Summary: When Harry's heritage becomes unsealed, who will teach the boy to master the "Power the Dark Lord knows not"? Set during Harry's sixth year and eight years following the Naruto series (Making Naruto and Sasuke 20).
Authors Note: The story is rated R as it contains extremely graphic violence (with Naruto and HP combined what did you expect?), as well as a lot of profanities and implied (and possibly more) Slash. If you don't like these, don't read. You have been warned. Also, just to note, this was written after Order of the Phoenix, and follows everything through the first five books. Due to the fact that the Naruto series is not complete, I have invented my own ending.
Pairings: Undecided. As far as I know now there is only going to be heavily implied slash. This does not mean there will be all slash pairings (Ron/Hermione will probably feature but it isn't definite).
Now, without further ado, you can read the Fic.
Note: The Naruto series is near complete AU in this fic. Here they were never Ninja, they were raised as Wizards. Also, there is no such thing as the Byakugan or any other Advanced Bloodline. The only Advanced Bloodline is that of the Uchiha, and this will be explained later.
Chapter 1: Semblance of Truth
Harry felt as though he were floating, surrounded by nothing but the darkness that existed within his subconscious. Memories were flickering there; painful memories that Harry wished he could erase forever. They were spanning his life, all sixteen years, and not for the first time Harry felt he would have been better off dead. .
The memories of the past day had been among the worst. The last thing he could remember was Dumbledore showing up at Privet Drive after whatever Harry had done. His calm demeanour had seemingly evaporated as it had done at the end of Harry's fifth year, showing panic where before there had been sorrow. Harry could remember him, even as he fell away to unconsciousness. This was not the most horrifying, or painful memory of the previous day however. The face of his uncle haunted him; blood covered and ashen. Harry did not know what had become of him. He had not regained consciousness since he fell onto the path of what had once been number four Privet Drive. The fact that he was beginning to remember things lightened him as he returned to the waking world.
The familiar crisp, starched feel of the sheets informed Harry of where he was before he had even opened his eyes. The Hospital Wing in Hogwarts was not a place that was unknown to him; in fact some of his most prominent memories had taken place in the very room in which he now lay. Having his bones re-grown overnight was not an experience he would ever forget. Still, he cursed inwardly that he was now lying there. The school year hadn't even begun yet and he was already hospitalized. Any time now they would present him with his own room, for he was certainly there often enough to make use of one.
Opening his eyes slightly, he closed them quickly as the lights nearly blinded him. He had no indication of how long he had been unconscious; however, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light they settled upon the bottle that sat upon his bedside unit. The large bottle, the label on which was almost unreadable but which Harry eventually made out to be "Dreamless Sleep Potion" , was almost empty. Harry wondered how much of the potion it had taken to put him to sleep, and immediately began worrying of the side effects. He was well aware of the fact that high intakes of the potion could cause addiction, however he was sure that Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, would not have allowed him any more than the minimum dosage.
Sitting up, Harry gasped at the sudden pain that shot through his ribcage. Looking down, Harry slowly lifted the hospital robes he was wearing, eyes widening as they met the many bandages that covered his body underneath. Lowering them slightly, Harry shifted his weight until he was sitting at the edge of the bed, able to step upon to the floor.
His clothes were not hard to locate. As was the protocol of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, they were stored in the bedside unit. It took him longer than he wanted to change, and he hoped that Madam Pomfrey was too busy to check on him before he had a chance to move. The last thing he did was to pick up his wand, placed carefully in a drawer in the bedside unit. The room was still quiet, no sign of the matron anywhere. Three bed seemed to be occupied, the curtains around them pulled back, and Harry was knew at once who lay behind them. Too nervous to look, Harry stole towards the door and out of the Hospital Wing.
He walked through the corridors, limping slightly and careful as he tried not to disturb the bandages that covered his torso. When he had changed he had noticed that not only his torso was injured, but his whole body. His legs were bruised heavily, as though he had been thrown around like a toy. His arms were in much the same condition, littered with more cuts than there were on his legs. He had not had a chance to look at his ribs, the bandages were fresh and Harry was not willing to remove them.
It did not take long for him to reach the gargoyle standing tall at the hidden entrance to Dumbledore's office. He did not know the password, nor was he in any mood for guessing at any number of sweets the headmaster may be using for it. Screwing his hand into a fist, Harry punched the stone gargoyle, hearing the crack of his knuckles as well as the small patch of red liquid left there when he removed his hand. The cuts on his knuckles were deep, and the blood ran down his hand and dripped onto the floor. Harry ignored it, concentrating upon the gargoyle.
"Move it!" he snapped, voice filled with the anger that was coursing through him. He tried to be calm, but with what he was about to do he felt there was really no need.
For a moment nothing happened. The stone remained solid, as though Harry's attack had made no impression upon it, however after several seconds it began to loudly move across the floor. The doorway to Dumbledore's office was exactly as he remembered it, and he ran up the spiralling staircase and barged in through the door.
The occupants of the room looked up at him, neither seeming surprised by his abrupt entrance. Dumbledore sat behind the desk, elbows rested upon it and fingers threaded into a ball. The man opposite him simply stared at Harry, eyes appraising at him as though he were examining a piece of fruit. After a moment, the man cast an uncertain look at Dumbledore.
He was tall. Harry could tell this even though he was sitting. His midnight blue robes parted at his legs, revealing the plain black trousers underneath. His raven hair was spiked, falling nearly to his shoulders at the back and his eyes were dark blue, almost black if only caught at a glance. Harry looked at him, and then at Dumbledore, wondering what silent communication was happening between the two, and what the two had been talking about before he had ran in.
The silence in the room was nearing a level of corporeality, broken only by the sound of Harry's blood falling onto the marble floor. Shaking his hand, Harry felt immediately uncomfortable. Had he known that Dumbledore was in a meeting he would never have rushed in as he did.
However, one glance towards Dumbledore and his anger resurfaced, before he knew it he was almost shouting at the man.
"You said you'd tell me everything." He said; voice raised accusingly directed towards Dumbledore.
The old man looked up suddenly, a wave of pain crossing his face in an instant before disappearing behind his usual calm expression. Only in his eyes could Harry still see any amount of pain, coupled with a look of pleading. He stood gracefully, eyes fixed upon Harry.
"Please sit down Harry. It is true I said I would tell you everything. However, there is more I must tell you now, and I apologise for not doing so earlier." He said, and Harry thought he sounded truly sorry.
Settling himself in a seat next to the unknown man, Harry tried not to look at him. He still did not know who he was and felt extremely uncomfortable that Dumbledore was allowing him to be present when he explained everything to Harry.
"No doubt a member of the Order then."
As though sensing the discomfort in the room, Dumbledore smiled, a laugh playing upon his lips. It was the first time Harry had seen him smile since that night, in this room when he had cried. A single tear, a mere drop that had told him, contrary to what he may believe, Professor Dumbledore was capable of weakness like any other.
"How rude of me. Firstly Harry this is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor…" he trailed off, suddenly looking towards the man for assistance.
He cleared his throat, finally turning his dark-blue eyes towards Harry as he stood, towering above Dumbledore.
"Uzumaki…my name is Uchiha Sasuke, however, out of this office I shall be known as Professor Uzumaki. And you are Harry Potter?" he asked lazily, as though he would rather not be talking at all.
"Yes, I am," said Harry, more shortly than he would have liked. Turning towards Professor Dumbledore he continued.
"So, you were going to tell me everything…again." He said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor Uzumaki seemed to react to the venom in his voice. Professor Uzumaki sat down again, leaving Dumbledore to stand, looking straight at Harry.
"Firstly Harry, for I know that however angry you may be with me you are no doubt fretting over it, I would like to inform you that the Dursley family are all perfectly fine and on the mend. Healing your Uncle seemed the most problematic from Madame Pomfrey though I have been informed that they are recovering nicely. Their memories will be modified upon awakening and the house has already been repaired thoroughly by Ministry Wizards." said Dumbledore, his sparkling eyes focused upon Harry.
Harry nodded, showing no outward signs of the relief tha swept through him.
"Secondly," Dumbledore continued, "I want to apologise for not telling you this at the end of last year. However, I made a promise many years ago not to reveal any of the information I am about to tell you until after your sixteenth birthday, and I do not look upon promises lightly." He said; eyes fixed on Harry unwaveringly. Harry could only stare back, thoughts running through his head already.
"He hasn't even started explaining and already I have questions. This could take a while."
Sighing, almost silently, Harry relaxed a little in his chair, nodding his understanding towards Dumbledore's statement. The man cleared his throat, walking around his desk to the Fawkes' perch. The phoenix was not there, and Dumbledore merely rested a hand upon the metal on which it usually sat.
"The story begins one hundred and seventy three years ago. At that time, the Japanese Ministry of Magic was in chaos. You see Harry, in Japan they work on a very different system than we do here. Each country has so many magical villages, like Hogsmead, which compete for dominance and power. At some point, something happened and three of the main villages went to war."
Dumbledore's eyes were still cast outwards from the window staring at something possibly only he could see. The room was silent for several seconds, Harry's eyes fixated upon the headmaster. He turned, smiling as he shook his head lightly. Taking his seat and looking directly at Harry, Dumbledore continued with his story.
"Eventually, the war seemed won. One of the smaller villages, headed by a dark wizard, was using powerful dark magic in the fight, against which the others could not compete. It was here that the village of Konoha began dabbling in more…ancient magics." Dumbledore spoke, his eyes flickering briefly to Professor Uzumaki. Harry looked at the man beside him, noticing the stony look on his face.
"So…he has something to do with this?"
"Anyway, eventually through some method of mixing different magics, a group of witches and wizards developed something that not another person has ever been able to reproduce. In truth, they created their own branch of magic, powerful enough that it could counter the dark magic being used against them. They called this power the Sharingan, and try as they may, they could not teach another to use it. For year's Japanese witches and wizards have theorised that the Sharingan was created from the ingestion of several potions and the mixings of many magics. However it was done, it was created and it rested within the bearers' blood."
Dumbledore raised his wand, waving it elegantly through the air. Harry was unsurprised by the revolving tea tray that appeared, hovering inches above the headmaster's desk; he had seen Dumbledore conjure one similar in his third year. Three small, china cups filled themselves with the hot tea, floating to each of the rooms occupants and settling themselves on the table before them. Dumbledore was quick in picking his own up, drinking from it and replacing it upon the table.
"Sadly, after the war was over, the losses were dire. For some reason, people turned on the Sharingan bearers, blaming them for the war even though they had only released the power in the middle of it. They began to hunt down those of what they called "The Advanced Bloodline", and they killed them. Several of the families of the bloodline fled, seeking sanctuary in other countries. Others remained, hiding their abilities from the public. When the fires of hatred died out, there were few Sharingan-bearing families left within Japan. Today, there is supposedly only one bearer of the Sharingan; the last of the Uchiha family." Said Dumbledore softly, hand motioning to the man sitting beside Harry.
Harry looked at him, noticing his already pale skin had become remarkably paler; his eyes dilated as though talk of the past were paining him. He raised his teacup to his lips and drank, replacing the empty china on the table and refusing to make eye contact with either of them. After several moments silence, Dumbledore looked towards Harry, who felt compelled to look back, leaving the man to stare ahead unseeingly.
"As I said, several families ran from their homeland, seeking sanctuary elsewhere. Three came here, and the Ministry allowed them entrance. Here they were safe, allowed to lead normal lives. They managed to hide their abilities though, and the Ministry kept their names a coveted secret so as to protect them from the prejudice they may have faced had their identities become known. In time, the families diminished, leaving only two known heirs. One, sadly, began using his abilities for purposes that only suit his own selfish needs and beliefs. He delved deep into the dark arts and became feared among witches and wizards across the planet..."
Before Dumbledore could continue, Harry jumped to his feet. He could feel the paleness of his own face; the blood had left it so suddenly that he had felt the cold, and was in no doubt that his face was whiter than it had ever been.
"Are you telling me that this ability…the Sharingan…Voldemort has it? I mean, you said it was powerful enough to counter most dark magic, if Voldemort has it then I'm not sure I could fight him because he'd be able to counter whatever I did and the prophecy says that…"
His nervous questions were cut off suddenly. Dumbledore had a single finger placed upon Harry's lips, and it was then that Harry noticed both occupants of the room staring at him - one in mild amusement and the other in slight bewilderment.
"Harry, you have no reason to be upset. Thankfully, I was not referring to Voldemort. No, I was speaking of before his time, when the dark Lord Grindelwald first came to power." Said Dumbledore, voice taking on a new layer as he spoke the evil wizard's name.
Harry though hard for several moments before the realisation hit him.
"Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times,
Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for…"
"The defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945." Said Harry, cursing himself inwardly when he realised he had spoken the last part of the card's information out loud.
He remembered how often he had read the card; in his first year after discovering his own stupidity at first forgetting it's information. He had digested its information then, in case there was a time he ever needed it.
"Yes, it seems you have heard of him, and are probably aware that I was the cause of his downfall. Yet, he reigned for many years before his downfall, longer even than Voldemort's first. The reason for this was the Sharingan; with it's power Grindelwald was simply too strong for any normal witch or wizard to stand against. To say I was the one to bring him down would be a lie; it was a group effort..." Said Dumbledore, pausing mid-sentence, voice cracking before he stopped.
Harry looked at the man as he bowed his head slightly, and wondered if perhaps he was going to cry again. Before the end of his previous year, Harry would have thought it impossible. His illusions had been shattered with that single tear he had shed the previous year, showing Harry to his own shock that Professor Dumbledore was, for all his power and knowledge, just as human as everyone else. He would not be surprised to see another tear upon the old man's cheek. He was proven wrong when Dumbledore lifted his head solemnly.
"…I was simply the only one to survive."
The room seemed to freeze, and Harry felt a tingle rush down his spine at Dumbledore's detached voice and chilling words. He shivered slightly in his seat but refused to take his eyes away from Dumbledore.
It was then, in that slightest moment, that Harry realised something for the first time; he was not alone in the world. Professor Dumbledore had been through exactly what Harry was now destined to do, or destined to attempt at least. There was only one difference between the two of them. Dumbledore had taken friends, and they had died. Harry intended to let no such thing happen. This was his fight, and only he could truly win it.
"It is no use believing that I could have done it without the other people involved, or that I was silly to allow them to come. Without them, and their sacrifice, Grindelwald would have continued his reign and thousands would have been slaughtered. I simply cast the final curse; it took a full seven of us against him. With the Sharingan he knew our every move, and the fight lasted barely three minutes. It was sadly with a curse from behind that I was able to kill him; cowardice, perhaps, but necessary."
Harry was looking at his headmaster in a whole new light. This man had been through more than Harry had ever imagined, even after what he had seen in the Department of Mysteries last year. He knew well that Voldemort had only ever feared Dumbledore; perhaps he did not know the full details of the death of Grindelwald, only that Dumbledore had been able to slay such a powerful dark wizard.
It was then, thinking of Grindelwald, that the question appeared in his mind, and he wondered why it was that he hadn't thought to ask sooner. Surely the story would have made more sense if he had asked before.
"Professor…" he asked, voice shaky, though he was unsure why it was so.
They both looked at him then, the first time Professor Uzumaki had looked at anything since the first mention of Konoha and the magics used in the creation of the ability he possessed.
"Professor…what exactly is the Sharingan?" asked Harry, feeling the tension rise slightly in the room as the final word left his lips.
Dumbledore stood, eyes fixed on his fellow Professor rather than on Harry. It was a calculating look, similar to those Harry had been given by the man on several occasions, and yet fundamentally different in a way that Harry could not describe. Dumbledore cleared his throat as he retained his position staring out of the window.
"The Sharingan is an ability passed down through blood, borne in the pupil of the eyes. It allows the user to copy a spell simply by witnessing its casting, with a few exceptions, as well as any other type of physical movement. This means, for a Sharingan bearer, both magic and physical fighting are easy to learn. It is basically a complex method of information absorption that makes learning things a simple matter of seeing them carried out. It also means that, by watching a person, a Sharingan user is able to copy the exact movements of that person as long as they keep eye contact. The limitations upon the Sharingan is that it cannot allow a wizard to copy certain types of magic for example emotion-based magic; a prime example of this being the Patronus charm you have already mastered. Whilst they would be able to learn the wand movement and incantation, they will know nothing of the emotions needed behind the spell in order to cast it. The final ability of the Sharingan is wandless magic." Dumbledore paused for a second, taking a sip of his magically warmed tea. He smiled as he drew his lips away from the steaming china cup.
"Yes, as I was saying, wandless magic. After the wars had ended in Japan, certain… restrictions were enforced upon those of The Advanced Bloodline, including those who had fled the country, to limit their wandless magic abilities. It would not do for wizards and witches to be running around casting spells wandlessly, especially as history shows that having such a unique ability does not necessarily mean the witch or wizard will turn out on the side of light. So, with several powerful sealing magics, the hand seal system was created, limiting the Sharingan to allowing magic through twelve hand seals. Like a wand, these seals are now the only way to channel magic through the hands, and it is with a combination of these seals that a Sharingan user is able to weave a wandless spell."
As Dumbledore's explanation finished, the room fell into silence. Harry was holding his own china cup, though he was unaware of how it had found its way into his hand. He barely even noticed the bloodstains around the handle from his still-bleeding hand, or the droplets of blood that had fallen onto his chair, invisible amid the deep red material.
"Harry, the reason Professor Uzumaki is here this year has nothing to do with his being interested in teaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He is here because of you, to teach you to master your heritage. I am sure, considering the events of two nights ago, the pain you felt then and the information I have now given you, that you have no doubt worked out the fact that you are also a possessor of the Sharingan, last heir to one of the few families who fled here during the persecution in Japan, as was your father." Said Dumbledore, his words soft as though he did not want to anger the boy as he had done the previous year.
In truth, Harry had been thinking what Dumbledore now implied for a while. Now that he had openly said it, it took Harry a moment to digest, and then only one thing flashed through his mind, almost proving his suspicions itself.
"But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…"
Harry's whispered reciting of the line caused silence in the office; a silence Harry was completely uncomfortable with.
"So… it was my father who made you promise not to tell me anything?" Harry asked, voice lacking emotion, even to his own ears.
"Yes. It was also he, with the aid of your mother, that bound the ability until the dawn of the day of your sixteenth birthday. Only then was I permitted to tell you, in circumstances that your father could not, about your abilities," said the Headmaster gravely.
The room was silent, and none of them seemed to be breathing. It was as though time had stopped within that tiny little room.
Then Harry laughed.
He could see them staring at him blankly, and he felt the sudden need to put their minds at rest as to why he was laughing so hysterically.
"It's nothing. I just find this all so ironic!" he gushed between gasps of breath as he tried in vain to stop laughing.
Their looks became even more confused, only causing Harry to laugh harder.
"For the past six years I've heard nothing but 'Oh Harry, you look exactly like your father, but you have your mother's eyes'." he said, finally managing to stop his laughter. He looked up at them with an almost broken look in his eyes.
"I guess that last part's wrong anyway." He whispered, bowing his head as the words left his mouth.
With a single sob, Harry fell to the floor in a dead faint.
A/N: Revised version of Chapter 1 - A few minor changes in here. I realised I hadn't mentioned the Dursleys anywhere in the first versions of my chapters, and I doubt that Harry wouldn't have wanted to know what happened to them (much as the rest of us may not have cared).