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 2: Transitory Images
Harry felt groggy, as though he had been hit over the head with something sharp and heavy. For several seconds the darkened room swam before his eyes, refusing to come into focus. The only thing he was able to determine from the fuzzy picture he could see was that he was neither in the Hospital Wing, nor in any other part of Hogwarts he had ever seen. It was only when a shrill sound rang out that he realised where he was.
"Scum! Disgusting Dirty-Blooded Half Breeds. How dare you set foot in the house of my fathers! Be Gone, Children of Filth…"
Whatever vulgarity came next was a mystery to Harry. Even as he heard the painting begin screaming his body froze over, an icy layer of sweat dancing across his skin.
"This is…why am I here?"
He moved; his vision still blurred as he swung himself from the bed. In a rush to find his glasses he knocked over something on the bedside table, listening as it smashed upon the floor. He increased his search, knowing that someone would be up in a few seconds to make sure nothing was wrong.
"Glasses, glasses…ah."
His fingers touched the frames and he hastily brought them up to his eyes. The world righted itself and Harry searched for his wand, finding it with his clothes. The jeans and shirt that he was wearing would have to do for now. He could already hear someone climbing the stairs, and he quickly ran from the room. There was only one person he wanted to find now.
The halls were dark, and Harry refused to use magic to lighten them. He was past caring about the Ministry; they could do what they wanted. However, if he used magic now, they would find him and he'd be forced to go back to his room.
"Where are you, stupid little…"
He listened, stopping dead in his tracks as the sound that floated to his ears. It was muffled, as though whoever was speaking was doing so through fabric pressed against their mouth. It took a few moments before he was able to distinguish anything, and when he did so his heart constricted.
"…Poor Mistress. Mistress' lovely things all wasted, nothing Kreacher could do. Poor Mistress would be so…"
What Kreacher's mistress would be remained a mystery; his voice stopped as Harry lost control and the door was blasted open, noise echoing around the room as it hit the wall, taking with it a large chunk of plaster.
The House Elf stood there, eyes fixed upon Harry. He was holding a blanket, which appeared to have been purple once, now browned and dirty. Harry could vaguely make out what had once been an embroidered, golden "B" in one corner, though now the treads were broken and discoloured. Kreacher merely stared at Harry, not speaking at all as Harry glared at him, snarling slightly with each breath.
"You…you little…" said Harry, unable to get the sentence out as he dived for the creature, brandishing his wand above his head. He brought it down; ready to curse the creature into oblivion when suddenly he stopped.
Someone had caught him around the wrist, stopping him mid-curse. The elf had not moved the whole time, standing still and clutching his blanket whilst staring at Harry. He did not look scared, his face was completely void of emotion as he looked up at Harry.
Spinning, Harry came face-to-face with the person who had grabbed his wrist. She was looking at him, eyes giving out the tiniest hint of fear, coupled with pity for the boy standing in front of her. Harry thought he could see tears beginning in her eyes, and he felt his anger ebb away as his thoughts drifted from the traitorous House Elf.
"It won't help Harry. Do you think hurting him will make the pain go away?" Hermione asked, voice soft as though scared of what his answer would be.
He looked at her. After all these years he had known her, she was like the sister he'd never had but always wanted. He hated upsetting her, yet he had done it so much.
"Hermione…I'm sorry. You're right just…get him away from me, please?" he asked, sincerely as he possibly could when referring to Kreacher.
She nodded, and walked Harry to the door. He smiled at her before walking away, intent on finding someone with answers he needed. Why was he here, what was going on?
Then he remembered the conversation in Dumbledore's office.
"…You are also a possessor of this Advanced Bloodline."
In truth, he had never really forgotten it. It had been the first thought to cross his mind when he had awakened and had been playing through his mind since. It was only now that he thought about it though, instead of pushing it away and hoping everything else would go with it.
Descending the stairs, he wondered whom he would talk to about this. He could talk to Ron or Hermione, but he already knew exactly what their reactions would be.
Hermione would tell him how amazingly interesting it was, and suggest that they research it so that they could find out everything about it. She would be fascinated by the history, and would have both him and Ron searching the library until she knew everything. Harry wasn't sure if Hermione would make him use it so that she could see the effects, but then it was Hermione and no doubt she would class a practical demonstration even higher than the information in books.
Ron would either find it amazing or he would be jealous. In worst case scenario he would be both. The only knowledge Ron would be likely to offer however, were ways in which Harry could utilise his new abilities against the Slytherins, most likely to spy on their Quidditch practices. Though the idea had merit, it still left many of Harry's questions unanswered.
It was at times like this when he would turn to Sirius. A simple letter detailing his worries and he would have a reply within the next few days. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Sirius had cared deeply for him, and had fulfilled his duties as Godfather as best he could under the circumstances.
But Sirius was gone now, and Harry was alone with his thoughts.
Grimmauld Place was strangely quiet, devoid of the usual comings and goings of the Order members. Harry had been surprised when he entered the kitchen to find it empty; Mrs. Weasley had nearly always been there, cooking something for someone. Since his escape from the room, and leaving Kreacher in the care of Hermione, he had not encountered another single person.
He was sitting in the kitchen, a glass of milk sitting, untouched on the table in front of him. Harry didn't know why he had poured it; he knew he hadn't even wanted. Perhaps, it was just something to do. He hated being still, having time to think about things; Sirius and Cedric in particular. He wished he had something else to do other than sit at the polished kitchen table.
The opening of the door disturbed his thoughts, and he felt himself smile genuinely for the first time in days. He stood up as Ron walked through the door, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Ginny. They were talking animatedly about something, but they froze when they saw Harry sitting at the table. Ron was the first to smile, and surprising Harry slightly; he ran over and hugged his friend.
Harry stood there, unsure of what to do, and he dumbly patted Ron on the back. It was the first time the boy had done something like this, and Harry had no idea what he was supposed to do in return.
Pulling back, Ron smiled at him, and Harry thought that he could see tears in his eyes.
"We were really worried about you, mate." He said softly.
Harry looked at him curiously, wondering what he was talking about, but he coughed as the wind was knocked out of him by Ginny, who had followed Ron's example and jumped on Harry. Again, Harry stood slightly bewildered, casting a pleading look towards Mrs. Weasley. The woman just smiled and laughed behind her hand.
When Ginny finally let go of Harry, he held up a hand, trying to regain his breath.
"What happened, why were you guys so worried?" He asked. From his memories Harry had determined that he had fainted. Whilst hardly a good sign, it was hardly a thing to be overly worried about.
"Well we knew you were injured in the explosion," said Ginny, taking a seat at the table across from Harry, "and then you were taken to Hogwarts. Dumbledore brought you here yesterday saying something about you collapsing and injuring yourself again, and how he thought it best for you to be here because you're safe here."
Harry mulled this over for a minute before looking up at them again. He decided he didn't want to talk about his injuries with them, he hated it when people fussed over him. Instead, he tried to turn the conversation away from himself.
"So, where is everyone? This place is usually quite busy with Order members." He asked, voice casual.
The room seemed to freeze as all three of their expressions turned grave. Harry looked at them, fear gripping his heart for the first time as he realised why the place was quiet.
"Of course. Voldemort's gone public…the Order will be dealing with attacks."
"Harry, dear…the Order is busy dealing with the attacks now," said Mrs. Weasley, confirming his suspicions. "There are…some things that you should know, but I really don't think that I'm the person to tell you." she said, her voice heavy as though it had taken a lot out of her to say those few simple words.
Harry's heart convulsed. He was fairly certain that when Mrs. Weasley talked about things he needed to know, she was referring to those hurt or injured in the attacks. He wanted to know now, and he didn't think Mrs. Weasley would object if he asked outright, though doing so would not be pleasant.
"Mrs. Weasley please answer me one thing… has anyone died?"
The temperature in the room seemed to fall further, and Mrs. Weasley looked up at him, nodding gravely.
"A lot of people… mostly Aurors and higher Ministry people. Kingsley Shacklebolt has been in St Mungos for the past week after he was hit with an unknown curse. The biggest… there was one death that's been keeping Dumbledore busy lately…"
She broke off, unable to talk. She had sounded choked as she talked, and both Ron and Ginny were staring fixatedly at the table. Harry watched a tear fall from Ginny's face onto the polished wood.
"Neville Longbottom was killed in a Death Eater attack three days ago."
Harry was caught unawares by the answer; he had been too fixated upon the tiny droplet of water upon the table. As the boy's name was mentioned he felt a chill move through him, shaking his body as it went. His eyes began to burn as pictures of the forgetful Gryffindor flowed through his head. And then Harry realised why he had been killed, why his death had been keeping Dumbledore so busy.
"Sibyll's prophecy could have been applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."
It hadn't been a mere Death Eater attack. It had been a direct attack upon Neville. Voldemort had been making sure that there was no way for Neville to fulfil the Prophecy. Though he was obviously pretty certain, Voldemort hadn't known for sure that the prophecy referred to Harry.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up with a snap, only just aware of the tears running down his face. It was Ron whom had spoken, his own eyes red, a sign that he had been crying only moments before.
"Come on mate, mum says you should get some rest." He said softly, as though he thought a loud sound might make Harry shatter.
Harry looked around, only then realising that he was alone with Ron in the kitchen. He had not realised that Mrs. Weasley or Ginny had left, and he got shakily to his feet. His mind was still plagued by memories of the boy who had slept in the same room as him for five years, attended classes with him, broken into the Ministry of Magic with him.
"But now that boy's dead. Just like Sirius… and Cedric."
Ron was walking in silence, and Harry wondered briefly if similar thoughts were running through his head. Neville had died three days ago, when had Ron found out?
The silence was broken suddenly by a high-pitched wailing.
"Blood-Traitors and Half Born Freaks, walking through my halls! Be gone foul children or…"
Harry let out a guttural sound as he drew his fist back and made to punch the picture. Mere inches from connecting from the ancient canvas, Harry hand was stopped and he was bodily thrown backwards by whatever magic protected the ancient painting. He heard Ron moving towards him, slowly and rather cautiously, but Harry was past thinking about him.
A familiar burning was emanating from behind his eyes, less strong than before, and a lot more controllable. The energy was moving. He could feel it spiralling, concentrated into two needle-tip points within his eyes. Harry knew what was happening.
"Sharingan."
Whispering the word to himself, Harry brought his head up quickly, hearing Ron gasp and stumble backwards even as the magical energy moved through the air. And then the painting was gone; taking with it the majority of the wall it had once hung from.
It took several minutes for the exhaustion to leave Harry enough for him to stand up, and when he did he noticed Ron was nowhere to be seen. Figuring that his friend had gone to get help, Harry walked rather haphazardly to his bedroom, falling onto the bed and immediately into sleep.
Harry woke up; knowing not a lot of time had passed. It seemed like only minutes since he had fallen asleep and though he was grateful that there were no nightmares, he couldn't help but feel angry that the Sharingan exhausted him so much.
Then the memory hit him.
He had controlled the Sharingan, though from the feel of it he had dissipated the majority of his magical energies. He had known exactly what was going to happen, and he had managed to control the energy, to an extent. It was not without a price though. When he tried to move, every bone in his body hurt, as though they had been hit individually with blunt objects. It took a lot longer for him to get out of bed than usual.
"Hopefully it'll get easier."
He noticed a small pile of letters and parcels beside his bed, probably having been left there when he was first moved to Grimmauld Place. He realised that they were cards and presents for his birthday. He had recieved cards from most of the Weasleys, Hermione, Professor Lupin, Hagrid and a few members of the Order. After opening his cards he moved onto his presents.
From Ron he had recieved a large box of sweets, including all his favourites. Opening it he took out a plain fudge, and slipped it into his mouth before moving on to the rest of his presents. From Hermione he had gotten a book that looked extremely interesting. It appeared quite old, though in excellent condition. The cover was, to Harry's shock, made of black dragon-hide, with silver script reading "Defensive Magic: The Complete Tome of Wards, Shields and Barriers". There was no author listed on the cover, only a small symbol in the bottom corner of a twelve-pointed star. Deciding to read it later Harry set it on his bedside table, aware that it seemed lighter than it should be. The next present he picked up was from the twins, and he was surprised to see that it contained a key to a Gringotts safe. Pocketing it Harry quickly moved to his next present. From Ginny he got a Portable Foe-Glass. A piece of parchment that accompanied the Foe-Glass, which hung on a small silver chain so it could be worn around the neck, explain that unlike a full sized one it would not show images of enemies that were nereby, it would simply turn black. Right now the Foe-Glass was white, indicating that there were no enemies nearby. Ralising that the Portable Foe-Glass would be a valuable asset Harry quickly put the chain on, tucking it into his shirt so it couldn't be seen.
There were three more packages left. From Hagrid, a bundle of his famous rock cakes, which Harry carefully stored away to throw at any unfortunate Death Eater who dared attack. The second last parcel was one from the remaining Weasley's, with the exception of Percy, and it included some of Mrs Weasley's home baking and a book on Curses that was recommended by Bill. The last package was small, rectangular and almost flat. Harry fingered the paper, searching for a tag before realising there wasn't one. Opening the present slowly, he was surprised when a book fell out.
Harry knew instantly that it was a photo album. It was dark red - almost black - with a flowing silver pattern that looked like water carrying golden leaves printed on the front. There was no photograph on the first page, but there was a note written in gold on the inside cover. Ignoring the piece of parchment that had fallen out when he opened the album, Harry read the note on the cover first.
"Dear Prongs Jr.
Happy 16th Birthday. Moony and I have been putting this together since we came back to my house. We know you don't have a lot of photos, and unlike us you don't have a lot of memories so, with Dumbledore's help we managed to come up with a solution. We borrowed Dumbledore's Pensieve and chose a load of our favourite memories of your parents, and then we went in and took some photos for you. We've got some normal photos we had as well, including some of last Christmas. I hope you like it. Can't wait to see your face when you open this kiddo. The Ink switched from silver to gold at this point.
Moony now. Sirius wouldn't let me write before - it's taken him an hour and a half to decide what to say, and he's still fussing about and wondering if what he wrote was alright. I think he's getting angry with me because I'm mocking him as well. I hope you're having a good birthday Harry, and I hope we'll be able to spend it with you - if not we're planning on keeping this until we do see you, because Sirius wants to see your reaction. Anyway, Happy Birthday Harry, and enjoy our memories.
Padfoot and Moony."
Harry fingered the silver writing, tears running freely dwn his face. Sirius had been planning Harry's birthday present for almost a year, and now Harry wouldn't be able to tell him how much it meant to him. Flipping the page Harry looked at a photograph of the young Marauders being chased around the Gryffindor House Table by a younger Minerva McGonogall, who happened to be neon pink. He laughed at the look on their faces, full of laughter and joy, as they ran around the table, out one side of the picture and in the other. He could barely make out the face of his mother among the Gryffindor students, smiling but not laughing outright as a lot of the others were.
The next picture was of the Marauders in the kitchens. In the picture Sirius had just thrown a pie at Peter, causing Peter to throw Ice-Cream at Remus. A food-fight ensued, and Hary laughed at the horrified faces of the House Elves, even as they provided more food for the young Marauders to throw.
Closing the book Harry promised himself that he would make a fuller inspection of it later. His head was still sore from releasing so much magic, and his crying was not helping matters at all.
Setting the album on the table Harry noticed a letter sitting that had not caught his attention before. The parchment was heavy, and he was surprised to see the Gringotts seal on the back. Breaking the seal, Harry opened the letter and began to read.
"Dear Mr Potter.
It has come to our attention that your Godfather, Sirius Black, has passed away. We at Gringotts would like to offer our deepest condolences on his passing. As by law in the Wizarding World you are now classed as a fully-legal adult. Though this status is not normally granted until the age of seventeen, when a wizard or which is rendered without parent or guardian after the age of fifteen they are given full legal capabilities.
As you will probably realise this will exempt you from the Degree for the Resonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Since you are a year younger than the Degree states a card has been provided with this letter as proof of your right to use magic, should anyone question it. This card can also be used when applying for age-restricted things such as Apparition Lessons, Animagus Registration and Gringott Acces Rights.
There are several issues that we would ask you to discuss with us as soon as possible. We have been informed of your situation at the present time, and realise that visiting Gringotts will be difficult, however we have it on good authority that you will make a trip here before the next term at Hogwarts begins. Upon your visit to the bank you will be given full control over the Potter family assets, to be held until you turned of age, as wells as being expected to deal with the final will of your late godfather. We hope to see you soon Mr. Potter, and once again would like to give you our condolences.
Gotrian Gringott. Gringotts Bank."
Harry didn't know what to think after reading this. Reaching for his wand he pointed it towards a glass on his bedside table and whispered a spell, watching as it slowly rose into the air. He let out a laugh when he realised he wasn't going to recieve a letter from the Ministry, but decided to keep his ability to do magic outsode of school a secret. Picking up the card that came with the letter, he was shocked to see a photograph of himself on it. He slipped the card into his pocket, along with the letter from Gringotts.
Suddenly having an idea, Harry ran downstairs, the journey seeming to take a shorter time than usual. When he got there, there was nobody there, just as he had hoped. Walking over to the fireplace he was glad to see the fire already lit it. It did not take him long to find the jar of Floo Power he was looking for.
When he had thrown the powder into the fire and watched them turn a dazzling emerald, Harry got onto his knees and cleared his throat.
"Please, please make this work."
"Professor Dumbledore's Office." He said, sticking his head into the emerald green flames.
They tickled him, and he giggled a bit before he took in his surroundings. It was definitely Dumbledore's Office devoid of its usual occupants. With a sigh of relief, Harry pulled the rest of his body through, landing in a soft heap upon the rug.
Harry did not claim to understand how Floo Powder worked, but it confused him how it could be used both for communication and for travelling. Had he stepped into the fire, he would have been sent swirling to Professor Dumbledore's office with no guarantee that he would have landed at the correct gate. Somehow, he had managed to completely avoid that by only putting his head through. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it at some point, whilst he got to his feet.
The office was warm, even though the flames had died away as he came through completely. Taking a moment to brush off his robes, Harry habitually moved his hand to his hair in an attempt to flatten it. When it would not sit, he gave up and moved to the door, descending quickly down the stairs and into the halls of Hogwarts.
It did not take him long to find the room he was looking for; he had been there under several occasions. In his second year, he had been taken to this room after the petrifaction of Mrs. Norris, and in his third and fourth, had visited his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here. His experiences in his fifth year were ones he did not care to remember.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door three times, and did not have to wait long for them to open. The man who opened them looked at him, eyes surprised and confused by Harry's presence there.
"Sorry to interrupt you Professor, but I really need your help."
The man looked at Harry for a second, almost the same calculating gaze that Dumbledore had given him on many occasions. After a moment, and seemingly having decided that Harry was being honest, Professor Uzumaki stepped back, holding the door open to allow Harry entrance to his office.
A/N: Revised version of Chapter 2. Not much to do to this one thankfully.