Hello everyone! Sorry I took so long between updates, life sometimes punches you in the face. I just wanted to say, I'm trying not to make this story cliche. So, many cliche things (you guys have left some ideas in review that, while good, were overdone) will not be present in this fic. I hope that doesn't deter my readers. Also, you guys will see the introduction of a new character this chapter, so enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto/Harry Potter, yeah, I get it. On with the story!

"Hagrid, are you ready to go?" Harry sat calmly drinking tea at a wizarding bar Hagrid had taken him to early in the morning after his confrontation with the Dursleys.

After Hagrid had told Harry about how his parents really died, the young boy had been livid. Why would anyone keep this fact from him, lie about it no less? Harry's disdain for his relatives grew and grew as Hagrid finished his story. His anger had even broken through his emotionless mask which he prided himself on maintaining at all times. Hagrid, Petunia, and Dudley had been near to soiling their pants, Harry knew, but he decided not to act on his observation, for now. Hagrid had spent the night in the shack, giving Harry his coat to cover himself with as Dudley supported a limping Vernon to the next room, a nearly hysterical Petunia not far behind. Harry had enough time to see her glare directed at him before she vanished into the room where her husband and son were staying; there was nothing in her gae besides disgust, pain, and hate for Harry. Any hopes that the boy may have had that his aunt somewhat loved him were extinguished in that moment.

The next morning, Hagrid had taken Harry to a bar called the Leaky Cauldron, which apparently only they could see. Hagrid had gotten Harry a cup of tea, buying a large brandy for himself. ("I've got to clear my head.")

Hagrid's idea of clearing his head was interesting, but Harry didn't comment, patiently waiting for almost half an hour before asking if Hagrid was finished with his drink.

"Sure, Harry. Let's go," Hagrid said, standing up and wiping the brandy out of his beard.

The giant of a man took Harry out behind the bar, tapping his umbrella in a pattern on the brick wall they faced. Harry's eyes widened as the bricks slowly began to move, forming a doorway in the wall. Harry and Hagrid stepped through it and into a bustling, cobbled street filled with people in cloaks moving to and fro, merchants selling their wares, and people that seemed to be just wandering around.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley!" Hagrid said, looking at Harry, a smile shining through his beard.

Harry let out a "Hmm" as he began walking down the street, Hagrid leading the way. The first stop they had to make was Gringotts' Wizarding Bank, to gather the funds Harry needed to buy his school supplies. He was wearing a cloak Hagrid had given him to avoid detection, as he was apparently a celebrity here. Hagrid had given Harry his own cloak, shrunk to fit him, to which Harry was grateful; he didn't want to be thanked and praised for something he didn't remember doing, he would rather people acknowledge him for his own accomplishments, his own power.

They made it to the bank relatively unmolested, Harry reading a golden plaque as they entered:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there."

Harry found he liked the warning as they passed two diminutive men in armor, wielding pikes, by the doors.

"Hagrid, who-"

"Goblins," Hagrid answered gruffly. "They aren't the nicest of creatures, but they do their jobs well; Gringotts is the safest place to store anything anywhere in the world, except Hogwarts, of course."

Harry nodded silently; he'd have to try to get into their good graces then, they had the potential to be very powerful allies. The pair quickly made their way through a large room filled with Goblin tellers and human customers scattered here and there. Coming to a stop in front of a teller, Hagrid got its attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter needs to access his vault," he said kindly, prompting the aging Goblin to look up from his work.

The Goblin had pale, waxy skin, sparse gray hair, and beady black eyes. All in all, he wasn't a very pleasant sight.

"Does Mr. Potter have his key?" He asked in a raspy voice.

"Oh, I've got it here, somewhere," Hagrid answered, hastily checking his pockets for a moment before withdrawing a small golden key.

"Here it is," he said, handing it to the Goblin.

The teller inspected the key for a few moments, before handing it to Harry.

"And will that be all?" the Goblin questioned.

"Ah, almost forgot. Dumbledore wanted to get you-know-what from vault you-know-which," Hagrid said, handing a small parcel to the teller.

The Goblin nodded.

"Alright. If you wait, a guide will be here shortly."

Not even a minute later, a younger, stocky Goblin by the name of Griphook appeared, telling them that he would be taking them to their vaults. He began leading them into a side room, where a lone mine cart sat on rickety rails. Harry turned a curious eye to Hagrid.

"The vaults are located deep underground," Griphook said without turning around. "The older the family, the deeper the vault. The vaults you will be visiting today are relatively high, compared to the other vaults here at Gringotts. Our ride should be but a moment."

Harry was silent as they seated themselves in the cart, Hagrid's immense bulk pushing both him and Griphook into the edge of the cart. A short, exhilerating ride later, the three stood in front of a stone wall.

"This is your vault, Mr. Potter," Griphook said, motioning to the wall. "Only a Gringotts Goblin can open these," he explained as he pressed his hand against it, causing the wall to open.

"What happens if someone who isn't from Gringotts tries to open a vault?" Harry inquired.

Gringotts grinned widely, shwing off his pointed teeth.

"They are pulled into the vault, until we get them out."

"And how often do you check your vaults for would-be theives?"

"Oh, about every ten years or so," the Goblin replied.

Harry was very glad that he was standing outside the reach of Griphook's torch, because he thought that Hagrid might find his smirk unsettling. Harry cleared his face into a mask of indifference once more, stepping into his vault. If he was being honest with himself, he was not expecting what he found: stacks upon stacks of gold coins (galleons, Harry remembered Hagrid calling them) littered the small area, piled upon each other in neat, organized rows. While Harry knew that this much wouldn't be considered rich by any means in the Wizarding World, he was by no means poor. He could probably afford to live comfortably without working for a decade or two after school, which stopped him for a minute.

'What do I want to do with my life?' he asked himself.

Did he want to become Minister, do whatever various magical jobs that he would undoubtably learn about during his time at Hogwarts? Harry found that he couldn't decide, so he shrugged it off; he had plenty of time to think of that. He quickly gathered a few stacks into a bag that Hagrid had given him before leaving, the vault closing behind him.

"Mr. Potter, may I have a word?" Griphook asked as Harry stepped back into the torchlight.

Harry glanced at Hagrid, who was looking at Harry uneasily. Harry nodded to the man, causing Hagrid to sigh and climb into the cart, away from the human and Goblin.

"What is it, Mr. Griphook?"

"I need you to prick your finger with this," Griphook said, bringing a small dagger out of the folds of his robes.

"And why would I do that?" Harry asked, looking skeptically at the weapon in front pf him.

"This is a matter of security, please, I swear to you upon my money and status as a Goblin of Gringotts that I mean you no harm," Griphook said anxiously.

Harry stared at the dagger. Pricking his finger wouldn't cause him much harm at all, unless it was poisoned. But still, Harry suspected that, had Griphook meant him harm, he would already be dead by now.

"Fine," Harry said, pressing his index finger to the blade long enough to draw blood.

Harry watched as his blood dripped down the blade of the dagger, causing the blade to glow red for a brief second before dimming.

"It is as we thought," Griphook muttered, solemnly stowing the dagger back into his robes.

"What is it, Griphook? What does that mean?" Harry was highly curious by this point, and he doubted he could keep his need to know out of his voice.

"It means you cannot access the main vault."

"Main vault?"

"Yes," Griphook sighed. "The vault you just left was just a trust vault set up for you by Lily and James Potter. You would have been able to access the main vault when you reached your majority. However, in light of recent events, namely the test we just finished, you will never be able to do so."

"Why not?" Harry was worried at this news. If it was his money, what was the big deal about taking his blood... Oh, that was it. But that couldn't be, right? Harry had to know.

"Are they... Are they my real parents?"

Griphook was understandably shocked by Harry's guess, but Harry knew he was right as Griphook lowered his head. Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach as he tried to comprehend what was going on.

"The dagger I had you prick your finger on would read the blood that dripped onto it. It revealed that, while you were legally the son of Lily and James, you are not a blood relative of them."

Harry felt his breath quicken a bit, he felt like passing out. Everything he knew, or thought he knew, had been a lie, as he found the night before. And now, as he was settling into the truth that had been revealed to him, he was once again told it was all a lie.

"But, how can I access the trust vault if I'm not their son?" his voice was low as he spoke.

Griphook looked upon Harry with pity, and the boy hated it. He hated being weak. He hated people thinking he wasn't strong enough to face whatever had yet to come to him.

"It seems you were legally adopted shortly after you were born. Lily and James kept the papers secret, only they and we higher-ups at Gringotts knew about your adoption. They actually wrote in their wills that you inherit all of their possessions anyway, but the law forids it. You see, our world is run mostly by rich bigots who believe in 'blood purity', or basically how long magic has been in any person's family, and they allow this to determine their social status here in this world. And as such, they passed laws forbidding anyone but those of blood relation from accessing the vaults of the deceased. I am sorry."

Harry decided, then and there, to become great on his own, blood status be damned. He didn't need the power or money of a rich family to get what he wanted, he had the determination, the power to do whatever he wanted. He would become the most powerful figure in wizarding history, and he would start with overthrowing the current magical government.

"Mr. Potter, I must ask you to please be wary of anyone you meet in the magical world. There are some who would use your fame to achieve their own goals. Especially him."

"Who is that?"

"You will see soon enough, now hurry, your friend seems to be getting impatient."

It was with a subdued atmosphere that the trio traveled to the vault Hagrid sought, Harry hardly sparing a glance as the man pocketed a small, dirty package before they were on their way again. They said their goodbyes, and they were off. Slowly, but surely, Harry and Hagrid worked their way through his school list, buying whatever he needed, and a bit more. Harry did stop in the bookstore to buy the second and third year editions of all Hogwarts school books in order to get ahead of all of his classmates, and he also bought a snowy white owl at the animal shop. He didn't know why, but the owl and called to Harry, if that made sense.

After some debate, he had named her Hedwig, and Harry and Hagrid went to their last stop: Ollivander's Wand Shop. Hagrid had dropped Harry off, saying he was going to get them ice cream while Harry got his wand, which was fine with the young boy; he prefered being alone. After glancing at the shop a moment longer, Harry entered. Harry had to admit that, while polite, Ollivander was quite creepy. With his long white hair and inquisitive black eyes, he seemed more an insane grandfather than a shopkeeper.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, I was wondering when I would be seeing you," Ollivander greeted, shaking Harry's hand.

"I remember when I sold your mother and father their wands. Good for Charms and Transfiguration, respectively. But you don't want to listen to an old man ramble, let's find your wand!" and the old man was off, giving Harry wand upon wand as the boy tried them all, to disasterous results. The old man had a spring in his step that Harry found odd for someone of his age, and he didn't seem to mind that Harry had broken his windows, reduced one of his shelves to splinters, and set some of the curtains on fire. In fact, he seemed rather excited by it.

"Try this one," he said, handing Harry a thin, brown wand that seemed to frighten Ollivander somewhat.

'I wonder what's so special about this wand?'

Harry picked it up cautiously, and gasped as a painful sensation ran up his arm. He closed his eyes, grimacing. It felt like two different powers were warring in his body, and the pain became more and more unbearable until, suddenly, it stopped. Harry heard a distinct crack, and opening his eyes, found his wand in two pieces; one in his hand, the other on the floor. He looked up to Ollivander, who had jumped back during the commotion, a fearul look on his face as he muttered under his breath.

"I had thought that one would work, he told me it would," Harry caught the wandmaker saying before, suddenly, the fear in Ollivander's eyes vanished and he was back to his usual happy self. "Well, that didn't work, now did it?" he said with a slight laugh.

Harry was highly suspicious as Ollivander ran to get more wands for Harry to try. Why had he thought that wand would work? Who told him it would? He stood there for almost ten minutes, the only sound being that of Ollivander bustling about in the back. Eventually, the old man returned, carrying a large white box decorated with intricate designs, which he handed to Harry.

"I had thought - seeing the raw power you showed when you snapped that wand - that you might be the perfect match for these," Ollivander seemed out of breath, like he had been running from a lion while searching for Harry's wand.

Harry slowly opened the box, revealing two crossed wands lying on a purple cushion. While both were long and thin, there was one distinct difference between the two: One was white with black designs crossing around the handle, and the other was black with white designs crossing the handle. Hesitantly, he picked both up, and swished them around.

Even before he had touched them, Harry knew these wands would be the ones for him. But as he picked them up, a feeling of warmth, of acceptance, spread through him. He and the wands were one, magically entwined.

'Yes, that's poetic enough.'

As he waved them around, everything that he had broken in Ollivander's shop, from the shelves, to the windows, to the broken wand itself, was instantly repaired, looking as if they had never been broken in the first place.

"Oh bravo! Bravo!" Ollivander called, clapping enthusiastically.

Harry smiled at Ollivander, he was as innocent as a young child.

"Mr. Ollivander? Why did that last wand snap?"

"It reacted negatively to your magic, which has never been documented to be so violent in all of recorded history," Ollivander answered, leaning back in a chair he conjured with the use of his own wand.

"And these wands? Where are they a pair?"

"Ah," Ollivander leaned foraward, grinning a bit. "Those happen to be the last wands made by Merlin himself before he departed this life. There is Lux," he said, gesturing to the white wand, "and there is Nocturne," he gestured to the black. "Both have Wyvren heartstring, and were made from elder wood, and so they both have extraordinary power. And to think that that would choose a young boy such as yourself, simply astounding," Ollivander explained, shaking his head in amazement.

Harry nodded, looking at the wands in wonder; why had they chosen him then? Was he really powerful? He moved to pay for the wands, but Ollivander waved him off, saying that being able to see the wands sold in his lifetime was payment enough, He even gave Harry a white and a black wand holster for each of his wands before the young man was bowed from the shop.

"So how did it go, Harry?" Hagrid asked some time later, after the two had finished their ice cream and were on their way to the London Underground.

"It was fine, I got my wand," Harry answered, deciding not to tell Hagrid about getting two wands until he could be entirely sure of the man's loyalties.

"That's good Harry," Hagrid said, coming to a stop at the entrance to the Underground. The giant seemed to want to get out of the rain that was pounding down. "Well, this is where I leave you. Remember to be at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters by eleven o'clock in one month's time."

"I understand Hagrid," Harry said, shaking hands with Hagrid before entering the Underground, looking for where he was supposed to be.

Harry spotted his train, but before he could move towards it, a scream tore through the air. Harry jumped, startled, but nobody else seemed to hear it. He looked around as he heard it again, and deciding not to take chances, dashed back outside, following the sound until he was led to a nearby alleyway.

Inside were three people: two women and a large man. The women, one of which looked to be in her early thrities, and the other, who looked about his age, were cowering against the wall as the large man brandished a knife at them.

"I told you, all I want is the money, then you can leave! I swear!" he slurred.

"And I told you, my husband has all of our money!" the woman said, her voice quavering with fear.

'Why did nobody else hear this?' Harry questioned in his mind, but he shrugged it off for now, he had people to save.

"Hey, you! Ugly!" he called out, gaining the man's attention. Interestingly enough, the man definitely not what one would call handsome.

"Mind your own business, kid," the man said, turning back to the women in disinterest.

Harry's face contorted with rage, and before he knew it, he was making a mad dash for the man.

"Don't ever turn away from me like I'm not worth your time, you will regret it!" Harry shouted as he neared the man.

The man turned, shock on his face, as Harry's fist connected with his hip, knocking him off balance. Harry didn't have time to feel proud though, as he soon found a large fist connecting with his face. He grunted as he fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. The man slowly advanced upon Harry as the young boy shakily rose to his feet.

"I'll teach you to meddle in the affairs of adults, boy!" he shouted before plunging the blade at Harry.

As Harry watched the blade inch towards him with wide eyes, time seemed to slow down. Harry didn't know if that was the right phrase, it was like everything slowed down except him. He was able to see witha greater clarity than ever before, and he knew exactly where the man intended to plunge the knife into his body. It was almost as if he could see the future. Calmly, but quickly, Harry jumped to the left, dodging the knife, before he quickly jumped up, punching the man in the throat.

The man gasped, falling as he spit blood out of his mouth, but Harry wasn't done yet; he jumped up, landing on the man's throat with his left foot and glaring at him as the life slowly drained out of his opponent's eyes. Harry stood there, even after he felt the would-be murderer's body go limp under him.

"Th-thank you," the woman said to him, shakily getting up with her daughter. "I'm Emma Granger, and this is my daughter Hermione."

But Harry wasn't paying attention to them; he was looking at a puddle next to his victim's body. He looked... terrible. His clothes were muddy, he had grime all over him, and blood was steadily running down his nose. But that wasn't all. His mouth hung agape as he looked at his reflection closer. Blood red eyes gazed back at him.

Booyah! Another chapter down! I hope you guys are liking Harry in this story, as I'm trying to make him as Uchiha as I can. Also guys, I have a question: Should I go Manipulative Dumbles in this fic? I want to, but I'm afraid I won't be able to write it correctly. I've read many Manipulative fics, but I don't think anyone has ever done it right. Dumbledore would never fall for the "Harry's head of his family GG" routine, he is way too intelligent. The contingencies he would have would be mind-blowing. But, I'll leave it up to you guys. Oh, what do you guys think of the different wand/can't be head of the family? Don't forget to review! 'Til next time!