Disclaimer : I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Hell, I don't even own a bicycle.

XXX

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a god, as was the Sandaime Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen. Both were great leaders of men, and both had lived through a war, Both were peerless warriors in their prime, and both in their later years, were skilled enough to tide over the failings of frail bodies through pure ability. Both were administrative heads, and had to deal with the evils of paperwork. Both had generous white hair and were eccentric old men. And in a savage twist, both had the misfortune of condemning their orphaned saviors through hell because they turned a blind eye to the failings of ordinary humanity. And in the end , both lived to regret their decisions, and lack thereof. Whether Dumbledore, like Sarutobi, would die in battle, spouting at at the end that he died without regrets remained to be seen.

The great man, as many were fond of calling him, sat in his chair, looking at the bird that he was fortunate to call companion, the immortal phoenix, Fawkes. For, unlike his fine feathered friend, 'the great man' was not immortal, and they both knew it. But unlike the fiery creature of the light, Dumbledore could feel it. And he would have told anyone who asked, that being 110 years of age was actually very annoying. And being of the ilk that didn't really fear death, he wondered occasionally why he hadn't gone on to the next great adventure yet.

And then, the answer would rise up from the depths of his mind. Tom Marvolo Riddle, who styled himself Lord Voldemort was still alive. He had not died in 1981, merely fulfilling one part of an accursed prophesy, yet convincing the world that he had passed on. Tom had marked an equal for himself and had suffered the ignominy of turning into something worse than a ghost. There were reports of dark activity from Albanian forests, and once you had all the information, you didn't need the genius of Albus Dumbledore to figure out that that was where the heir of Slytherin was hiding. What he would do when he returned was impossible to say. But it was clear that the results would be ugly.

Dumbledore was not a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that Riddle would return. And he knew it was a case of sooner rather than later. He simply counted himself lucky that some fanatic had not already sworn to resurrect the Dark Lord and then done exactly that. The magical world could surprise you like that. And it helped that the true fanatics were all in Azkaban, or dead.

The real problem was twofold. First he had to discover exactly how Riddle had achieved this temporary immortality. For there was no way to achieve true immortality through the dark arts. The only method that guaranteed that you would live, in a functioning manner was the philosophers stone. Every other method had catastrophic prices to pay. And all of them left the poor sod in such fashion that death would have been a welcome mercy. Unfortunately, Riddle was crazy enough to do one. It was a pity really; what a great wizard he could have become!

And after the method had been discovered, then he would have to neutralize it and send Riddle on his own next great adventure. It was too much work really. If he was an ordinary man, he would have just keeled over and passed on. But he was Albus Dumbledore and he couldn't abandon the wizarding world to annihilation at the hands of a vengeful Dark Lord.

At any rate, things would soon come to a head. He had no doubt about it. This was the tenth anniversary of Riddle's 'death'. And this was the year that Harry Potter would join Hogwarts. Intuition told him that this year would set the ball rolling for Riddle as well. And when you lived to 110, you learned to trust your gut feeling. It was the reason after all why he had sent for the philosophers stone. The Flamels had finally decided to pass on to the other side. It was one more coincidence to the lot, and Albus Dumbledore would not be found wanting in foresight. Tomorrow the Hogwarts letter would reach 4 Privet Drive. He hoped it would find Harry in good health and good spirits. The boy would need both, if things went they way he believed they would.

XXX

Harry Potter was in great health and better spirits. He was prepared. Or at least he felt he was. There was really no way to be sure, but he had done the best he could.

It could have been said that Harry had not changed much, but that was clearly not the case. He looked very imposing these days with his above average height. He seemed quite older than his records claimed he was. For a eleven year old, Harry James Potter was an exceptionally mature boy. He was serious at all times and rarely laughed. He was simply too busy to have too much fun. But then, nobody knew about his night time jaunts, so they could all be forgiven for assuming that Harry was an all work, no play type of person. Not that anyone really cared, after all, he was the "delinquent".

Harry was what could be called a skilled ninja. He had an impressive repertoire of jutsu, primarily wind, but in all the other elements too. He had a basic knowledge over puppetry and even had a monstrosity of a wooden arachnid that he sometimes rode, just for fun. He was quite the seal master for having started from scratch, and had practically written entire books about the subject, in Japanese. Shadow clones made all sorts of stuff possible.

Harry had long mastered the shadow clone. It was simply too valuable not to use. He had started from what he read, and gone on to modify it in small ways each time he created them. And cumulative time from the clones meant that his mind was about 6 years older than his body, something which actually reflected in his thought processes. He hadn't been eleven for a while now. And he used them near continuously day after day-being in two or more places at once is a very useful thing indeed.

Harry had taken the time to expand his elemental capability, after all unpredictability is a ninja's greatest asset. So he had pursued earth, water and the tiniest bit of fire. Raiton remained just outside his reach as he could mold the chakra but could not really use it in a practical fashion. Then again, he could do an elemental water dragon, even if it was a small one, so he didn't mind too much.

Harry carried all sorts of things on him now, especially since the magic letter was expected any day now. It really didn't hurt to be prepared. Sealing had given him a unique perspective into storage, and barriers, which was how you did anything in sealing. An explosive tag activated by imparting a high level of energy to the matter it was comprised of, namely the paper and ink. A barrier contained the energy for a given amount of time after which, it ceased to exist, releasing the matter at high velocity in an omni-directional manner, in other words, it exploded. Storage seals involved creating extra dimensional spaces, the dimensions and capacities of which were determined by the seal(he needed quite the imagination to figure it out). And of course, you could reinforce a solid, rigid object by the correct use of barriers. Other things were possible in stages. The possibilities increased with the complexities, but it was all worth the time and effort. But the one seal that Harry really treasured was a chakra absorption seal, that drew chakra from the atmosphere. It was the holy grail of sealing as far as Harry was concerned, and he had done it. He just didn't feel the need to place it anywhere important, so it lay unused, for now. Not that it could do much...the ambient chakra was not as plentiful as he had hoped.

The journey however, had been very problematic. There were an infinite ways that things could and had gone wrong. It was almost impossible for even him to comprehend the full magnitude of what he was trying. Sealing was very precise, and very easy to get wrong. It was perhaps a very good thing that Harry had the ability to regrow fingers. Otherwise he wouldn't really have any left. The first seals... weren't. So they didn't do anything at all. But when he had finally started to get closer to what he now knew as actual seals, he began to start seeing chakra burns that were what he would have expected for failed seals. It was actually a relief to know that seals did exist and it was all not a figment of his imagination.

When he finally lost a whole hand to a misfiring exploding tag(and spent half a day regrowing it painfully) he had finally switched to trying to use clones to do the actual activation of the seal. His research finally restarted when he perfected the art of channeling chakra into seals through mizu bunshin. It was how he began to derive what he would call the postulates of sealing, which was actually a quite straightforward set of rules he had discovered relating to how he would eventually do the things he could do. Seals were time consuming as they had to be drawn by hand. He supposed it had to do with the latent chakra the ink drew or something(you just couldn't mass produce them through printing) but they got you concrete results, and for that, they were amazing.

XXX

The owl, was not a great one. It was of the stock that Hagrid had bred for the service of the school and was consequently one of those high endurance sufficiently intelligent and properly anonymous little birds that Dumbledore and his staff used constantly in the holidays to deliver communications of all sorts to students. Consequently, this particular bird had been used to deliver letters to three families of magical children before it was assigned to carry this particular one.

The letter that it carried would have been considered historic. It was after all the Hogwarts letter to the Boy-Who-Lived. If somebody had actually taken the time to auction it, there would have been quite a few outrageous bids for what was essentially an everyday piece of stationary. The wizarding world, just like the muggle one had its share of the irrational fan people. And they called themselves "different" from muggles...

This owl however had no inkling of the particular artifact it carried in its talons. It was after all a mere mail bird. It had within it a great amount of the magics that allowed it to find and deliver its cargo to any person or location in the world. At the moment the same magics were telling it that it had but a couple more miles to go, and that its tiring flight muscles would finally get a rest. High altitude flight is quite the tedious affair.

When the owl landed though, it suddenly found itself instructed to wait. Now a normal person would have questioned a thought that suddenly told them to wait when they really wanted to leave(or not; humans can rationalize the end of the world if necessary), but the owl didn't really mind, for it really wanted to rest anyway. Inside the house, the recipient of the letter felt the owl trap he had laid 'trip' and started to walk out. There were things to be done, and little time to do it in. the morning of July the 24 would be quite different to what he was used to.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all

necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

The letter of course was the standard one issued to wizarding children, but did not have the accompanying faculty member to explain everything, which was really necessary considering that Harry was isolated from the wizarding world by the headmaster himself and consequently could not have been replied to, as the letter asked the recipient to. Where the hell did they expect Harry to conjure an owl out of anyway? And where exactly was Diagon Alley? And why did it sound suspiciously like the word diagonally?

So, with a great deal of annoyance, Harry wrote a reply, on paper, telling the next unfortunate reader that he had no previous contact with this "magical" world, had no clue what they were talking about, and had no intention of taking this pathetic excuse of a hoax seriously unless someone was going to take the trouble to enlighten him as to why they wanted him of all people to learn to pull rabbits out of hats.

The letter, which might as well have been called a muggle howler, was held out to the poor brown bird who was perched outside. And obedient as ever, the bird took on new cargo and prepared to fly all the way back to Scotland, again. Thankfully, a conveniently timed gust of wind took it up to a great height in no time, reducing the work the owl had to do and pushing back the time it would take. Down below, Harry watched it fly off, knowing that soon he would be thrust into this seemingly crazy world, which had him learning such odd subjects as "transfiguration".

XXX

To say that Minerva McGonagall was not amused would be a terrible understatement. She was literally steaming from the ears, though that may have something to do with the little bottle she took a swig out of just before rushing out of her office. Looking at her, one might have been tempted to say that she was angry at the letter she had just received from one Harry James Potter, but then, one would have been only partially correct. For while it was true that the letter was the cause of this eruption of curses (not from her wand mind you) that McGonagall was currently letting, it was not the sender that was the target of this string of obscenities that would have sent a Death Eater blushing. No, her enemy lay entrenched in his stone fortress, guarded by a gargoyle that refused to give her right of passage.

"Albus! You will let me in right this instant! You and I have some matters to discuss!" She would later be very embarrassed about the way she had behaved, and did apologize, but at the moment, she was far too gone to bother with such niceties.

Said Albus was a very wise man, for he did not immediately let her through. An angry Minerva was like an out of control storm. There would be no telling what that woman would do when she was in one of her moods. And the headmaster remembered the last time that she had gotten worked up. She had turned his precious office into a pile of rubble. Thankfully, he had been one of the few people who could reverse the transfigurations that had demolished his office, but it had taken a while still. This was one woman who was not afraid of the great Albus Dumbledore. And it was at moments like this, that he wished she was.

McGonagall however didn't wait too long. She merely transfigured the stone gargoyle into a paperweight, which she promptly sent flying down the hallway with a sturdy kick. Then she climbed up the moving stairs, looking for all intents and purposes like an avenging goddess of destruction.

"Albus Dumbledore! Will you explain yourself?" she shouted as soon as she reached the top and flung open the door. The headmaster however was quite unruffled and smiled pleasantly, twinkling eyes and all. Internally, he thanked Merlin he had not locked the door. His deputy might have reached the conclusion that he was hiding.

McGonagall was not amused. However, just as she was about to shout again, Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something. She paused a fraction of a second, waiting for what he would say.

Dumbledore had calmly opened a drawer and retrieved a bowl. He popped something into his mouth and then offered the bowl to his fuming adversary, still smiling. "Lemon drop?"

McGonagall looked speechless. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, without uttering a sound. Then she smiled sweetly in that fashion that only an enraged goddess of destruction can achieve, and said "Why, no thank you Headmaster." and promptly sat down. that she was fingering her wand did not go unnoticed. Neither was the fact that magic was rolling around her person like a tropical squall.

Dumbledore, ever thankful for small favors, decided to quickly get his few words in before she started again. "Minerva! What can I do for you?" he asked jovially, as if it was the most normal thing in the world and she had not just been shouting at him, for what reason he still didn't know.

McGonagall it seemed, had suddenly realized that latter detail too, for she got to her point in a much more subdued manner. But nobody could deny that her words held a strong sense of reproach in them.

"Headmaster, can you please tell me what this means?"

She handed over the letter, the same piece of paper that was Harry's reply. Dumbledore took it and adjusted his half moon glasses, reading the letter with an air that grew more despondent as his eyes traveled down. At the end he simply sighed, shocking McGonagall, who had not seen him do such a thing since the war trials had finished. At the moment, he really looked like a broken man.

"Headmaster?" McGonagall asked tentatively. The sight of him frowning was quite disturbing indeed.

Dumbledore looked at her gravely. The letter had destroyed a bit of himself. His decision it seemed, had worked too well. When young Harry had been sent to the Dursleys, in spite of their opinion of magic, he had silenced his misgivings with the thought that Harry would be well taken care of. He told himself that the ordinary muggle middle class family would provide an ideal home where Harry could grow up without the adoration of a grateful wizarding world to corrupt his developing mind. The same family that had produced Lily Evans would do the same for Harry Potter, that was his guiding assumption. He had assumed that Lily's sister would eventually tell the boy about his heritage. After all, while she was neither witch nor squib, she was no stranger to the magical world.

When Petunia was very young, a certain Severus Snape had discovered that his neighbor, a young Lily Evans was a witch. He immediately proceeded to inform her of the fact. Their conversations, while hushed were certainly overheard by the young Petunia, who as a result knew more about the wizarding world than she let on. Also, she had seen Dumbledore, who had paid a visit to reinforce the message about taking care of Harry. Apparently, the situation hadn't worked quite the way Dumbledore had assumed and planned for. The letter in front of him was shouting this at him.

His decision at the time had also been influenced by what he had deduced about the situation from the facts at hand. That night, when he had stepped through the nearly destroyed Potter home, he had reached only one conclusion. Whether by chance or design, the innocent Lily had invoked the ancient magics of sacrificial protection. It was a forgotten snippet he read a long time ago from a book that no longer existed that had even suggested its possibility. The fact that she had been able to invoke it at all was astounding. He had always known that Lily was a bright girl, so in the end he concluded that she had done it purposely, that girl had actually planned for the terrible possibility that had unfolded! Now, his only task was to somehow protect her son so that her sacrifice was not in vain. Riddle may have been ended but his Death Eaters were still free. That fear would be justified when mere days later the Longbottoms were attacked, and the couple left in a state worse than death. But he had made a split second decision while still in that burning shell of a home, one he would later convince himself was the right one, until now.

Dumbledore sighed once more and then turned to face McGonagall. "It seems that this old man has been proved wrong. I kept the boy alive, but the price may be higher than anyone could imagine..."

"Headmaster?" McGonagall asked in a half worried and half curious tone. Dumbledore would spend quite a while explaining why she would have to undo some of his mistakes, when she went to visit Harry. She was most certainly not amused by the whole situation.

XXX

Harry was not quite aware of the trouble and despair he had unleashed upon the old man, but needless to say, if he did, he would have been very pleased. He had spent his time in a very relaxed manner, trying to settle back into the normalcy of average humanity before somebody arrived to meet him. Since he knew for a fact that the letter was not a hoax, it would only be a matter of time before that happened. And he wanted to be a very normal and removed-from-the-magical-world type of person when they did. He wasn't trying to get them suspicious of anything after all, and he assumed that would have been his reaction if he had not discovered his inner ninja when he was seven.

In a way, the last few months had been troubled. The great Daniel Richards had passed away, at seventy seven, having been the victim of a heart attack. The veteran had passed away in his sleep. But before he had gone, he had endeavored and succeeded to turn Harry into a fine human being, one who was knowledgeable and intelligent, a literary warrior of his own caliber. And Harry liked to think that the old man had succeeded. It was sad, but it was a reality that was he would have to deal with. Death was the one thing that would be a constant in his life, and the sooner he began to deal with it the better.

But the one thing that Harry was quite amused at was the fact that Richards had given Harry a place in his will. While his son had gotten the cash, and the house, Harry had gotten most of the books, most of the war memorabilia, and a couple of Star Wars costumes, in Harry's size. Stormtrooper armor can be easily modified into battle armor when you have quite the knowledge of seals; and lots and lots of paint. It was also easier to pay your respects, with nobody to grumble at your presence at a funeral when you're dressed up as Darth Vader. He was simply dismissed as one of the old mans odd acquaintances. Harry was not inclined to hide there of all places. Besides, in its own way, this was more fun than messing with peoples heads with illusions.

Harry had been grateful to the old man, as he was quite frankly the only family Harry ever really had. This fact was perhaps affirmed by the fact that Harry spent every Sunday for a while after his death mediating (invisibly) on his grave. It was quite peaceful for his mind.

XXX

The 28th of July was a Sunday. Consequently, when the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts swooped down the driveway in an excellent imitation of Severus "the bat" Snape, nobody was really there to witness the odd apparition. Once she was at the door though, she composed herself. Whatever the annoyance she felt towards the headmaster, it was poor form to display it in front of her potential student. The 'potential' part of course was purely reflex. She never had any doubt that Harry would be accepting his invitation to learn at Hogwarts.

She rang the doorbell. It was an odd thing really, and she would much rather prefer a solid doorknocker over this muggle contraption any day. Then again, it was also wise to not display this disdain towards muggle devices openly. In the last 5 years, 12 muggleborns had refused to study at Hogwarts because the person who had been responsible for the visit had displayed a rather anti-muggle attitude and attempted to force the child with some rather heavy handed words. The subsequent obliviations(to preserve the statute of secrecy) had meant a very real loss to the magical community. It was an entirely different matter that ten of the twelve were visits conducted by Severus Snape. SHE would not be repeating the mistakes of certain others.

The door was opened by somebody that McGonagall knew and hated all too well, Vernon Dursley. The fact that he did not sneer/shout/sputter at her though was a welcome change from what Dumbledore described from his last visit here. But the slight stiffening that she noticed assured her that this was in fact the real Vernon Dursley. What really shocked her was the fact that he politely said "Good Day, what can I do for you?" McGonagall did not spend more than the tiniest of moments on contemplating what terrible head injury this man must have sustained. Instead she continued with what she had been assigned to do. "I'm here to see Harry Potter."

Vernon nodded and said, "Please, come in. I shall call for him momentarily."

McGonagall was very very surprised at this unusual behavior, so much so that she had to stop herself from looking for glassy eyes, checking for if somebody had imperiused this man. She sat in the offered chair quite dazed and more than a bit confused. She did however take the tea the man offered her.

Harry Potter had in the middle of this come down and seated himself. He looked quite normal, if slightly taller than the average eleven year old. He wore loose black clothing that looked more like those worn by the Egyptian desert nomads she had seen than what the average muggle wore. It looked quite odd, and frankly she was quite fascinated at the possible insights this abnormal clothing could offer. Harry himself was not quite ready to be stared at in this penetrating fashion and politely coughed.

McGonagall quickly roused herself from her thoughts and smiled a bit. There was more than the fair share of James Potter in this boys looks than she had imagined. So she began, in a more polite version of the curt Scottish tone she normally used.

"Mr Potter, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, the school that you...replied to in a quite severe fashion. I have been given to understand that you have many questions regarding magic. Is that true?"

Harry looked at her in a very skeptical manner and answered.

"Yes, that is it. I find myself quite unconvinced regarding this 'magic' business and cannot comprehend the purpose behind the letter that your 'school' has sent. I am at the moment under the distinct impression that this is some sort of elaborate hoax. While my aunt has mentioned that the letter is not, as I suspect a joke, due to our prior history I find myself not quite convinced. Perhaps you can elaborate further upon this matter?"

McGonagall felt the migraine rear its ugly head.. The Boy-who-lived was convinced that magic was a joke. She could already imagine what Severus would have done by now – bid good day and leave, probably with that billowing cloak of his no less. And why was Harry not informed about magic sooner? Dumbledore had told them that the Dursleys were supposed to tell him about his heritage, but it seemed that whatever head injury that had reformed the male Dursley had seemingly driven this matter clean out of his head. And she suspected that the jealousy that Petunia harbored towards her sister(from what Dumbledore had said about the past) had stopped her from doing anything either. And in the midst of it all she admired the very demeanor that this boy exhibited. It looked like this one was more Slytherin than Gryffindor. Then again, with that vocabulary, he might as well be Ravenclaw.

She cleared her throat. "Would you believe in magic if I were to demonstrate something for which magic is the only rational explanation?"

Harry thought for a second and then replied, "After ignoring the fact that magic is irrational, yes."

So she simply nodded...and turned into a cat. She then jumped onto Harry's lap, who promptly began conducting his own investigation on it, with respect to anatomy, and his own infantile medical jutsu that could right now let him vaguely get a "feel" for the chakra systems(which everything living had, weak as it was) of all living things. A minute later, she jumped into her chair and transformed back. Harry looked the slightest bit unnerved by the display. Good.

McGonagall then whipped her wand out, slowly and showed it to Harry, who raised an eyebrow. Then she pointed at her teacup, which was on the table and obligatory wave of wand later, turned it into a toad.

"That Mr Potter was a spell that I cast using this wand. The result of this spell is as you have seen, is the transformation of this teacup into a toad. This is one of aspects the subject I am teaching and is called transfiguration. What you saw before that was what is called an animagus transformation, also another application if a great deal more advanced one of transfiguration."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Then he slowly reached out and grabbed the toad, which hadn't moved. He looked at it from several angles, then poked and prodded it. After his examination, he set it down and politely asked her to turn the toad back. He then proceeded to examine the teacup in similar fashion. It was actually quite amusing to watch. The cup then slipped and fell out of his hand. Just as it fell and broke on the floor, McGonagall levitated it back on to the table. She looked at him expectantly.

"I will concede that science cannot explain this and that magic is real. Now, if you could tell me exactly what this magical adventure will entail?"

McGonagall smiled to herself. She had won and now it was just a matter of reeling him in.

XXX

It took two hours, from eight to ten AM to finish clearing all of his doubts. It was quite tedious to actually explain things in detail before he accepted any statement she made and let her continue. It almost felt like she was being interrogated. Then again, she was a bit glad that at least one student this year was this inquisitive and thorough. Such people ended up going far in the magical world. Then she remembered that she would also have to take him to Diagon and felt the migraine return in full force. She could only imagine how that would end. Yet again, Minerva McGonagall found herself cursing a certain twinkling eyed old man. Then, she spent another 15 minutes telling Harry exactly why he was popular. Harry did not look amused, but he didn't say a thing.

McGonagall however found herself pleasantly surprised when they had left for supplies. Harry in Diagon (or was it 'Harry in Public'?) was a very quiet Harry. He did not talk much, went about his business with consummate ease and generally kept her migraine at bay. It was actually quite a relief.

When Harry had been side along apparated to an alley near the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had asked about the 'teleportation', politely. He accepted the basic explanation she gave and asked to continue. There would always be time to learn about it later.

The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and the pub itself were quite unimpressive. Though, the uses of magic all around were apparent to his finely tuned sight and hearing. However, for the entrance to the commercial center of the wizarding world, it was quite plain, uninspired and looked like it had come straight out of the middle ages. If only he knew...

Harry, was not mobbed at the pub because he had been fortunate enough to put up the hood that came with his ensemble. He had stated that he had no particular desire to show his face in public.

"Professor, are hoods particularly common in the wizarding world?"

McGonagall noticed that he stumbled over the word 'wizarding', as if still not used to the idea. She led him to the back, where the famous wall and trash can were. McGonagall pointed out the brick(muttering "Three up, two across" for his benefit) and tapped it, before replying, "yes, robes come in a variety of fashions and it is not uncommon for ordinary and outdoor wear to have hoods instead of hats"

Harry heard her, but was actually paying more attention to the rather curious way the bricks were clearing away. He looked on with curiosity, wondering what sort of amazing place would be behind the magic wall. Surely this place must be incredible!

McGonagall looked at Harry, scrutinizing his face for the awestruck look that characterized most muggleborn faces when they first see Diagon Alley. Indeed, she was not disappointed, when Harry looked like his jaw was on the floor. He seemed speechless.

"I'm speechless" he said, as if to emphasize the point. McGonagall resisted the urge to giggle at his face.

"It's quite an imposing sight when you first see it. I find that most muggleborn students find it fairly intimidating and impressive, when really, its just like any muggle market, except with magic"

Harry passed the stores in silence, following the moderate pace that the professor had set to allow him to take in the sights. It was as they say, an experience. While Harry had certainly seen markets before, this one had the most outrageous wares to sell. It was more than what McGonagall said it was. And they didn't even seem to be using what he considered currency. Apparently, the magical economy was also severed from the non-magical one. He would have to ask about it later.

XXX

Harry did not ask about anything as they slowly meandered towards the great white structure that McGonagall, without his prompting had said was 'Gringotts', the wizarding bank. It was the most distinctive building in the whole alley, with its white marble walls and pillars, perhaps a sign to show that the bank was pure or something. He really couldn't say. But then, it still had the characteristic lack of straightness that seemed to plague the whole alley and still looked odd enough.

When he entered, he found himself fascinated by the goblins, these weird looking creatures who were apparently the guardians of the wizarding worlds economy. It was quite amazing to think that this species had existed right under everybody for god knew how long. And sentient non-human life at that! It was really quite fascinating. But then he was supposed to be a ninja, and ninja did not get fascinated at new species of intelligent life – they analyzed said species for the threat level posed by them and neutralized them if necessary. This magical world was screwing with his priorities...

The Professor seemed to have an idea of what was supposed to be done, so he let her do it. He could always badger her with questions later. So, when the conversation at the counter was over and a nondescript goblin(named Griphook) had been called, he merely went with the flow. Questions about exactly why his vault key was in the possession of Albus Dumbledore could wait. Besides, these carts looked quite interesting too.

And so very interesting they were. Harry's wind nature seemed to give him a vague sense of how the tunnels went. And his senses were hardly taxed by the myriad of twists and turns the cart took in its journey. He could probably draw a map if he wanted. Not that he had to, it was just that this seemed to be the first place where his skills could be used in something resembling a useful fashion. Not to mention he just plain liked the speed. It almost felt like he was flying. Hmmm...that was an idea. After all he had read about ninja who could fly, and while he could certainly jump a very large distance(and more with some pressure assistance from his wind nature) flying was out of reach at the moment. That would have to be rectified. Perhaps seals would have the answer.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the cart finally stopped in front of a vault, which he assumed was vault 687-his vault. Now he would know exactly what McGonagall had meant when she said that Harry was 'fairly well off'. And now would be an excellent time to ask about the currency, not to mention how to change it to British pounds. If he had enough, he could do a fair bit of the things he had put off for being prohibitively expensive. And then the vault door opened.

Harry was for once truly shocked. The term 'pile of gold' had not really meant anything, until now. He was definitely grateful that his parents had left enough gold so that he could do...wait, how much did that pile of gold translate to in hard cash anyway? He asked.

"The gold coins are Galleons, the silver ones, Sickles, and the bronze ones, Knuts. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. And that Mr Potter is the currency system used by the wizarding world"

The reply was oddly enough, from the goblin standing behind him. When he turned to look at Griphook, the goblin grinned savagely. Now that was more like it! Hidden from McGonagall's view, he returned the gesture, adding a bit of killing intent. The goblin now looked distinctly happy, which is actually quite a weird look for the usually snarky species.

"So how much would a galleon be in British pounds?" Harry asked.

"A galleon is 5 pounds. You may exchange them at the appropriate counter in the main floor."

"Most useful information, Griphook."

Griphook merely smiled, this time refraining from showing his distinctive teeth. Harry and these goblins would get along famously. He turned around. He had galleons to take. McGonagall for some strange reason had to shake off the sudden image of Harry laughing maniacally – quite odd that.

The ride back was passed in as much silence as the ride down. McGonagall winced visibly and Harry internally whooped for joy. He would have to check up on flying soon...

XXX

After Gringotts, the first stop was Madame Malkins. The robe shop was quite interesting as far as clothing shops went. Well, it was his first magical clothing store, and he had to admit that the experience had slight differences, though the basic procedure was somewhat the same. Harry vaguely wondered why there simply wasn't a spell that the necessary stuff. That would get rid of the uncomfortably close contact that seemed unavoidable for all the fat lot of good magic was. Then again, he supposed that having a wand pointed at you, especially by a complete stranger would be worse. McGonagall had mentioned that there were many highly dangerous spells, not just the one shot kill that was the killing curse, Avada Kedavra.

He wondered if he really ought to bother with learning these 'combat spells'. He doubted they could beat jutsu. And he instinctively knew that a Suiryudaan (water dragon) could outrun a killing curse, though how he knew was another question. Speaking of killing curses, he had received his scar at the hands of magic, so perhaps there was a way to spell it away? He really didn't like having that mark on his forehead. Like his glasses, they were a simple means of identifying him. And maintaining a henge 24/7 was not his idea of a perfect plan. On second thought, he could now just pay for plastic surgery...

XXX

After the thought provoking visit to get robes, Harry was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a bookshop. Flourish and Blotts, as the sign announced, seemed to be the average bookshop. It was likely that the basic things he would need to learn, like customs, practices, jargon – all the details that made infiltration easier would be found in this one place if he looked really hard. Muggleborns used this place too, and it was likely that they would stock books that would both help in assimilation and was a sure seller, especially to such an established and self replenishing customer base. All he would have to do would be send a henged clone. A quick illusion, a handseal or two later, a nondescript eleven year old was headed towards somebody who could help. Said clone was also carrying quite a few of the galleons that Harry had been carrying. Meanwhile Harry hurried to get the books he would need. Ten minutes later, several books that had not been on the school list were safely sequestered in storage scrolls. By the memories he had received, he had exactly what he would need. Besides, he could always come back later...

The apothecary was a very smelly place – one that Harry's sensitive nose seemed to take particular offense to. There were too many rotten smells to handle and Harry had finally given up after all of 5 seconds and plugged his nose with chakra. He felt instantly better, though his companion seemed to find the whole shop distasteful. He couldn't say he really blamed her. After all, the very labels were indicative of the body parts that stocked the place. Harry mused that if ever they changed the name, mortuary would fit the place much better than apothecary ever did. He also took a note to self to get used to the smell of death and decay. A near silent voice in his head muttered 'first kill' but Harry put it away for now.

The last store, as was appropriate, was the wand shop. Ollivander's, as the board said looked quite the worse for wear. The dust that coated the place did nothing to raise his opinion of the store. Yet for some reason, it occurred to him that it was a representation of how the wizarding world was still stuck in the past, and for not moving a long time, it had a layer of dust on it to boot. This trip was making his thoughts go in weird ways, some of it actually useful. Perhaps there was something more to this magic business than he had first considered. Now that was an original thought...

An old man, who he assumed was Ollivander, strode in looking at him with beady eyes. It looked particularly unnerving, or at least would have been, if he wasn't looking at him as if he some new museum exhibit. After a few seconds of mutual staring which McGonagall was looking at with pursed lips, Ollivander turned to the professor. Deciding, that looking around at the shop was not going to hurt him any, he began to try and get a feel for the chakra in the shop. Magic and chakra were different, that he knew, but there was bound to be some relation. After all, he was by now pretty sure by now that neither his parents nor anyone else in this crazy world had no clue how to use or develop chakra. That was all Harry, and from an idea in a book no less. No, he had started with magic, but he had been using chakra. There was some connection here, but he just couldn't put a finger on it...

McGonagall looked at Harry as Ollivander asked about her wand. He seemed in great thought, and she could only wonder what his mental state would be at the end of the day, especially considering that he had begun from a firm 'magic is false' perspective. The poor boy was going to have one hell of a headache.

He was shaken out of his musings by an amused looking Ollivander, who appeared to be shaking him by the arm. Harry was annoyed that he didn't have the awareness that he ought have developed at this point, but put it away in favor of finishing this business first. There was always more time for training later.

Harry let Ollivander drone on about wands, and then patiently waved each and every wand that Ollivander thrust into and then took from his hand. He was able to follow the small frown and the excited gleam in his eyes that seemed to magnify slowly as each wand was eliminated. In a way, it was fascinating to watch.

Finally, Ollivander muttered an "I wonder" and went to the back, bringing with him a box that contained a single wand. "Holly and eleven inches, with a single pheonix feather" the reverence and the curiosity in his voice was scarcely less apparent. And, obliging the man, Harry gave a swish.

The feeling was quite light. He felt happy, and the song that seemed to fill his ears expressed a joy that could not be put to words. It was quite worrying. Mind control was looking like a reality in the magical world, absence of a Yamanaka clan notwithstanding. That would be something to confirm later. For now, he would come back to the present.

Ollivander looked at him excitedly. "Ah, it seems we have found your wand! Take care of it sir, and it will take care of you. That will be seven Galleons. It is curious though..."

Harry however did not ask him about that. There was a dark feeling inside him. The wand had made him experience something quite amazing. But if magic could create such genjutsu like effects, there was such a great deal of preparation to be done. His very combat effectiveness was under question here. Thankfully, he had books to at least help. And intelligence was what he should concentrate on now. Magic could not remain the unknown entity.

He laid seven gold coins on the tab and walked out the door, muttering a hurried thank you. His elation was all but gone. McGonagall found him outside the store, standing still with eyes closed. She did not know what had occurred, but he looked a bit uncomfortable, and worried?

"Are we done for today professor?"

"Mostly, yes. There are just a few more things I need to inform you."

The rest of the 'things' were the important, if minor details he would need to remember, like the train ticket, how to get on the platform, where to get a postal owl if he had more questions...stuff.

As he returned home, he mused on exactly how he could use the knowledge he had just been made aware of. It would seem that he would have to dust off his books on dealing with people. This was one infiltration and assimilation mission he would complete to perfection.

Harry sat in his room, writing. He had stuff to do. He was rich, which helped. He was famous, possibly influential. And he had new goals and new means to achieve them. Now he could finally do the things he'd really wanted, with money that he could spend. Yes things were going to change, again...and he had a month to make those changes. Harry smiled.

XXX

Dumbledore looked at his deputy as she walked into his office. This time, he had set the gargoyle aside before she even came near his office. There was no telling how she would react to his 'fun' today.

She sat in and without the headmasters prompting, stuffed a lemon drop in her mouth. Then she looked straight at him.

"Headmaster, do you happen to have a bottle of firewhiskey here?"

Dumbledore gaped.

XXX

A/N: ohayo!

Well, I've tried to make up for my delay in the previous chapter. Hope I've done well.

Harry's going to Hogwarts! Dream come true...and now the story can really start. More involvement from my oc's, actual fighting...all and more in coming chapters.

I've tried to show a Harry with a scrambled brain. Suddenly confronted by the magical world, he loses a bit of his innate shinobiness for a while as he tries to cope with all these facts flooding him. He'll be back to normal next chapter. And possibly in the all ninja mode as he becomes serious

As to why McGonagall, I figured that Dumbledore wouldn't send the big hearted but slightly thick Hagrid to pick up Harry, considering that Harry seemed to need convincing about magic. Hagrid isn't supposed to do magic after all. And well, McGonagall was just plain interesting for this

Thanks to all the people who read and review my story, you inspire me and motivate me into writing. And as always,

PLEASE REVIEW!