear tempered by awe destroyed? Or was it that his use had finally been ended and needing to dispose of a Malfoy, they were calling him to them?
He didn't think so, but the Dark Lord had driven some very harsh lessons into his skull. And the most significant one was that those who are useless die. And to an organization like Hakumei, any wizard at all was useless. On the other hand, said organization could just as easily behead him right where he was sitting, in the lap of anonymity.
At least the rest of his family was enjoying it. Narcissa had relished the chance to get out of that stuffy manor and actually have fun. She disappeared for hours on end and came back giggling like a little girl. Pureblood male chauvinist or not, some things you just did not want to know. The muggle city nearby was a possible cause, but at the end of the day, he really didn't care what she did in her free time. Unless it landed him in trouble that is.
Draco on the other hand seemed to be smiling a lot for some reason. It seemed that Hogwarts just did not agree with the boy. Sure, he knew that the whole of Slytherin belonged to the Malfoy heir, but something about the school seemed to make Draco bristle. But he wasn't going to interfere there. Draco would have to learn how to deal with whatever irritated him. Adapt or eliminate, that was how he himself had left his mark on the world all those years ago, when Lucius Malfoy was a more naive eleven year old.
Lucius did hope that it wasn't all those tales about Dumbledore that did it. It would be really something if his son was this way because he didn't like the Dumbledore Lucius had described.
In any case, since the "crisis" was over, he'd go back. Severus would have to remain ignorant for a while. He had no intention of passing along any directly relevant news until the creepy assassins were far far away. From Britain that is.
At any rate, it was at least three days till Draco needed to show up at Hogwarts. And today was as good a day as any to return to the mess that was the wizarding world. Who cared that he was partly responsible for that mess?
XXX
Harry packed away his things into sealing scrolls. He had a lot of things to do, and an unknown amount of time to do it. The happenings of Christmas Eve had left him with a vague feeling of dread. There was no rest for him and he was pushing himself, maintaining forty at a time, absorbing the headache as each one dispersed and another was created. Even then, water clones were drafted to do hard labor. Seals were tested, duties were done. Clones fought grimly, testing the shared combat potential of each of them.
Despite his own feelings on the matter, Harry had gone ahead and painted his scout armor in a dark three tone forest camouflage. Both sides of the plastic had been covered with a near solid mass of lines and kanji, representing the progress that had been accomplished with regard to the neutralization of inbound kinetic energy. It couldn't stop a bullet yet, but it was good for falling from a height or blunt force trauma. The whole thing was then covered with a slightly altered automotive clear coat, providing protection without the annoying gloss. Each individual piece was connected by a harness that was recycled from mountain climbing gear instead of the old Velcro.
Helmet liner and padding kept the ensemble comfortable. The bottom half of a cut down coat wound around the waist, held up by the belt, and open to the front, a creation whose main purpose was to cover his rear and thighs from behind, and provide extra concealment to his legs, by breaking up lines, especially with all the camouflage. This would be needed mostly once his swords were in his hands. At least that's what he told himself. Sometimes things just looked cooler that way, and he didn't want a cape.
Also going with him was weaponry Fox had salvaged forty handguns, lots of ammunition, and his own "inherited" Walther P38. With this came an assortment of knives and odd things he thought he might need, like lots of sheet plastic (if The Come and Go room proved as useful as he desired, there were... possibilities), couple of medical books, some books on physics, and other things that he was curious about. The big book of swords, he left at home. He was more interested in other things for the moment.
XXX
The train station was as noisy as ever. Platform 9 ¾ however was fairly less crowded as there were less people that at the start of the year. Nonetheless, with all the reluctance and foot dragging that was in the atmosphere, reaching an empty compartment was quite difficult. In any case, Harry had not been seated for five minutes before his associate appeared in a whirlwind of action, scattering students and luggage like feathers in a hurricane. But for some ominous reason, she was quiet, eerily so in fact. However, having a lot of things to do meant that Harry used the time in reading five books at once.
The roaming clones were in his new costume/battle armor. Though, the Akatsuki cloak rendered much of the armor's intimidation factor void. Then again, being invisible reduced any possible impact to absolutely zero.
XXX
The train moved slowly at first, then began to pick up speed. People both outside and inside gave their final goodbyes of the day, and there were even people who, in an eerie parody of the start of the year, got on the train after it started moving. In other words it was pretty normal.
Some people though, were not quite in a "normal" state. Other than the obvious cases like Harry and Hermione, there were also people like Draco Malfoy, who was still failing to make sense of all his Father's actions in these past holidays. Or Susan Bones who, along with many others across the country wondered why the ministry was in uproar over something, something that the Daily Prophet had no inkling about.
But, seeing as he was going to be using it anyway, he decided to get into his armor. After all, to put it in storage after all that effort was just criminal. Especially since he had managed to turn paper thin (and about just as strong) HIPS sheets into strong and reliable armor. Yes, he liked the word armor, a lot.
He unsealed and donned the armor, unintentionally giving Hermione a show she cared nothing for. Two minutes and some nifty chakra puppetry had suitably tugged and tightened every strap and belt. The armor harness and armor itself was secure. Now all that was left was his weapons, few as they were.
A Glock 17 and three extra clips went into one of the pouches that scout troopers had on the waist. Although, they were more hidden as the lines were broken by his camouflage pattern. A total of twelve individual knives slid into a myriad of holsters and recesses he had built into the armor. His helmet was secured and its faceplate slammed shut. More puppetry slid metal clamps into place, making taking off the helmet a considerably difficult task. Armor secured, he sat down in his seat, taking out a book on anatomy, seeking new places his weapons could hit to kill somebody. There is no end to learning, no useless knowledge.
XXX
The day of Christmas 1992 was a rather chaotic day. It's not every day that the Ministry had to deal with ship to ship battles in the air, especially ones that, if but for an instant, managed to be visible to every idiot with open eyes on either side of the channel. Some had even managed to take pictures. The conflicting reports given by the various government agencies who fancied themselves responsible did not help at all. The event managed to hit the news, and all the Ministry of Magic could do was to rewrite the memories in such a way as to make it seem like a hoax. Or at least, reduce the number of people who believed it to be true. Retractions of eye witness statements were at an all time high for such a high profile event. And much like all the other mysteries of the world, the "Channel Flying Dutchman" was soon relegated to the realm of conspiracy theorists and the partially insane.
That however did not mean that the magical end had finished with it too. For unlike the muggles, the Department of Mysteries, as well as several broom riders had managed to salvage several pensive memories worth of footage, of flying ships and boats, and the eventual shoot out that took place over international waters. It was a very disturbing sight. Even with two wars against dark lords in recent memory, a full scale organized battle, with standardized troops and equipment (funny how they wrangled that out of the very disturbing sight of a sailing ship performing the naval equivalent of Whack a Mole) was very much out of the comprehension range of the average pureblood. It took one some of the few muggleborn from the DoM to straighten out their pureblood brethren, who were understandably ignorant with regards to ships, firearms, or Star Wars.
On the other hand, there were people who noted that at least one of the escaping craft from Ship A did not head towards the channel, but instead, headed towards central London, where Diagon and more importantly the Ministry itself were located. A joke by somebody that maybe it was an assassination plot against Fudge was enough to send the rotund minister into panic. DMLE was tasked with finding out the "persons unknown suspected to be plotting against the Ministry of Magic and the demise of The Minister himself". Needless to say, lots of people were miffed at having their Christmas interrupted right after lunch. Especially to do a task nobody had the tiniest idea about how to go about doing.
Department of Mysteries had confiscated most of the evidence and memories for study, so the DMLE was left with verbal testimonies, which did not include the descriptions of exactly what they were supposed to be searching for. To be fair, neither did the DoM, but that was no help at all.
The other departments were in even more chaos. A full recall of all personnel followed by not giving anybody instructions meant that all departments save the one dealing with Centaur relations were in absolute chaos.
That was not to say that everyone was running around like headless chickens. Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimengour were personally scouring London in a bid to find traces of what had happened there. Whatever ward had hidden Ship A had been disrupted with the first explosions, and the London bound craft had managed to reacquire the invisible to everything effect not too far away from the ship. They had sent an owl to Albus, something the Minister seemed to have forgotten to do, in the hope of pooling their efforts and making some headway.
Unfortunately, it seemed that for once, Albus had less information than them. It was an unusual situation to say the least. On the other hand, the sight of Dumbledore frowning, a rare sight indeed, did far more to panic two of the most influential agents of Wizarding power than the idea of a group of individuals of some power who may or may not have assassinating the minister as one of their goals.
Albus Dumbledore was quite fed up with having foreign nationals traipsing about the country he represented internationally and more to the point lived in. So he called together an international meeting that basically asked everyone to please leave the English alone. This in turn panicked a whole different set of people who had just enough intelligence to read between the lines but not enough to figure out how to deal with it. With the diplomatic equivalent of an annoyed yell, the wider western magical community was thrown into organized chaos.
London itself had been thrown into a tizzy. Aurors were searching every corner of London, sweeping the streets and alleys for unusual wards and magical traces. They were quite unsuccessful in catching any of their unknown targets. They were however able to solve twelve very troublesome unsolved cases, sending fifteen men and women to Azkaban and having four of them kissed by the end of the year. But the objective of the hunt remained unfulfilled.
XXX
Wizards weren't the only ones to have headaches that Christmas, and neither was the Channel Flying Dutchman the only big news. The "Christmas day massacre" was also a very newsworthy item, especially when violence of the scale was previously unknown, at least to the general public. Scotland Yard poured over the evidence gathered, which painted a rather grim picture. Two entire groups, who for whatever reason had been working together, had been brutally slaughtered.
The operation had been quick and brutal. The first fifty or so deaths were by stab wounds from a large kitchen knife. The victims had been defending themselves and had been cut down by knife wounds to vital areas. The killers had a marked preference for the neck and heart, and were seemingly content to leave the fatally wounded men to bleed to death, as the seemingly slow, unhurried and bloody footprints attested to. Or even the bloodstained walls that had silhouettes of people leaning against them, waiting for the arterial spray to stop before moving to the next hallway.
The victims themselves were untrained thugs and were not the best of shots, but this was ridiculous. Several different calibers had been noted to be fired, including 9mm, 10mm auto, .45 ACP, .40 S&W, .44 Magnum and .357 Magnum. After many had died though, the killers had run into more defended areas of the building, with steel doors and tables to provide cover. At this point, they had begun using the weapons previously fired at them, although, seeming to prefer just the 9mm to kill the remaining men. With this, the attackers had managed to kill men wielding sub machine guns and shotguns. Only god knew what kind of villains now threatened the peace of their great country.
The place had been thoroughly emptied of anything useful, but the casings and the evidence had been untouched, as if this was a calling card or a challenge to the authorities. Money, paperwork and even clothing had been taken. But a few million pounds worth of drugs had not, neither had the alcohol or the vehicles. It was a mystery to be sure. Some investigators theorized that it was some sort of operation to recover some valuable item the gangs had been in possession of. Others believed that it was a message to whoever had been backing the drug operation. A third theory was that it was some kind of demonstration of skill. Whatever the case, lots of people were losing sleep. The fact that the very valuable drugs had not been taken was not helping. The not taking of drugs was putting some serious holes in the popular suspects.
Every round fired had their casings accounted for, except for about twenty or so revolver fired ones. The entire structure however was free of the weapons themselves. The killers were quick and used identical bladed weapons. None of the victims were restrained in any manner and were in the process of defending themselves with the missing firearms when they were stabbed at close range. Some of the wounds were by thrown knives, based on the wounds and their positions. They used footwear identical in size and tread pattern, left no fingerprints and did not use any of the by then blood covered exits. It was a frightening scenario; a team of highly skilled soldiers who brought knives to a gun fight…and won. It was like the plot of a bad Hollywood action film. And then the government started breathing down their necks.
XXX
Hogwarts itself proved insulated to the strange happenings of the outside world and went on by its usual pace. But things always change.
Harry stopped being paranoid and cut down his shadow clone usage to just the immediate area. Hermione seemed to be regaining tact and was less brazen in her efforts to be entertained. The first feast after Christmas proved that when Harry did not feel like a frog on a dissection table throughout the meal. It seemed the random girl had finally found other things to do, at least for a little while.
Harry found that he was going to need to slow down. His body was in peak physical condition at the moment and only puberty could change his body now. He was already the tallest in class, but knowing what his adult form looked like from that experiment with the aging potion, he couldn't wait to be back in that body, permanently.
On the other hand, having less to do with his real body meant he was now spending a lot of time with his peers. Being a Ravenclaw, most just assumed he had finally burnt out and needed a break. Human beings are not built to handle learning day after day for months on end. Most first years hit that limit in a few weeks. And afterwards, they learnt mostly in the privacy of their dorms or common room. Outside, they became more approachable, especially by other houses. It was something that happened year after year.
With more free time, Harry took the time to physically talk to people, feeling the need to at least interact with people who were not mentally identical energy constructs. Talking to yourself was all well and good until you realized that you had differences in opinion with yourself.
He discovered that the people around him had their own areas of expertise, even if they weren't meant for killing anybody. Some could sing. Some could dance. Some were avid puzzle solvers. Some played chess. Each houses had different people, and they were all unique individuals who had their own stories. The muggleborn especially were not from a perfect world. Not everyone was a well adjusted model citizen after all. It was fun and rewarding to connect with people. And Harry was not so heartless as to close off his soul from the people around him.
It started slowly of course. He began to talk to the students in his own year, not ignoring them with that 'somewhere else' look on his face. And he made small talk like all the other people did. For entire stretches of time, he practiced his ability to socialize. And after so long a time without it, he was socializing. After Hermione, he was extremely happy to interact with normal people. Perhaps because of her, he started his efforts to reach out with the most unlikely person to ever start anything with.
He reached out to Neville Longbottom.
And he did it because they were both at a similar level with regards to the social ladder of first year. They were on the fringes, even more so than the most stereotypical Ravenclaw. Apparently, a Boy-Who-Lived who spent his time reading was too disappointing to even bother talking about. His planned slide to obscurity had, for the moment at least, succeeded a bit too well. He had reached the bottom of the Hogwarts pyramid and was now absolutely out off allies and associates. So he had sought out a person who had the most potential out of his year mates. A potential he could cultivate, helping both them and him in time.
He considered many people who had diverse backgrounds and limitations. Eventually he chose someone he could see a disturbingly buried potential in. much like his own school days, Neville seemed content to wrap himself in obscurity, letting everyone surge ahead in their grades while he only bothered with Herbology. Harry would have been suspicious, except that Neville lacked a controlled obliviousness in his actions. No, this was entirely subconscious. It was only when he had begun to look for this sort of thing that he had noticed the hidden depths. Unconsciously clenching fists, tightening of muscles in his arms, and the curiously wizard specific "wand twitch" where the hand automatically turns to a grip, without the wand being present. And Harry knew that only he and maybe that Japanese spy could have understood, just what demons lurked within the Longbottom, waiting to be unleashed.
That is not to say he had not talked to others first. No, he definitely wasn't going to emulate his tragically hyper acquaintance by latching on to the first person that intrigued him. He had taken the time to talk with a surprised Hogwarts first year. Herbology had been spent helping his "peers" and in hallways, he took the time to speak to those he hadn't. Spy networks were nice, but they really didn't substitute for real conversation, where you had some control over what people talked about.
It was galling to realize that even if he could kill or subdue any of these people in a myriad of ways, he was still lagging in conversing with people his own age. Hermione hadn't helped. He could act as cultured and refined as a royal or as straightforward as a bar brawler, but speaking to kids his own age simply eluded him. It was perhaps fortunate, that Ravenclaws were stereotyped as having low social interaction skills.
Still, he had learnt a lot more about his classmates. Like the fact that the most common complaint among the muggleborn were not a lack of television, but telephones. Or that certain Slytherins were very knowledgeable about his Gringotts account. Or that Ron Weasleys father had managed to permanently enchant a Ford Angelina into a flying car. Or that Justin Finch-Fletchley, was simply put loaded. And all the while, Hermione continued to be absent.
Neville Longbottom was not much to look at but he was rather friendly. Some may have called him pathetic, but Harry was of a different mind. He knew that once puberty hit, all that baby fat would disappear, and Neville would prove to be quite a different person. And Harry was quite fascinated by the young mans ridiculous affinity with plants. While everyone else had found such a talent useless, Harry was far more open minded. He only needed to think about the First Hokage and he was curious about this seemingly magical ability to grow and nurture life. There was also an aura of loneliness that seemed to emanate off the boy, a loneliness that Harry had far too much experience in himself. Of course, this loneliness was overshadowed by the repressed irritation the boy gave off. Simply watching the play of muscles on his arms when somebody made fun of Neville was interesting enough. That boy had a hell of a lot of repressed issues, and all subconscious by the look of it. But Harry knew that Neville would be fine. Because once you work through your problems, the only way left is up.
Corrupting the tragic hero. Yes, Neville Longbottom was going to find that life can be full of surprises. And while Harry didn't know if and how their parents had known each other, he was not going to let such untapped potential go to waste. The Longbottom name was still worth something, and Harry was very willing to ally himself publicly with its latest heir. And if they became friends along the way, it was so much the better.
XXX
Harry was sitting on top of the tower. The moon shone down in the darkness, lighting up the castle and the forbidden forest in a spine tingling manner. He felt anticipation and longing. A desire to explore and discover the secrets of that forest. What mysteries would he uncover? What tales lay, waiting to be told in the crypt like silence and unnatural stillness of the woods? What manner of men had journeyed before him, and been lost to the world ever since?
The forbidden forest was no small patch of woodland. It was a maze and a trap, designed to both sustain and imprison its denizens. An illusion even more massive than the one that kept Hogwarts from muggle eyes kept the forest from magical eyes. There was energy that hung over the place. This was a lake of nature chakra, and it called to him whenever he looked at the forest. No illusion hid the grandeur of millennia of growth. There was no doubt that this forest was a relic of ages past, more magnificent than ever.
"One day", he promised himself. "One day, I shall venture forth and discover the roots of that place... And perhaps others shall join me"
XXX
Professor Quirrel, DADA professor and willing host to Lord Voldemort, lay wracked in pain in his quarters. The moans of pain went unheard from outside the warded room. He lay on his side, because the Dark Lord was not one to let his face be smothered into a pillow, no matter whether he could breathe or not. Not that he had slept at all after the two met.
"Ma-Master! The- rej-AAAAH!- rejection is getting worse!"
An agony no potion could cure, Quirrel was being torn apart from the inside out, and feeling every tiny bit of it. It was a good thing that he only experienced it at night, a time that he was not exposed. The tiny sips of unicorn blood forcefully taken, was too little to compensate for the negative effects of the rejection of the union between parasite and host. Not to mention that the blood, from a Knockturn dealer that ventured into the forbidden forest, cost a great deal of galleons that had nearly depleted his cache from Albania. Relying on that man was foolhardy at the best of times.
The Dark Lord on the other hand was patently unsympathetic. He was experiencing an equal amount of pain and he was hardly inconvenienced. His dark rituals, that had painstakingly shaved away slivers of his damnable humanity, inch by miserable inch, had been far more painful. Nevertheless, it was time to use his backup plan. Dumbledore's defenses were far too annoying when he was at a fraction of his power. Trapped in a body not his own, he had to wring out every bit of utility he could if he wanted to succeed. It was truthfully more aggravating than when he had been turned into a formless wisp of spirit.
"Quirrel... the Unicorn Blood...you know what must be done"
Even under the prospect of agony and with his mind twisted by the presence of Voldemort, Quirinus hesitated for an instant before he bent his masters will. Still, it took an effort to master his words to some semblance of normality. He would have to ignore the pain for now.
"It shall be done."
And then he took his cloak, schooled his face and departed to the forbidden forest, limping at times when the pain was too much. That night, the first of the unicorns were killed. The only option they had was the mass consumption of unicorn blood. And then Lord Voldemort turned his mind to even more risky moves he could make.
First the hound, and then the rest of those "traps" would fall. Immortality would be his!
XXX
Harry looked around the room of requirement. Once again, it was in the "Hall of Blades" that Hermione had used to demonstrate how to use weapons. And once again, he was looking at the various weapons there were. Despite his desire for the straight and long, he was finding that with his current choice of "working clothes" he wouldn't have much space to store them. Not to mention, dual wielding and elemental manipulation was not something he was fully proficient in. so it looked like his best bet was to either compile a seal formula for developing wind chakra along a blade edge or mastering his wind affinity till its use was unconscious. Unfortunately, his ability in the cutting aspect of wind, while considerable progressed way too slowly for him to use it in a battle ready condition anytime soon. Cutting leaves? Done. Covering kunai in a lethal envelope? Easy? Doing the same to a sword? Work in progress.
So for the moment, he was trying out other blades. Clones were trying out basic stances in a variety of weapons, testing not only his adaptability to unfamiliar weapons, but his ability to use them as weapons. The only problem was that he was really bad at it. He was for the moment better at knives, considering his body and experience. The original took a pair of Chinese broadswords, also called Dao and spoke up.
"Ok guys, lets begin!"
Instantly, everyone stopped everything else and charged him with their current weapons. And Harry grimly began to fight back.
Fighting multiple opponents simultaneously is very different from fighting one on one. For one thing, your mind is forced to consider the actions of many people at the same time as it is busy fighting. Inexperienced fighters can be quickly overwhelmed from the sheer mass of information they need to possess. At the same time, you also have to be focused on the here and now. On the other hand, very few people can engage a single person at a time, simply because there's only that much space to fight a person with, especially if others are also trying to use that space. With coordination, a group of people can take out a single person with minimum strain on the individual.
Harry's clones were somewhat equal to Harry. Their attacking ability is equal to his, their mental aspects were almost equal to his (with a small reminder that they are expendable and that they are subordinate to his will) but their survival on injury ability was nonexistent. They might take scratches and falls, but a direct hit that could stun the original would disperse the clone. Any impact or skin penetration that might discomfort the original would disperse the clone. As a result clone tactics placed a higher emphasis on evasion as opposed to blocking. But they were an extremely well coordinated force, operating with a synchronization that most people could not imagine, never mind achieve. And with the fact that their memories returned to the original, each new "generation" of clones were that much more effective as a team. And his practice of assigning tasks to his clones had even given him, and consequently them the ability to operate in squads of various numbers.
So, this fight was not actually one in which Harry systematically destroyed his clones. Rather, he was facing himself with many weapons. And his saving grace was that most of his clones were less used to their weapons than he was with his pair of Dao. Of course, even with the clones gone, everyone still needed to deal with the weapons that were left behind and littering the floor. It was a complicated dance that didn't seem to end. And every now and then, a clone would manage to strike him, sometimes almost running vital organs through. So as the fight continued, Harry had been stabbed multiple times and his clothes were being disintegrated. Still, his ability to deal with damage was being tested, even if the clones wouldn't complete a kill strike.
Another factor in the fight was that each clone dispersed their memories to everyone else. Thus each dispersed clone sent a dizzying wave of memories to the others, distracting them and making them lose focus. Still, their fighting was improving and with each clones memories, Harry improved a tiny bit. A single training session like this increased his combat ability immensely. Of course, he couldn't do them all the time. Even if he was the last one standing, he still had to spend energy healing and then spend more time recovering from the fatigue and the chakra drain.
This session however involved Harry fighting a variety of weapons. The clones used hit and run tactics, using their coordination to prevent as many losses from each wave as possible. But still, Harry was gaining an insight from each kill, both from how he was able to use it and from what the clones concluded from their observations. It was a quick and dangerous method of learning the weapons he had chosen, especially since his clones were trying for almost lethal strikes. Simple need pushed him to proficiency in weapon usage. Unfortunately, this was not something applicable to elemental manipulation.
In the end, the skirmish ended. Harry was still standing, but he was bleeding from multiple cuts and his clothing was nearly in shreds. It was a very good thing that his small repertoire of spells included the simple but effective Reparo. Still, he was injured and by conventional standards he should be dying. However, his natural healing factor tended to keep him up and running even with three broken ribs and both lungs punctured. He might not be a hundred percent, but he would be functional until he could heal himself. He decided though, to keep a low profile. He would let sleep do its job as it had done all those years ago. Still, he whipped his head about when he sensed something unusual.
"Hullo Harry!"
Harry looked around automatically and was rewarded with the sight of a near naked Hermione with bat wings, horns and tail. His hands went slack. There was only one possible explanation.
"Aurora", he deadpanned, and once assured it was not a hallucination promptly turned around.
"Don't be like that Harry! We have so much fu~nnn together!" the stress on fun was far too ominous for him to take and he began replacing the weapons on the wall in a quick but methodical manner.
"Harry! Don't ignore me!"
Upside down, pouting, near naked Hermione...
"Fine! And I had this great idea for your ninja stuff too!"
Harry was interested, but didn't show it. He knew that as something not exactly human, the priorities of the mad duo were different. They also seemed to think in bizarre and sometimes weirdly intuitive ways that did not seem to match human logic. So he turned around and as blandly as spoke he could, which is a great deal blander than most can imagine.
"You got me. I'm listening"
"Really? Ok, its like this. Remember how this is the Room of Requirement? What if you required that you wanted the rest of that storybook you liked to read so much?"
Harry of course, was not too ready to acknowledge that something like this was possible. It was magic after all.
"Oh sure! Like all I have to do is say I want the whole collection of Naruto manga and I want it ri...ght... he...re... hmmmm. That was unexpected."
Indeed, about two feet away from him in the direction he was pointing was a stack of yellowing books. There was no mistaking the dimensions or the font or even the cover page on the thing. It was a set of his beloved, if rarely taken out manga. And it looked a great deal bigger than his last set.
Of course, he was far too set into his own training to suddenly be able to switch for new paths. Then again, nobody said that he couldn't get some ideas...
He shook himself out of his thoughts to see Aurora still exactly as he left her, still grinning.
"You owe me Harry!" and she vanished into the walls. Harry quickly got a clone to pick up the stack and try to head out of the room, with the stack. If it was an actual item, he would be able to carry it out. If not, it would disappear. A few seconds later, the clone was back, with a frown, and the books. It had disappeared. Harry slowly matched his clone's expression. He would have to read it here then, not really a problem. Shadow clones could use the room as well.
XXX
It wasn't long after school reopened that Hagrid quickly reported the lost unicorn, a creature of such purity that it would take a considerably dark and malicious entity to harm, let alone kill one. And whoever had done it had viciously slaughtered the beast, ripping open the magically resistant hide and splattering blood everywhere, the likely objective. And to forcibly extract or harvest any part of the pure light creature was to curse it forever, be it horn, blood or even hair. The fact that it was so close to the school was not lost to the headmaster, and neither were the implications of just why somebody would consider taking unicorn blood. A person who imbibed unicorn blood would be able to survive even if at deaths door, but it was not without its own price. The very act of consuming the ill gotten and consequently vile blood of the pure creature cursed you. And although many people were not aware of just what that meant, Dumbledore was.
Breakdown.
Breakdown of body, breakdown of magic, breakdown of sanity. The victim, or in this case criminal would degrade at the cellular and metaphysical level. And the only way to recover from the damage was to further consume the vile fluid. And the need would grow and its ability to stave of the breakdown would become less and less, until all that was left was a magicless, insane husk of a human that could not move and could not be killed by mortal means, much like an inferi. Except that eventually, the body itself would slowly dissolve into nothingness. And the most horrifying part of the process is the fact that forcibly taken unicorn blood cannot be unwillingly drunk. Only a desperate and foolish soul might even consider such a thing, to willingly subject themselves to the unicorn blood curse, even if they were not aware that it was so terrible that it made the unforgivables look tame.
Of course, the miracles of blood willingly given are not something even Dumbledore knew about, save that it was said to have immense powers that were the ultimate expression of purity and the light.
But the issue here was not the blood, but who. It wasn't a leap of faith to assume that they had a plan to obtain the philosophers stone, because only such a thing could provide true immortality, a way of staving off the breakdown, perhaps forever. And the reason for that was simple. Alchemy, the art that spawned the innocent looking rock was an entirely different form of magic, one that did not obey the rules of "wizarding" magic, the rules of which unicorns came under. If they succeeded, it would be like having a person who could not swim on the sinking ship getting saved by the broom. If it stopped working, he would still fall into sea and drown, but until then, he was safe. And that was to say nothing of the dark arts that could undo even that damage, at cost.
Of course, following that train of thought, there were few people who could possibly aware of the fact that the elixir of life could theoretically stave off the effects of a unicorn blood curse. Voldemort was unfortunately one of them, having long ago stolen enough alchemy books in his quest for immortality to notice that fact. And considering that Voldemort was a spirit and would not be affected by a unicorn blood curse, it was pretty much all but confirmed that Voldemort had an ally or servant who was hosting the currently pathetic dark lord. Quirrel unfortunately seemed to be the likely suspect. And there was very little that would actually exonerate the man if you considered Dumbledore's intellect and knowledge. But the headmaster could not act against him either. The man had yet to commit an actual and obvious crime. And serving dark lords thought long dead or killing unicorns without leaving any implicating evidence was not considered a valid reason to terminate the DADA teacher. So as unfortunate as it seemed, the only strategy Dumbledore could follow was let the man fail to get the stone and die in his attempt. With the way the magical world was currently, Dumbledore could not afford to be softhearted in his own backyard, not when a headache was imminent at every juncture. Supreme Mugwump...it was a most bothersome responsibility.
XXX
Harry put down his new books with a great deal of satisfaction.
Naruto...
Had it been so long since he had been cowering inside a tiny cupboard, reading in the dead of the night, all the while trying his utmost not to make the paper crinkle? And here he was now, learning the skills of his parents while hiding his own in plain sight. A journey beyond mere words and he was still on it.
The latest additions to his Naruto information were not unwelcome. Honestly, after seeing a slice of the real world, he no longer overly sympathized with one person or the other. He was far more interested in the skills and the jutsu used, and also the tactics used in a war that seemed to be all in the head of...someone. At the moment, the one set of techniques he wanted to emulate was space time ninjutsu. Harry was not stupid. The first few hundred chapters had nothing on the deluge of info that a great shinobi war against the masked guy covered. Between the techniques of the dead, and the not dead, he had no doubt that his next two hundred years could easily be filled with research and training. But he also knew that he was far more advanced than an eleven year old ninja had any right to be. Kakashi, Itachi, Minato, the list of child prodigies was enormous. None of them had the arsenal and power that he could claim at eleven. Even a book could tell him that. Simply his shadow clone and genjutsu usage made him, if nothing else, a very annoying foe. And he also had ninjitsu and fuuinjutsu to back him up.
Of course, the problem was, just when you figured out how good you have it, something happens to disturb that nice state of bliss. He just had to figure out where it was going to go wrong and hopefully ride it out without dying too soon.
Where did this sudden acknowledgment of mortality come from you ask? Ironically, it probably had something to do with the fact that somebody finally established numbers for the whole Naruto universe. The allied shinobi army was 80,000 strong. The enemy had 100,000 Zetsu clones and a plethora of dead and live A to S class ninja. And so he got thinking.
Everyone dies. Peace is a prelude to war. If you have skill, somebody is going to wind up testing it.
And also, what were the numbers for the wizarding world, an armed society if ever there was one? How many S class combatants lurked around here, like Voldemort or Dumbledore? Who else in this often twisted realm possessed such power, quite literally in the palm of their hand? It made you wonder.
XXX
The Dark Lord Voldemort grinned. It was a decidedly unpleasant expression, especially for the back of somebody's head. The unicorn hunts had been a staggering success. The fresh blood had been a supremely powerful substance and Quirrel was still alive, for a while longer. It was time to move forward, and he knew exactly how to strike. Half a century ago, Reubus Hagrid was his scapegoat for the Chamber of Secrets. A half dim half breed who was a delightfully manipulated pawn. And it was the groundkeeper's time to act in this play, the role of the gullible idiot. Quirrel had access to some black market dealers. It was simple enough to procure a rare and dangerous beast to loosen those lips. And once the Cerberus was gone, he would be able move forward with his own experience in magic and the dark arts. Of that, he was certain. And what he had was more than up to the task. It was a dragon egg, a Norwegian ridgeback. Such a perfect little beast….
XXX
Outside Hogwarts, things were dire. Hakumei London based operatives were getting antsy in their idleness. With the loss of contact with the mainland, there was nothing to do. Not that it was uncommon. Both Ninja and sorcerers of Chinese and Japanese nationality were basically marooned on their respective locations. It was a basic precaution. Limit the wars to the countries at war. Do not operate in nations outside realm of conflict. Maintain secrecy. Resolve conflict speedily and decisively.
They were ideas their people died by. To avoid wasting resources in pointless aggressive action, because needless expansion would destabilize your own territory. For all their power and military capability, all these nations were most powerful on home turf. Both Japan and China were in a sense both divided and united. Everyone was happy with the status quo. And a complex system of give and take kept internal politics peaceful and harmonious. It was a quirk of a nation populated by scholars; they preferred their own land, where they could experiment in peace. Having a monarch meant you needn't bother with fighting either, other than any conscription and voluntary service. There was a reason that China, with its invincible battle mage armies did not practice conquest, unlike the non magical side, which was perfectly agreeable to gaining power in that manner.
Part of the reason that China kept to its borders was knowledge. Chinese sorcerers tended to be long lived storehouses of knowledge who looked down on those who sought violence and power. What they had, was what they considered true power. Knowledge was priceless, and the having knowledge and ability, having impossible ways to do impossible things; that was what it meant to be a sorcerer. In a way, they matched a certain stereotype that said that magic users were white bearded fellows who sat in their towers and kept to themselves. They had no use for money, human interaction and material things. Well, the wise ones didn't. And much the same was true of the Japanese sorcerers.
However, any bureaucracy was filled with young ambitious fools who knew too much and too little. What was the use of conquering Japan/China anyway? It was better to leave them alone. Plotting against each other was pointless and the wise knew it. So the wise developed a System. Each time a war was declared, there were rules. No direct combat, mano e mano, as some might say, was permitted. Instead pitched battles were fought at range by a fixed number of people, in designated areas that allowed the participants to show their capability at honorable slaughter. And then there were ships and engines and other weapons, all restricted in number and quality and played like a game of chess, or a tabletop war game. Outside interference was not permitted. No bombardment of territory was permitted. And the rules were enforced by the sky, the sea and the land. When one side was exhausted and unable to continue, you had a victor. It meant that at the end of the war, enough useful people were still alive, the governments were still running and except for a few treaties that said that X party will deliver to Y amount of Z thing, life went on. To the long memories of both nations, unrestricted warfare just resulted in lots and lots of dead. Sorcerers might be battlefield nightmares, but even they had to sleep, and Ninja had long blades and longer reaches. The last breach in this agreement had not been pretty. Neither were the penalties imposed by a furious set of really old people who had purpose.
Unfortunately, the same system that kept things going well shut out anyone who was outside at a time of conflict, maybe for decades if you were unfortunate. It was a quarantine that isolated the warring states. Even as huge yet invisible explosions battered the skies of the East China Sea, Yellow Sea and the Sea of Japan, many agents of both countries were stranded; their duty paused as their higher ups decided who the victor in their seemingly petty squabbles was. Still until their communication lines were restored, they had to officially do nothing. Whether it was the bald Japanese fellow in Mogadishu, or the one legged Chinese man in Amsterdam, they were all stuck. Most however had duties that were not dependant on constant over watch by headquarters. Tetsuya was one of them. As a long term operative, he was supposed to continue in the passive aspects of his mission. However, the massive support system that was previously available was now simply nonexistent. This meant that weapons, medical care, gear and even underwear were now on their own dime. With war, hidden and unseen as it was, all accounts were frozen which meant many, many things when you're in some blighted land without anything to do.
Not that it stopped anyone. With nothing to do, the ninja in London took the time to scout and map out London, its magic, its mafia, and its muggles. Know thy enemy, was something the super powered secret agents could appreciate. Also important were knowledge of the military, the investigation of their vessels remains and the procurement of supplies. You couldn't march into the middle of a supermarket and buy what they needed without courting trouble. They didn't have papers for one thing, and it wasn't in anybody's plan to be marooned on some faraway island without supplies. And Britain was crawling with spooked Aurors. For a while even the magical side was unsafe. Thankfully, the Hogwarts squad could hold out for a while.
XXX
Jeremy Wilkinson pored over the files at his desk with a vengeance. Drug battles of this scale were rare and usually less mystifying. The follow up violence from the slaughter had left another fity dead as everyone dabbling in organized crime began to make noise over the event. Just one week to put more than a hundred low and mid level criminals into body bags from violent death. The lack of intelligence regarding the inner workings of the underworld meant that the law had no idea how to respond or even who to blame. Their limited sources had only painted a grim picture. A few more sparks and they would have a minor civil war on their hands. There were even some who would prefer that the investigation not uncover anything, because a definite perpetrator would just be a reason to start something.
Not that there were any clear evidence to pointing at anyone. There was no sign at all of an attacker. There was no DNA no fibers no nothing. It was as if a ghost had taken solid form and began to slaughter them all. The foot prints suggested the perpetrators were identical in external equipment and profile. The idea that it was just one person was beyond ridiculous. They were already looking at anyone with military background and mercenaries. Having equipment with a price tag having many zeroes seems kind of useless now…
XXX
In a well lit room at the top of a skyscraper, an oddly dressed man sat at his desk, staring over steepled fingers at the person before him. Wearing a suit and with neatly combed black hair, he was the very picture of a businessman.
"That didn't work out too well did it?"
The woman in front, dressed in a red cheongsam grimly shook her head.
"No it did not, sir"
The man appeared to not notice the tension.
"So we'll have to try again some other way. That seer had her uses, but now it's impossible to use her again. Still, an S class demon in Britain of all places. What an inopportune element."
The woman nodded. "But sir, shouldn't it have done something already? The classification doesn't lie, and neither did the sensors. The ship detected the same signature that I fed into it. Our lie seems to have been the truth all along."
The man sighed and stretched his arms. He drummed his fingers on the desk, seemingly in deep thought.
"It may be strange, but in the darkest night are the brightest stars. As soon as the war finishes we may have to move into that backyard. It would be inconvenient to our goals if a portion of the planet were to vaporize just like that."
The woman froze.
"Surely you are not…? We still have to finish those ships, and he can only hold off the Imperial Court for so long"
"Patience my dear Hornet, we have time, more than a couple of years, if you recall. All we have to do, is get rid of those pesky Ninja. We may have failed at avoiding direct warfare, but never fear, there are more ways than one to the destination, and we have merely met a dead end." As his chair swivelled around, the man looked at the Chinese sunrise and grinned. Yes, plenty of ways to reach a goal.
XXX
A/N: And that s the next chapter. Having forgotten my story, having lost my notes, I despaired that this chapter would remain at 4k words for the rest of eternity. Still, I put up this chapter, don't expect the next one for a while. But don't let that stop you from praising or cursing me in your excellent reviews.
Some people have mentioned that the presence of overpowered anything is a turn off for them, but it should be obvious for them that I haven't put up any overwhelming displays from the any character at any time, well I try not to. Power isn't a guarantee of success and neither is it a sign of invincibility. And I've finally supplied the reason why the so called all powerful country sticks to its own borders. They're populated mostly by senile old men who behave like misers atop their gold pile murmuring "my preciousss" all the time. Its my story, and I'm sticking to it. Feel free to bring out your opposition as a well thought out argument.
Anyway, I'm getting a headache from sitting at this keyboard and hammering away. Hopefully when I wake up, I'll see some response *hint*hint*nudge*nudge*
REEEEEEEEEEEVIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE EEEEEWWWWWW! Please!