Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Would be interesting enough if I did though.

A/N: sorry for the delay...had to study for my sem exams...engineering can be troublesome, as my imaginary friend Shikamaru would say. But, I've tried to make up for the wait. May still be a bit crappy...did rush a bit after all.

XXX

Malfoy Manor when first seen, always left an impression. And what a powerful impression indeed. To those who fancied themselves inclined to the light, it was a dark and foreboding place, that gave of an aura of sheer power that ensnared the senses, impressing upon all mortals that dared to pass through its boundaries of the magical might that permeated the building. It presented a terrible visage, but nobody would deny that it was a calculated one, an advertisement of the might its inhabitants wielded, and a very effective one at that. Indeed, not even the great Albus Dumbledore could claim immunity from its terrifying charms, and he hadn't even entered the accursed building.

To the wizards and witches who imagined themselves dark though, it was a monument. The dark arts, the forbidden fruit of the ages, black chapters in the admittedly great book that was magic, seemed to call this area home. To them, the building was an engine of malevolence, a gallery of madness, a mausoleum that proclaimed the power and the temptations these practices entailed. And to the lesser mortal, it would have seemed the Malfoys had tamed it, gods above those foolish men who attempted to tinker with the abyss...for how else could they reside in such pure unadulterated evil? But all remembered the tingly feeling, the pins and needles, the rather weird sensation that very few knew to be the ambient aura of the wards which through generations of Malfoys had absorbed the residual magic that could only have come from uncounted uses of the forbidden, the unforgivables three. It was a fortress of malice, a bastion of darkness, one which had a life, all of its own.

However it has to be that every rule had an exception and on one particular day, in late November, Takeda of the Snow, walked through the wards of Malfoy Manor feeling particularly disappointed. If Mr Malfoy had been hoping to impress, he had failed abysmally. This aura of malice had nothing on the towers of the Black Magi guild that lived...somewhere in the southernmost parts of China. They could reduce armies to quivering messes merely through a single malevolent glance. And after talking civilly with them of all people, Takeda had been pleasantly surprised to find that nothing else held any sort of sway over him. It was as if he was immune to these lesser fears that plagued humanity. A welcome gift to any good negotiator.

Takeda took his seat, keeping the disinterested facade his profession demanded of him. It did not matter that for once, he was not expected to wrangle, or that he was merely a messenger, albeit a highly valued one. One did not survive this long by relaxing in a possibly hostile situation, remote as it was. So instead, he spent his time pondering the mysteries of the miserable creatures known as house elves. While he admitted that they were powerful if prodded, their total subservience to this bigoted section of humanity unnerved him. Every race had its pride, and the concept that these creatures served another with such absolute loyalty generated a plethora of feelings, the most prominent of which was pity.

A house elf bowed low, announcing his master, Lord Lucius Malfoy, and popped away. The man himself, walked in with his elegant (at least to pureblood tastes) black robes and a wooden cane. From the intelligence Hakumei had on him, Takeda knew that this was where his wand was, something he would keep in mind for if things turned unpleasant. He also noted that the man in front of him exuded arrogance, a byproduct of his upbringing. He also seemed to find this meeting distasteful, something his body language almost managed to hide. 'Interesting' Takeda mused, 'He no doubt categorizes me with the fools he associates with on a daily basis. Obviously he has no experiences outside these paltry Isles...Why can't I be reading instead of dealing with this menace? Why I could be resolving the scrolls of the lost arts! The tomes of the first sorcerer! And I do not even have to negotiate for anything this time. Its infuriating!''

The meeting was started in typical fashion, with tea. Of course, the Malfoys did not stock any variety of green tea, meaning Takeda was once again forced to quaff the viler version of that beverage derived from Camellia Sinensis, tea with milk. Not that he'd ever admit that he hated said drink; he was a diplomat after all.

Lucius observed his counterpart across the table with a tinge of curiosity. In all his years, he'd never actually met somebody from the eastern territories proper. The surplus of warlocks and sorcerers that resided there were content to sit in their somewhat alien lands. No Malfoy would ever deign to go to the eastern territories; it was simply not a proper thing to do. And to top it off, nobody in the British Isles really knew how to go about talking to a eastern sorcerer. Even the department of international co-operation did not have a true idea of what was going on 'over there'. Rumors were whispered about an immortal emperor, who lived in service to his people. Then again, the Forbidden City was quite well sealed, so it could be just that, a rumor.

The man himself was quite imposing, in spite of his shorter stature. In his ornate purple robes, he looked the very picture of restrained power, even if it was more a feeling than a sight. The eastern man held himself with dignity and an aura of overwhelming might seemed to envelope him. Lucius would have even have dared to say that the dark lord himself was less imposing than this alien man who was drinking tea with him in his living room. Malfoy had of course labored to hear at least some of the various rumors that floated around in the immigrant circles about the organization he had initiated contact with. He had expected an underworld syndicate in the fashion that muggles had created. Instead, all he heard about were the legends of the shinobi, the warrior assassin of lore. Lucius Malfoy had for a moment felt quite inadequate in his own combat ability after hearing those tales. After all, all legends had a basis in truth and these ones were still alive and active. At the moment he had this mind numbing feeling of irrelevance, one he had never had before, one that this person seemed capable of generating by merely existing.

The tea was finished in a solemn atmosphere, with just their sips piercing through the silence. It was quite depressing actually. And the calm and indifference this eastern man held himself with was not really conducive to casual conversation, so Lucius, as the host, endeavored to make the first move.

"I hope you found the tea satisfactory?" Takeda raised his head and smiled. "Indeed Mr Malfoy, it was quite refreshing." Lucius took a second to look thoughtful, then said, "I trust you do not find our English blends...distasteful?." Takeda's lips twitched in a very unnoticeable manner. "Ah, one does miss the greener brews, but I am not above finding pleasure in less familiar beverages." Lucius nodded minutely, as close as this Malfoy would ever get to a bow towards anyone not named Lord Voldemort Takeda returned the gesture, after all they both knew this was tantamount to a declaration of the other person's superiority by the platinum haired pureblood. And then the 'negotiations' followed.

Half an hour later, Takeda walked out of Malfoy Manor, with a fully signed document, a magical contract. It was a simple trade agreement, for goods that were unrelated to the primary skills of Hakumei, but it was how things started. Familiarity brought forward an opportunity to generate trust. This was the first test. In a while, Malfoy would be able to hire shinobi for his purposes. But it would be a while still. Besides, even with all that vaunted wealth, he'd be able to hire just one and still land in near bankruptcy. In the east, knowledge was true wealth. Gold was valuable, but knowledge was priceless.

The eastern territories, the name was given to themselves by the residents of what most people knew as the far east. China, Japan, Korea and the various surrounding countries that existed there. These countries were quite unique in that the term wizard simply did not exist. In fact they had sorcerers, millions of them. This hidden population for the most part were peaceful folk, researching how to use sorcery to improve the world. Of course, because there were so many of them, and communication was often very limited, despite the numerous means available, often people were just repeating the findings of past ages, adding to their family scrolls or tomes, in fact more than one and a half thousand years ago, Chinese sorcerers had developed the first flying ships, becoming masters of the eastern sky and waging war in the air long before western civilization, conceived that man could fly.

The Japanese were unique however in that they had what might be called magical ninja. Shinobi had existed for centuries. And even though the non-magical assassins were the better known variety, the magical version still thrived in earnest. But since their primary function of spying and assassination was less prominent than in centuries past, they were mainly caretakers, acting in similar fashion as policemen, policing their territories in a similar fashion to the western obliviators. Ironically, the standards they lived and fought by rose, as they had to be even more careful in their roles in this new world where the mundane sprouted themselves and their cities like rabbits. The more sinister and traditional role they played was the elimination of rogues, magicals who refused to live peacefully and attempted to grab power or abuse that which they had. There were many more magical humans in the east and consequently there were statistically more idiots who had evil agendas that needed checking. Ninja were regularly hired, mostly through services – paying an assassin in gold was considered an insult in the east. It demeaned his or her skill, reducing the ninja to a mere mercenary. That was the reality of the east. The west was more easy going, in fact so much so that the east dismissed the west as primitive; magically speaking of course.

Lucius meanwhile calmed himself. This meeting had been taxing on a level wholly unfamiliar to the blond aristocrat. Simply keeping up a facade of apathy was he discovered, very very difficult to manage. But, it had its rewards, and he was determined to keep playing the game till the end. The crux for his whole plan rested on the fact that the hospital was in crisis. There was a shortage of professionally made healing potions.

The contract was simply a supply agreement. Enough potions to fully equip St. Mungo's myriad of departments for a full 3 months. Potions are usually not too difficult to make, hence why many of the very potions that healers used are taught in the Hogwarts curriculum. The problem occurs in quantity and quality. Truly effective potions require careful preparation under a steady hand, something the chaos ridden magical world finds in short supply. Hakumei had simply solved the problem by using muggles. Ordinary people were trained to mix and make potions in a manner similar to cooking. After all, the magic was already inside the ingredients. And frankly, world over there were plenty of homeless people who had no problem doing anything for food and lodging. Hakumei just got them a lifetime job, paying them a small sum and conveniently letting them forget what they had done for years when they were returned to normalcy. Basic comforts make the deprived less likely to question the 'madness' of their tasks. Mild compulsions did not hurt. The ingredients themselves were sourced from eastern Europe. It was much cheaper than hiring one or more professional potion brewers to get it done.

Three weeks later, a shipment of healing potions were delivered to a warehouse of his employ. From there, they were anonymously donated to St. Mungo's. Then, when a sufficient amount of time had passed, people began to question how the hospitals notorious shortages had disappeared. People asked questions, and eventually, the name Malfoy slipped out, almost casually whispered by a no name flunky. People were shocked, disbelieving and grateful. Nobody wants their hospital in a potion-supply crisis. The fact that he had done this 'anonymously' was all people could talk about. The sequence of events had created more of an impact than if he had simply declared his donation publicly. People love intrigue, even if it doesn't end up in misery for somebody else. In this way, Malfoy had generated an immense level of public goodwill, which as the past had proved, always meant a significant increase in your political capital. A donation to the healer was tantamount to declaring your noble intention to serve the whole of the wizarding world. Such were the advantages a pile of galleons properly used ensured.

There always exists a concept in any "civilized" world that the richer you are, the more you are responsible for taking care of the people who are poorer than you. In an effort o separate himself from the thinly veiled animal he is, man seeks refuge in philanthropic affectation. This concept, which made Lucius's stomach crawl in more ways than one, was however a perfect means of gaining the goodwill and trust of the ignorant fools who were the bulk of the wizarding population. Who cared if the person doing the donating was a ruthless underhanded man who was once a secret(by not that much mind you) supporter and lieutenant of The Dark Lord? If he's using his wealth to help people, surely he can't be that bad right? Why, the very idea of the reformed (suspect)Death Eater is one even the mudbloods love! Lucius was very thankful to his father, the late Abraxus Malfoy, who had taught him the value of the subtle symbolic gesture as an unsurpassed means of molding public opinion.

There was a point of course to this rather long winded madness of course. In two years, Millicent Bagnold, the Minister of Magic was set to retire. Malfoy intended to ensure that her successor was...sympathetic to his views and ideas. Politicians were dime a dozen, but one who was not a total idiot, and capable of sticking with a simple plan... now that was something Lucius intended to see happen.

Two years later, Cornelius Oswald Fudge ascended the high throne of British magical government. Soon afterward, he found a 'generous' advisor in Lucius, the rich and publicly popular philanthropist. The twisted corridors of power would soon be twisted some more.

XXX

Takeda however, had another purpose in England, one a bit more long term than Lucius imagined. In Kyoto, inside headquarters, he had received his orders with a hidden grimace, wondering exactly why he had not taken the time and effort to die earlier. His boss, Hayate looked at him curiously. "Something wrong Takeda kun? Is this retirement plan not to your liking?" he asked, quite seriously. Takeda shook his head. And replied in the negative. He couldn't really complain after all. Hayate knew him well, and it seemed that his general had done this on a total whim, and just maybe as a practical joke to rattle his old bones. Why else would Takeda, master negotiator, still exceptional assassin and an adequate historian, be sent to this alien outpost, in the middle of nowhere? He reconciled himself by taking note of the fact that he was at least trusted and valued to run a safe house there. That is to say, he would reconcile himself, eventually.

Two weeks later, a small store was opened in Knockturn Alley. Those who frequented the area merely noted that there were several eastern looking swords, daggers and blades of all description on the shop front display, items which nobody bothered about, not here in Britain, where goblin blades still abounded, even if secretly. Very few people came there over the weeks, and those that did wore clothes that seemed quite weird and outlandish to the average wizard. However, it did not present a problem. In Knockturn, standard policy was along the lines of 'see nothing, hear nothing and for merlin's sake say nothing!'. Hakumei had a safe house in England. It might be said that even the path to world domination began with less.

XXX

In Surrey, a very different ninja was laying his own groundwork. Harry's start in the field of ninjutsu was quite...different than most ninja would have been used to in the Narutoverse. For one thing, despite his immense capacity in the illusionary arts, he had no idea how to go about actually doing a true elemental jutsu. How do you convert chakra into elemental chakra? How do handseals affect the molding of elemental chakra? And perhaps most important of all, what was his element? It was quite frustrating, when you knew what the results are, but had no clue to how one went about arriving at them.

For some strange and irrational reason, he was convinced that he would have more success finding his elemental nature than mapping out how to use handseals in elemental jutsu. And maybe, just maybe, he would have better luck if he concentrated on whichever element he would be most proficient in anyway...

The most glaring issue, was obviously the distinct lack of elemental testing paper. And he had no intention of feeding a sapling with chakra as it grew till it reached a stage where you could cut it and make paper out of it. Some things were just far too stupid to be attempted, his rash act of self mutiliation not withstanding.

So instead he decided to experiment. One particular thought was that affinity paper was just really really sensitive to chakra. Surely if he just pumped raw chakra steadily into a piece of paper for a while (a very vague period of time really) it might eventually show itself to be a particular element(stupid idea in hindsight really). Of course, there had to be multiple copies of this test attempt to ensure the statistical confirmation of the result. Science demanded it (at least one sensible demand had to be met).

Heavily handicapped by his particular upraising for out of the box and wacky ideas, he turned to his guru in all things normal, Richards.

"Hey Richards, can I have a bunch of small square papers I can keep on me all the time?"

"All I have at the moment is that half used stack of post-its, will that do?"

"That's great! Thanks Richards!"

"Er...sure, you're welcome...I think?"

By then, Harry had already bounded out of the library.

Harry spend the next three days clutching that stack of post-its while steadily pumping chakra into it. So what if it made the purple paper glow little? Post-its are meant to be bright after all...

And at the end of three days he got his reward for pushing chakra for a total of about forty plus hours when the whole stack just split clean down the middle. He felt ecstatic. It was marvelous, though it did raise eyebrows when Richards saw the post-its he'd given to Harry split into two right in front of him. And were those glowing?

While Richards was questioning if his advanced age was finally forcing him to buy corrective eye wear, Harry skipped off to do the exercise for wind chakra, except using old news papers. Leaves were remarkably rare and stripping down trees was in bad taste. He had to consider deforestation and global warming after all. Nobody said ninja had to be environmentally unfriendly.

XXX

Of course things are never easy when it came to chakra and Harry was in the thick of his big question, what exactly does wind do? His excellent intellect, on one hand, had compiled a good deal of archived evidence from his memory that suggested that wind was a bludgeoning force. Why, just look at hurricanes! A spinning wall of air and you have enough lost in damages to buy a small country. His documented evidence, the Manga said that wind was a cutting force, something which had just been suitably demonstrated upon the perfectly halved post-it stack. It was a grievous conundrum; one which he resolved by the perfectly scientific method of tossing a coin. Awesome blades of fury it was.

Considering that his chosen path had the equivalent of an instruction manual preexisting, Harry considered himself quite lucky. He had been forced to develop genjutsu literally from scratch after all. But without handseals, it still did not help him unless he wanted a Rasenshuriken, which was quite flashy for a ninja technique, irrespective of the mind numbingly awesome destruction it unleashed upon, well...one person. Besides, he kind of preferred to have 'ordinary' wind attacks that were transparent- very very useful if he needed an alibi not to mention it was more sneaky. After all, nobody could really pin anything on him if it was just a random gust of wind that did...whatever.

With sudden energy derived from his new found decisiveness, he dived headlong into his chosen path. He collected old newspapers and spent hour after hour for days focusing on ripping them into shreds, purely with chakra. Harry was on the road to wind mastery. The future was bright. Of course, he still needed to figure out how to use handseals...

XXX

Then, on a day that seemed quite ordinary, he was awakened by rude and incessant pounding on his door. And when he opened it, he found himself staring at the big, purpling and ugly mug of one Vernon Dursley. His uncle had finally blown a gasket. It was not unexpected, yet given that Harry had spent the last few days happily cutting paper in ever thinner and quicker slices, he had forgotten about the fact that there was a Moby Dick waiting to wreck his ship. The realization that this was a preordained event however did not mean that Harry intended to lay meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter. He was quite prepared to retaliate, physically or mentally. So, Harry asked questioningly, "Yes, uncle?"

Unaware of the grim determination that had settled into the mind of his young quarry, Vernon unleashed his primary weapon, the verbal salvo.

"None of that tone with me boy! You've been slacking off! Think we wouldn't notice?"

Harry noticed that his uncle failed to mention that it was the Dursleys themselves who reduced his chores till they were barely noticeable. Vernon meanwhile continued without pause or breath.

"No more I say! We've been far too kind to you boy! We took you in! Fed you! Housed you! And even sent you to a school! You think all that's free? You'd better go back to those chores or there will be consequences, you hear!"

Harry was surprised to find he had not retaliated with excessive force. His wonderment at his own self control was neatly shattered when Vernon, the ignorant whale muttered "useless freak" in a low voice that Harry only barely heard. But for some reason, it was enough. Rage exploded from within. Chakra flared and refused to settle down. The wind began to swirl around him, leaving nicks and lines in wide spirals.

Vernon watched these happenings with an attitude that was surprisingly logical. He saw the manifestation of otherworldly power, watched as the very air cut into his clothes, the wall and all things not his nephew. He analyzed this in a split second and decided on his course of action, executing it instantaneously.

Harry, in the detached state of mind that unholy rage left him in, watched as Vernon pissed in his pants(the liquid was clearly leaving its mark) while attempting to run away, all the while screaming like a little girl. Now that was multi-tasking!

Then as suddenly as it started, the uncontrolled chakra emission ended, and Harry was left with mere rage in his mind. To siphon it off, before he really did kill somebody, he used quite a few handseals to ensnare his uncle in a genjutsu, one that was quite useful, considering that it was a fear genjutsu that used the victims own fears to use. It was just really really hard, being complex and highly energy intensive. Perfect.

Vernon suddenly found himself very very small. All around him shadowy figures darted about in the shadows, in this house that suddenly looked nothing like the one he lived in. Occasionally macabre figures dressed in the freaky clothes came towards him, leering at him, flashing their hideous rotten teeth. They pointed twigs at him, vanishing and appearing in distinct pops. It was a scene right out of hell. And then, there was him. A single black clothed figure came out of the swarm of shadows, its face hooded and unseen. The figure with its distinctively Grim Reaper appearance lifted a single arm, whose sleeve lid down a bit, revealing a skeletal hand, devoid of all living tissue.

"Vernon....Vernon...have you come to play?", a creepy childish voice arose from the hood.

Vernon shivered. There was a disturbingly familiar ring to that voice, but he was far too busy staring at the bony index finger pointed at his face to think about such things.

"What shall I do...What shall I do...Oh what shall I do... With you I wonder!" the specter wailed, in an even more crazy and creepy sounding voice, plunging Vernon's jelly like spine into an icy abyss. Vernon however had surprisingly retained enough sanity to reply, or rather ask a question of his own.

"Wh-wh-who are you?" he spoke in a voice that sounded more brave than he felt.

The figure laughed, a horrible laugh that conveyed a maelstrom of negative emotions far more effectively than any words devised by the tongues of man.

"Why dear Vernon! Don't you know who I am? Or better still, what I am?", it asked, bringing down its hood, revealing a bleached skull, that was quite scary, especially considering the hint of fire in its eye sockets. And then, to complete the picture, a scythe materialized on the back of the entity, as if waiting to be used. Vernon was horrified. The reaper looked straight at him.

"Now now Vernon...Don't look at me like that! Surely you knew that if you kept up your unholy behavior, you would be punished..." then he continued in a more sing song voice, "You're going to hell Vernon! And I'm taking you there!"

Mad cackling followed.

Vernon paled. He wasn't as religious as he thought (or told everyone) he was, but the idea of going to hell was not one he really wanted to see happen. As if reading his thoughts, Vernon saw that both he and the reaper were in front of a set of huge fiery ornate gates. They opened with a creak and he could just about make out the sight, sound, smell and the plain pure aura of suffering that lay beyond it. A red glow promised the fires that were surely waiting to start roasting him...slowly.

The reaper then lay his cold clammy 'hand' on Vernon's shoulder. "You still have a chance Vernon...will you take it?" his creepy tone of voice seemed to make it very clear that there was nothing it wanted more than to see Vernon refuse. Vernon immediately refused to refuse. "Wh-what must I do?"

The reaper sounded extremely disappointed."Will you live your life as you should have? Will you give your nephew the care and support you should have given him? Will you treat him like he is human? WILL YOU STOP ADDING TO YOUR SINS?"

Vernon furiously nodded. The reaper chuckled, creepily of course.

"Are you sure you can do it Vernon my dear? I'm not...but then again, just remember...if you slip juuust once..." he waved a bony hand to the gates, which flared brighter, as if anticipating Vernons entry into their fiery domain.

And then he found himself cowering on the ground near an amused looking Harry, a confused Petunia and a blank looking Dudley. "Vernon darling? Are you all right?" Petunia asked, quite concerned. "You were shaking and shivering a lot, uncle Vernon." No prizes for guessing who.

Vernon shook himself. Was it all a dream? He looked at Harry's door. It was untouched. Not a sign of the freakish display he was sure he had just seen. When he was just about to write the whole thing off as one big hallucination, he felt a bony hand on his shoulder and a familiar creepy childish voice whisper into his ear...

"Remember what happens if you forget...i would just...hate it... If you decided that hell is where you want to spend eternity...Then I won't have aaaanyone to...entertain me...wouldn't want that now, would we Vernon?" Vernon had in the middle of it glanced behind him,just to make sure, only to see nobody there. He promptly renounced any intention of sinning. He also resolved to be more religious in the future.

Harry spent the month of December in considerably more comfort and ease than all the previous years of his life. No chores, no glares, no nothing. It was as if the Dursleys had suddenly turned a new leaf, which was creepy in its own way, mind altering genjustsu not withstanding. Consequently when Petunia asked, oh so nicely if Harry would spend Christmas with them, Harry politely refused and asked if it would be okay to spend his holidays with his school librarian to work on a project. And in a testament to the Dursleys sea change in attitude they agreed, without batting an eyelid at the wording he had used. They even wished him a safe trip and luck on his project. Harry wondered if his genjutsu had done its work too well.

XXX

Of course, when he got to Richards, he had to deal with a different, if more 'normal' problem.

Richards rubbed his chin lazily and looked at him gravely.

"So let me get this straight, your uncle-"

He stressed his voice with a particularly strong hint of disbelief.

"-had some type of quasi-religious experience."

It was true, in the sense that Vernon had described his experience as a meeting with celestial beings, who had instructed him to live a pious life. Well actually it was a lot longer and included lines from the bible(which Harry had no idea from where, considering Vernon could barely stand Sunday mass, never mind actual reading) that made it seem he had talked to an apostle. Richards continued,

"and has now been so moved, that he has decided to treat you properly?"

The incredulity of the statement could not have been more apparent if he tried.

Harry made a pacifying gesture.

"Its true. That's the reason I managed to make it here in the first place. Don't you believe me?" Puppy dog eyes were tried and tested weapons, the perfected result of thousands of years of evolution, and they did not fail him now.

Richards rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was very very hard to think clearly when those eyes, those incredible mind numbing green eyes were looming over you. It was impossible to resist, there was no way out, he had to give in.

"All right, I believe you-" He could almost see Harry doing his victory dance, "-but are you absolutely sure you didn't just grab your things and run?"

Harry was intrigued. Externally he just pouted. This man, upon who he had sworn not to use his more esoteric abilities (for obvious reasons) was resisting, at least partially, the most potent weapon that children the world over had; that mans will power was awesome.

Harry replied, "Yes, positive. You can call them if you'd like?" he offered.

Richards shook his head before he finished. He had met that man once, and as they say, once was one time too many. Besides, he somehow knew that Harry was telling the truth, at least about getting the Dursley's permission, despite his own staunch belief that the 8 year old was adept enough to convince a tiger it was a cat (and the voice inside his head that screamed that Harry was the cause of it all).

"So you're gonna spend Christmas here?"

"Yes"

"And the Dursleys won't file a kidnapping report?"

"No"

"Positive?"

"God! Yes already!"

Richard finally nodded, accepting it, Harry would be staying.

The next few days were fun. They played chess, watched movies, retold war stories, toured the old mans WWII memorabilia collection, had Star Wars marathons, talked about sciences that normal 8 year olds had no interest in(but helped Harry's wind related knowledge immensely), exchanged cooking secrets and did other odd things that would be considered unusual among another pair their ages. They exchanged gifts for Christmas, Richards getting a delicious dinner, courtesy Harry, and Harry getting a bamboo practice sword and kendo videos, courtesy of Richards son, an electronics engineer at a Japanese firm. All in all, it was a fun couple of days.

Before Harry left after their time together though, Richards gave him one last thing to think about. He said,"Now would be a great time to ask them about your parents. If they have really changed, maybe they'll actually tell you who they were and how they died. Just think about it."

Harry asked the Dursleys the magic question exactly on the 29th of December. By the time that day ended, he had been left with more questions than answers. Magic was real. His freakishness was the above mentioned magic. His mother and father also had it. They attended a school, run by a certain 'Dumbledore' who was also the one who sent him here. His parents were killed by some evil magic wielders. They still lived free and were seeking revenge, apparently. He would also be invited to the magical school when he turned 11. They used sticks that sent beams of light that did freakish things. There was someplace in London where his mother had gone to get her magical stuff. No, they didn't know where it was or how to get there. Dumbledore was a very old man. His eyes twinkled. They used brooms to fly. They could also teleport with a 'pop'. Oh, and they regularly drank stuff made with such ingredients armadillo bile and newt eyes. Or was it armadillo eyes and newt bile?

Needless to say, his brain had nearly short-circuited in the end with the random facts his aunt was quite eager to provide and seemingly pulled out just as she appeared to have finished. In the end, he simply decided that he would be better of continuing what he was already doing, only at an accelerated pace. He would quit school. There was very little necessity, considering that he would be going to this school when he was eleven anyway. He could home school till then in the subjects that really mattered, like science (physics was such a fascinating thing) and of course everything he himself had and would develop. Fuinjutsu was also going to have to be given a higher priority. He also had to give puppetry a try. He had to gain ability in other elements. Shadow clones had to be perfected and improved upon if possible. So many things simply had to be done. He wondered if he would be ready in time. He had just two and a half years after all...

XXX

A few weeks later in London, a certain Japanese man was putting the finishing touches on his report to his superior. After the regular bits were covered, he added an extra bit that he felt needed to be reported.

"There are frequent energy fluctuations detected from the Surrey area. Energy is not sorcery or ninjutsu. Source is shielded and exact location is untraceable. Will monitor..."

XXX

A/N: yes its finally over. 5th chapter is up. I so love writing. Its a great feeling. And its all thanks to you guys, so give yourself a cheer! Hope you like this one as well

Hmmm, as you have noticed, I've gone with wind for Harry here. Not that there was much doubt, for reasons that were stated, wind was pretty much his natural element. As for doujitsu, the kanji in his eye thing has a different purpose and is not a bloodline, more of a seal actually, which magic shall do...stuff with. I think I'll surprise you for this one. I was surprised that more of you didn't suggest Gaara's sand ability. I mean that is awesome in itself and uses wind too(even if not strictly a bloodline). Some of you may be asking what the whole purpose of Hakumei in this story is. They have dealings with Malfoys, have a 'space' in Knockturn, but they aren't real 'villains' yet. I've provided a bit of unrelated history here so that when I do introduce them later on they won't be popping out of thin air and are actual parallel characters with an existing back story of sorts(somehow I feel I messed that up...sorry if I did). That's all bout them. Next chapter starts after the time skip, so Hogwarts is almost here. Don't forget to breathe!

And as always, PLEASE REVIEW!