Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Naruto, which really should be obvious by now.
but now and then
those lawyers keep
bangin on my door
at three in the mornin
shoving paper up my nose
sayin I do not own
their shit, so why
can't I be grumpy
in this technical world
where some people
really gunning for
for a bite of my apple?
A/N: Ahem. Now that my insanity has been filed and notarized, back to your irregularly scheduled dose of the unusual. Just remember that Skywalker is an alter ego of Harry and you'll be fine.
XXX
Severus Snape walked down the alley with clear purpose; his strides, quick and menacing. His cloak billowed behind him like the capes of the kings of old. His face told of violence, murder and wholesale slaughter. He stepped into Knockturn without a pause, scattering the otherwise terrifying denizens of the alley as they got away from the possibly deranged and powerful man.
He turned stopped quickly enough, the sign of the shop a clear reminder that he had business to attend. The moment he entered into the store, he sidestepped a curse that promptly reduced a large chunk of door into blackened dust. He was not amused.
"BOOORRRGIIINNN!" he roared, almost tipping over a few dangerous "items" in his haste to reach the pale and terrified man behind the counter. Borgin could not hope to kill him without an excess of guile, especially when his improperly gripped wand had promptly fallen with that first spell and rolled underneath the counter.
Snape reached over the counter and single handedly pulled the cowering excuse of humanity upwards. His other hand held his wand, its tip glowing a vicious yellow. His silky and dangerous voice rang clearly within the silent shop.
"Borgin, when a customer of yours purchases a product, it is common curtsey to make sure that you do not betray them. Especially when that customer is me!"
"Bu-Bu-But it was the real thing! I assure you Mr. Snape sir that the book is the real one! You have to believe me!"
Snape was not impressed. His next words were a whisper, and even more terrifying for it.
"You absolute Dunderhead! I purchased four different books, yet you immediately comprehend which one was a forgery? Will your attempts to deceive me only end when you personally feel what I can accomplish with the cruciatuus? I was not counted among the Dark Lord's lieutenants because I am a naïve child! Especially when the volume in question is one I have perused at his pleasure! Now tell me where it is, or you will personally experience the why I was chosen to be in the Dark Lords inner circle!"
Borgin pissed his pants. He also squirmed out of the sneering potion masters grip and disappeared into the back. Thirty seconds later, he was back with a book that was only slightly thinner than that year's Oxford English dictionary.
"Th-this is it sir! The original! I'm sorry about the-"
Snape sneered.
"Stop your sniveling you witless coward! And if this time you presume….."
His wand blew up a portrait of a Burke ancestor. The whimpering shopkeeper nodded shakily and passed out with a moan.
Snape sighed. He took a breath and calmed his face. He hated these excursions to the real world. He walked to the floo, threw a pinch of powder and whispered his destination. He appeared in the headmasters office at Hogwarts with a grunt.
He looked at the portraits and found one that was definitely awake.
"Tell the headmaster that I have retrieved the chronicle. Be assured that it was a magnificently pathetic waste of time, better spent in mastering my more experimental potions."
The portrait nodded and disappeared, probably to inform the other portraits and so on until Dumbledore himself got the message.
The things he did for Dumbledore….
XXX
"Again!"
The loud crack echoed once more, reverberating through the area, and the ears of the bystanders.
A small dust cloud marked the location where a small piece of metal had slammed into the ground at high velocity.
"Taka…. it seems that you…. are a very bad shot."
Takeda's deadpan voice cut through their earmuffs as effectively as the sound of the gunshot preceding it. The prone figure on the ground raised his head, tilting the black painted sniper rifle so he could remove the magazine.
"I am not suited for this sir. My talents are in tracking, not long range assassination."
"No matter, I'll see if I can't get Sora or Mayu to see if they have the instinct for this kind of work. If worst comes to worst, I will have to expand my own repertoire."
"Takeda sama, I know it is not my place, but is this truly our path?"
Takeda looked up into the sky, a hand raised to shade his eyes from the rare English sun.
"I'm afraid so. That Russian nest had some very interesting information. Three elected officials and twenty two bureaucrats profited from and aided the heroin smuggling ring. And as ninja without direct instructions, we must fulfill our other duties, the elimination of evil. And just like the rogue sorcerer determined to usurp the throne of the Jade Emperor, these more ordinary practitioners of evil shall suffer the same fate, by blade….or by bullet."
XXX
Ron Weasley woke up with a headache. This was not a good vacation. His days were filled with mishaps. The gnomes he picked up fought back and left rents and scratches. The food he ate sought to exit his body more urgently than it went in, through his front or rear. And he tripped down the stairs nearly every single time he used them. His mother was at a loss as to why it was happening, but he was perfectly happy to eat the ever increasing amounts his mother fed him to stem the tide of barely digested goop. Her growing boy needed it after all. And today, his luck took a turn for the worse.
Ronald Billius Weasley woke up with the feeling of sticky hair. His pillow was awash with a rather sticky dark colored mess that drove all sleepiness away the moment he tried to bury his face in it. Apparently his pet rat Scabbers who shared his bed had developed some diarrhea of its own. And had expelled his…er…liquid droppings on the pillow Ron slept on. And it still wasn't dry.
"BLOODY HELL!"
However, opening your mouth when your face was still covered in liquid rat shit, not to mention pressed against a pillow covered in that stuff was not the best of ideas, the old and repeatedly recycled pillow cover not absorbing a drop of the goop that covered it. So it was that Ronald Billius Weasley managed to achieve projectile vomiting before having tasted a single drop of alcohol. And it was into the very pillow his face was still pressed against.
"BLAAARGURGLE"
Above in the rafters, Aurora the former house elf cackled maniacally. Her good deed of the day done, she disappeared back to her mistress.
Nobody tried to get at the mistress! Nobody!
XXX
In a dark and lightless room, in an army base that isn't really important:
"OOOH! SHINY!"
"Did you hear anything Sir?"
"Stop daydreaming! That dust isn't going to clean itself up!"
XXX
Harry perched on the roof of a modern day skyscraper, specifically the one known as One Canada Square. It was late at night and he just squatted down on the roof without a care. He had no real need to be here, and he wasn't really a caped crusader for justice, so he himself wasn't really sure why he was up here. However, he had received a note, and the manner of its arrival had all but identified its sender. After all, very few people would send a note that basically floated in the air above his head, surrounded by a cloud of pink glitter and a large paper heart with a revolver on it. When the note said that its sender was "anonymous", Harry thought back a minute to the odd appearance of the note.
Defying laws of gravity?
Semi girly and colorfully loud decorations?
A picture of a very familiar revolver?
Total dismissal of the idea that the above points were not exactly shouting anonymous?
Yes, there was obviously a large pool of people who could have sent it.
Riiiiight.
"Harry!"
Harry sighed. So much for the one in how many trillion chances that the sender was somebody else other than Granger. Well, at least the lack of horns and tail meant it was not her "friend" either.
"Why am I here?"
Yes, stick to business. That was the way to go. Then he might not be pulled into the reluctant shenanigans that he spent so much time talking her out off. That's right; there would be no "becoming Superheroes", no "Starlight Breaker", no "Xanatos Gambits", and no "Unlimited Blade Works". And definitely no "Testing the Wave Motion Guns"… some of those made him shudder just from their names.
Hermione turned serious. At that moment, he realized that she was wearing a pink Princess Leia outfit complete with that otherwise ridiculous looking hairstyle. And she was twirling around that super revolver of awesomness +5 in her right hand, while floating at more than 200m above ground level. He shuddered. Hermione looked amused.
"Back again Harry? Excellent! We have to discuss your minion."
Harry blinked. Beneath his helmet, his brain temporarily snapped out of reality while he processed the latest in Granger Insanity©.
"I don't have a bloody minion!"
Predictably, she waved it off. She also absent mindedly shot a high flying bird (or maybe a bat? Considering the hour…) that exploded into gore.
"Sure you do. He's in your dungeon! Like a proper Gimp!"
She folded her arms and nodded resolutely, as if that was the end of that. Harry growled.
"He's a bloody prisoner for Kami's sake!"
She shook her head and shook her finger under at him.
"No no. He's your minion. I even went through his head to make sure of it. Sure there was a bit of screaming and a whole lot of staring and drooling, but he is officially your minion! Now you have your own Alfred Pennyworth!"
"Who?"
"You know? Jeeves? Jarvis? Walter Dornez? Sebastian Michealis? Watari? Hayate? Alfred Pennyworth? Butler?...works for the main guy?"
Harry felt the growing headache that was the principal side effect of dealing with his occasionally over friendly acquaintance.
"Never mind that! About the other thing you said…."
Hermione leaned forward. With her costume and her folded hands, the act might have been a lot more distracting if both he and she had finished puberty. In Harry's warped and fractured head, a voice cried out in pain and was drowned out by a tsunami of reason.
"Yeeeesss?"
"Are you telling me, that you took my prisoner and turned him into my minion?"
Hermione poked his forehead.
XXX
Everything was grainy and monochrome, like a 60's horror film. A hanging light bulb illuminated a struggling man strapped naked to a raised steel operating table. A strategically placed strap ensured that nothing untoward was showing.
A stained lab coat wearing doctor stepped forward. He(she?) was short, masked and gloved. He was also grinning, a horribly wide manic grin that would not have been out of place on Orochimaru. A pair of large spectacles completed the mad scientist look. Distorted opera music started playing in the background.
The doctor advanced forward and plunged his suddenly blackened hand into the terrified, screaming man's skull. The doctor's laughter, patient's screams and the unidentifiable music, they rose in an orgy of agony and ecstasy that drowned out everything, even thoughts.
And then, when Harry finally thought he was going deaf, silence fell. The doctor retreated to the darkness and the patient hung limply in his restraints, his eyes open, unseeing and yet staring right at him in silent accusation.
XXX
Harry shook his head as the vision passed. Hopefully, his decision to hold off on dealing with the man would not make the Russian totally useless after that disturbing event.
"Is that all you came here to tell me? That my dungeon is now a vegetable cellar?"
Hermione shrugged, twirling in mid air with a manic smile.
"Wheeeeeeeeee!"
She paused in mid air and reached behind her, pulling out a long rectangular case from thin air.
"I know you just bought those guns but have this!"
A crate followed, slamming into the floor next to him, creaking in protest.
"And bullets! Lots of bullets! See, you didn't come here for nothing. You got a bright shiny gun from me! Oooh! Shiny!"
Harry groaned. He did not need the headache. On the other hand, the seemingly brand new L96 with all the accessories was an excellent bribe for climbing up more than 200m vertically on a building for a meeting with HER.
"So am I going to be called to some other place like this again?"
Hermione shrugged again.
"Just once more I'm afraid. We have to have a chat sometime before September. There are things you will have to know. And you can know them only once you know what you know then."
Harry blinked. For just a moment she had been normal.
Hermione smiled sadly, all evidence of her previous insanity having vanished.
"You will get it soon Harry. It will all be clear soon anyway. Farewell!"
And she vanished.
Harry put his helmeted head into his gloved hands and groaned. This was going to be trouble he could tell.
XXX
Harry felt at the wood, concentrating on the shape and texture. The rifle stock had seen a lot of wear. But that was all right. The barrel and the rest of the metal parts had been more or less fine. Even the rifling had comparably less wear on it. The world war era Mosin Nagant was a beautiful piece of engineering. The receiver markings indicated that it was made in 1944. The weapons had seen combat, having then gone into storage a few years after manufacture. The Russians had a small notebook that indicated the location of some warehouse where the rifle had been taken by the drug runners. Unfortunately, they had not been kind in taking the preservative off the stock, having almost scraped a lot of the wood off harshly. Aware as he was of world war two history, he knew just how many men a single rifle could have killed. Unfortunately, the rifle was enough for his purposes. It was not capable of taking the sealing that he wanted. The thing was just too worn for the accuracy he desired. And even sealing couldn't make this rifle and its siblings more accurate than it was.
On the other hand, the 7.62 caliber L96 that the demented girl had given him was nearly bringing sparkles into his eye. He was willing to deface the otherwise pristine rifle with seals. A sharp ended metal wire, blood-ink solution and a very patient clone. This rifle would be his masterpiece. By the time he was finished with it, this thing would be able to block a lightsaber! Well, everything up to a lightsaber anyway. But it's the thought that counts. And overkill. That counts too. The extra dozens of magazines and the crate full of straw packed bullets helped in that regard.
He did wonder where she got the damn thing to begin with though.
XXX
Vassily Titov was once a loyal soviet soldier. Later, he was more of a self employed mercenary, working with other former soviet soldiers in the most ancient of pursuits, making money. Why did he do it? Without speaking for the others, he himself desired to make enough to retire from war. Or that was what he told himself.
He was a particular creature who had a secret. He was a wizard. Except that as far as wizards went, he was a unique fairly odd wizard. His birth was in the midst of some remarkable circumstances. On September 29 1957, the Kyshtym disaster took place. Inadequate protective measures produced a large cloud of radioactive material that delivered high amounts of radiation into the surrounding area.
Vassily's parents were poor jobless civilians who had long forgotten their heritage of Imperial Russian combat wizards. His parents were the children off a group of allied magical troops who had fled west to escape the chaos that the Ninja war had left the capital in. In one generation, they had lost any knowledge they could have used to defend themselves. In one generation, families whose members could have stood in direct combat with Albus Dumbledore, if for just a while, were reduced to fearful and pitiful peasants fleeing an enemy that had long forgotten them.
Vassily's parents were thus somewhat settled in the village of Satlykovo in the Ural mountains when they had conceived their child. The news was a happy one and brought joy to their life of privations. And with their new child on the way, both expectant parents cheerfully threw themselves into work, saving their meager earnings for when the family would get larger. And then the unpredictable happened. With their lives spent in the open in whatever work could be had, the radiation quickly took root. Their unused and untrained magic sought to combat that which threatened their lives, and that of the unborn son.
It took two weeks before the village was completely evacuated, by which time, the two were extremely sick, more than their neighbors. Vassily Titov was born January 12, 1958, to a dying mother who perished seventy one minutes after the punishing ordeal. His father, without the burden of having to live for an unborn son, unlike the mother had been dead for two weeks. The soviet hospitals may not have been the best, but their staff members were spirited people who mourned the loving couple, cut down in their prime.
Vassily Titov grew up in an orphanage in what was once known unofficially called Tankograd, the home of T-34 battle tank production in the great patriotic war. He grew up like most orphans, unloved and searching for purpose. When he reached the minimum age possible, he enlisted. The circumstances of his birth however ensured that he was not able to train himself in magic as he should. Also, he had been damaged in a manner, ensuring that he was unable to wield a focus. But internal magic was within his grasp. And he found himself using it to become the better soldier.
In an ironic twist of fate, he found himself assigned to the 65th Motor Rifle Division stationed next to the very city he had grown up in, the very city hated. He spent a few years doing his duty before he was sent by his commander into Spetsnaz. Brutal training that killed quite a few people had forged him into a fine soldier. And then battle hardened him. And then he found love.
The locally based KGB officer was a witch, a powerful yet poorly trained one who taught him some of the very few tricks she knew. She was also a ruthless, black hearted bitch who spent the next two years using him and his skills before destroying him. He was devastated. He had lost what had slowly become his reason for living. So what if he had a couple of million dollars worth in an ex KGB bank account? It was not the same as a reason to live.
He was broken. He no longer had the proper mindset of a Special Forces group. He had lost that edge that separated a good soldier from the excellent one. So he was packed off and sent to Moscow, because whatever his current state, before his fall he was an excellent soldier, and he still had those skills.
A seemingly long time later, he awoke to find that his unit had been sacrificed in a power play. A coup was in the works, one that eventually would fail but a coup none the less. And to move some people into the proper places, he found himself discharged quietly along with his current comrades. They fled in almost disgrace, their fates an afterthought to those in power. But all was not lost. Their motherland did not want them? That was fine. They had their own ideas on how to survive in the new world. He followed. With the aid of some similarly aggrieved people from other services, they set out to make their own path. What did he care about how he would die, when he had given up life as a lie?
They robbed a few arms dumps and more for supplies. Then, with some discrete use of stolen money to bribe the proper people, they "stole" a 150m long bulk carrier. They made their way through the ocean, a few former KGB agents knowing enough to ensure their uninterrupted travel. Eventually, they had set up the London operation within the space of mere months, something he suspected was because the Russians were swept into someone else's operation. The local aid was suspicious enough. But he kept quiet. His friends did not know that he had lost his will to live. He was just surviving on the day to day.
When he had walked into that room seeing nothing but slaughter, he gave up. He really didn't care about living, and he doubted they would torture him for information he did not have, so it would be interesting to see what would happen to him. How would they kill him he wondered? But with the passage of time came the realization that he had been forgotten. He was thankful he was given cigarettes to smoke. And he wondered why he was being treated relatively fairly.
By the time his thoughts rose to worry about his fate, Hermione played with his head and now he didn't worry all that much about anything. But then, he had also found a reason to live.
XXX
Albus Dumbledore flicked through the pages with a sigh. He was on the verge of strangling Fudge with his own two hands. In the beginning it had been amusing and a bit flattering, being called up to resolve the minister's doubts. Now it was just plain annoying. The man had become unhinged. The stress, a lot of it self-created had turned the once average politician into a paranoid wreck. Unfortunately, he was still clear headed enough to ensure his ministerial position. It was unfortunate, but it meant that the whole government had slowed to a crawl. The only good thing was that because Mr. Malfoy had continued to remain secluded in his Wiltshire Manor, he was not using the chaos to put the not so dead Dark Lords cause into action. The man refused to meet even with Severus, which was troublesome.
Still, none of that would change his quest to understand more on whatever was happening east. The Arab states were complaining in whispers about the cessation of trade with the eastern territories. The token Japanese contingent in the ICW had vanished. Something had happened and he didn't even know what the situation was before that something had happened!
Dumbledore closed the travelogue of an ancient Arab squib and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. He didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was important. The feeling, it said that if he didn't keep an eye out, his world would suffer. Shadows fell against the windows of his office. After the light of day, night must surely come to pass.
XXX
Draco looked over his father's hidden space with a discerning eye. It was here somewhere, the item that he would use. He paused briefly to give his father's Death Eater Regalia a reverent look before continuing on. A body of a muggle lay shackled to the wall, permanently preserved in that state for over a hundred years from when it had been hit with a particularly nasty dark spell. His father had once told him that the once seventeen year old girl was still alive in there, unable to die, yet unable to live. Certainly, that body looked as alive as it had before she was cursed. It was a harsh reminder of the past of this room, and Draco shuddered a bit. He shook his head. No, he could not afford to be squeamish about things. He was his father's son, a Slytherin of the highest order. He was after all, planning to do much worse.
It took another hour before he found it. It was a box, a very old and powerful box. The black wood that made up its sides oozed a mist of evil, a black smoky trail that indicated just how taxed the box was at keeping its contents undetectable.
The Dark Lords weapon was an enchanted object of such high power that just using it alone could cleanse Hogwarts of its filth. That was what his father had said three years ago, the words of an indulgent father reiterating just why the dark lord favored him. His father had not given him reasons, but he had showed him the evidence.
And this was his trump card. He had put off his quest to kill the ninja long enough. No foreign child could defeat a weapon of a Dark Lord, assassin or not. Yes, he would use the weapon, kill off the ninja and return his father to the powerful man he had been before all this.
XXX
It took a clone seven minutes to carve the seal into a bullet. Some simple mathematics and a specification and he had calculated the velocity change required. Simply put he had created a seal that would be primed when the bullet it was on was fired, and exploded when it hit something solid. It was a marvelous piece of engineering. With it, he now had exploding bullets, stable pistol rounds that exploded only on the high pressure impact of a gunshot. And his fellow clones worked at a similar rate. Yet another clone slowly and wearily loaded the new bullets methodically into 17 round Glock magazines.
The sealing arts had changed the once ordinary pistols into very powerful weapons. The Glocks 17, with their primarily polymer frames easily accommodated the chakra seals, making them practically unbreakable. More seals and he had eliminated any possibility of damage or fouling. A little more work and he had created the "gate" which activated the exploding capability of the bullets passing through the muzzle. A series of finely carved seals acted as a minor silencer, creating a small buffer that reduced the initial loud report from the muzzle area. Yes, this was indeed a work of art.
Harry, who was watching the clones work, had a feeling he would need it of course. Hermione was cheerful at the worst of times. She acted like a five year old on a perpetual sugar rush. So this ominous change of demeanor meant nothing good for him or anyone. He thought back to the days before Hogwarts almost nostalgically, that small window between the chaos of magical education and the horror of the Dursleys before they became decent. It was a happy time.
Harry took the two guns, some of the better maintained examples he had seized that day in the Christmas Day Massacre. The original users had been kind enough to at least clean them, unlike some weapons he had retrieved that day. With his Russian haul, he was also modifying two Stechkin APS pistols, which fired the more plentiful for him 9x18 Makarov rounds, in a similar manner. Unfortunately, the completely metal unit required a fair bit more experimentation before he committed to an array that could fit the small area of a pistol, as opposed to the gargantuan surface of a rifle. He was experimenting on small bits of sheet metal for now. For now, he would stick to the Glocks, which he found ok enough. Besides, he did not need automatic fire for the moment. When he did, the other pair would be waiting. Certainly, there was that awesomeness that came only from a pair of pistols firing exploding bullets.
Mind you, there were a lot of differences between the seal to explode a 9x19mm and a 9x18mm round. One was more conical while the other was spherical. This affected the placing of the seal since the geometry of the surfaces were different. Ironically, the latter had the simpler seal for the same purpose. It's the problem when transitioning from roll able, yet flat paper to actually curved surfaces. You had to adjust for the variation in curvature, which made for distorted kanji.
He began his ritual to head out. He put on his armor, a whole twenty seconds worth with chakra strings, holstered his weapons and headed out of his manor. He had a car to purchase.
His new acquisition was a Mitsubishi L200, a two door pickup that had been on the market for a couple of years. At the moment, a Jaguar XJS was still an extremely recognizable vehicle that attracted plenty of attention. A pickup on the other hand was usually ignored, whether it was a new model or old. So he had ordered one. The black painted vehicle was his today and was relatively cheap, so he didn't care much. A little tinkering would be enough to increase its speed and power. And it was a far easier way of carrying cargo that he wasn't going to be able to seal in plain sight with or without his illusions.
XXX
Takeda was once again strolling down the streets of London when he was accosted by an automobile horn. Staring at the vehicle, he was startled to see the visage of a man who was last seen attacking his pupil.
"Skywalker?"
The man nodded, long dark hair in a ponytail emotionless red eyes with black specs, long lines on his face indicative of a life of hardship, and most importantly of all, a high collared coat that had a few stylized red clouds. The man motioned to his passenger seat and he nodded. Yes, this was Skywalker. It seemed to him, that the mysterious fellow was in one of his other personalities.
"We shall have tea. I know a place."
Ten minutes later, he was in one of the many small cafés that dotted the area, and sipping tea.
"Skywalker san, how are you?"
That emotionless face was staring at him, the tomoe in his eyes were spinning lazily, almost resembling a mitsudomoe in its shape. It was a fairly unique pattern. It was also the slightest bit unsettling.
"Tell me Takeda san, what is the great problem here?"
Takeda tilted his head. What an oddly specific question. And uncomfortably close to things he would have preferred to not think about.
"That is a sudden question Skywalker. What is that you wish to know about?"
Skywalker hadn't moved. It was as if he was talking without even moving his lips. All he did was sip tea. He was getting flashbacks to that first meeting back in his Knockturn shop
"A few days ago, I received portents of a great danger to me and the few I care about. And I find it curious that you have not sought to warn me of anything that had needed the presence of your organization in this land."
Takeda sighed.
"Originally, we were sent here to deal with a higher tier demon, a particularly destructive creature that by all means should have vaporized the whole country and more. However, we found no trace of it and Britain still exists, so it's not doing what it should had it existed. Our ship was destroyed for some reason and very few escaped. The rest of us remained here while our superiors dealt with the fallout."
Skywalker actually raised an eyebrow.
"You would not happen to mean that display over Surrey? It was an interesting event for sure."
Takeda leaned forward, all other thoughts gone from his mind.
"You actually saw it? Could you share what you saw?""
Skywalker nodded. He then proceeded to succinctly describe his side. Namely, he was passing through the park, he felt and saw the explosion, saw the lifeboats launch, saw the ship rotate in mid air two times before slowly limping to towards the direction of the Straits of Dover. This was more or less, a confirmation of what the survivors had reported. Unfortunately, the ships extremely impressive security had rendered whatever had happened before the very destructive blast an educated guess. It seemed he would have to leave things here.
"I see."
He pondered for the next minute or so until Skywalker cleared his throat.
"Ah yes. In any case, what I can say is that, there may or may not be a powerful SS class demon 'World Eater' somewhere on the isles. It is purportedly capable of annihilating this country in an instant. Although, if you have any idea about a large fox with nine tails, that would be helpful."
Since the news about the demon that might obliterate the country had not even gotten a twitch, Takeda was understandably surprised when Skywalker not only snorted hot tea through his nose, but also proceeded to choke on it.
"K-Kyuubi? You're asking about the Kyuubi?!"
Takeda was a professional, so his own demeanor was quickly in control, as was Skywalker's.
"Yes, any information you can provide would be useful."
Skywalker waved his hand, causing the spilt tea to lift off his clothes and skin and disappear. He then spoke as if he was reciting a report.
"The Kyuubi is a class of demon known as a bijuu, tailed beast. It is a malicious and inhuman entity whose tails are said to level mountains and cause tsunamis. There are nine individual bijuu, each resembling aspects of a creature with the appropriate number of tails. The Kyuubi no Kitsune is as the name suggests, the nine tailed fox, it is an intelligent creature, but does not care about humans at all. If you or I were to face the creature, rest assured that we will not live to tell about it. I must admit, that the kyuubi terrifies me more than the thought of your World Eater demon."
Takeda was speechless, but not for long.
"And have you seen it?"
Skywalker gave a sardonic grin.
"It haunts my nightmares."
There was nothing to be said for that. Takeda would not know it, but Skywalker was telling the truth. He had at one point suffered from nightmares of facing the beast, most of them when he had to deal with unstable Hermione and her "Watch me rape the laws of Physics!" attitude. If she had known about it, she might have just turned into the damned beast to see his reaction. And unlike Naruto, he had a very good sense of when exactly he should curl up into a fetal position and wait to die. He was also thankful that he trusted that initial instinct that said 'don't tickle that sleeping dragon'.
The "talk" continued for about another ten minutes. They discussed their neutrality further, and Takeda requested any assistance possible under a certain set of circumstances, and also a share of the information they had figured out about the Russians. He also got a request for part of a task. After that, Skywalker disappeared, looking oddly thoughtful and resigned. Takeda did not know what to make of it so he said nothing. They were not friends. So there was no personal interaction between them. But having an inkling of how capable the man was, he found himself extremely worried about this new unknown demon, which had a Japanese name to begin with!
XXX
Algernon McArthur was a member of the House of Commons. A former businessman, he had barged his way into politics fifteen years ago. A product of that first fruitful push was evident in that he was once again reelected to his old seat in the election held a short while ago on 9th April. He was by all means a fully fledged member of the 51st Parliament of the United Kingdom, elected from Kieghley, West Yorkshire.
His mansion, on the outer periphery of the constituency was a relatively modest place. He was a man desiring wealth, and needless splurging on luxury was not something he was fond of. But making money was not something he had many scruples about. After all, the fifty two year old was originally educated and practiced as a lawyer.
So when a bunch of Russians had offered a cut of profits, if he used his influence to aid their drug trafficking? He accepted. After making sure that this was not some kind of trick of course. He did not want to undermine England. Just add a few recreational drugs into it. What was the harm right? He did get paid after all.
Then sometime in July, the man began to behave oddly. He stopped his parties and his meetings. He took to drinking with a vengeance. He behaved in a rude and angry manner. It was as if, over the space of a week the man had gone insane. At the end of the week he committed suicide. Investigation over the next few weeks would reveal a set of undeclared Cayman Island bank accounts, several large money transfers into them last seven years and nothing significant left in his name. It had all been transferred out of his accounts in that one week. Detailed investigation would reveal that the money went into an account flagged to be having an undefined connection with the KGB. The patriot was branded a spy, one who apparently ticked off his masters. Some whispered that it had been MI5.
In the shadows of his own mansion, Harry Potter smirked. When the wicked lose their wealth, it is all too hard to feel sorry for them. And having an ex KGB use account courtesy of his minion went a long way to guiding an investigation on the right track. It also gave him a cool 200 million pounds (or about 375 million dollars at 1992 exchange rates) just from that corrupt politicians accounts. Takeda would be jealous he guessed. He had after all accomplished the death, made it a message and executed it as a suicide all in one, and still got paid for it. He sarcastically mused that if all MPs got paid like that, he might consider it as a new day job.
The other assassinations were executed by the Japanese over the course of two days. They were high profile, public and utterly unsolvable. Professional hits, complete with discarded one time use revolvers, kidnapping and firing squad executions and finally sniper hits from over six hundred meters, none of their assets touched. It was like a complex puzzle that British law enforcement would get a picture of only weeks later. All had links to a now vanished heroin operation. It would be suspected that they were a collective message, much the same as the Christmas day massacre. The public apology for "Taking out the Trash" helped to relieve the over committed security apparatus, worn out by the constant blows to their system. But it only gave chills to those who could see in their troubled minds a bigger picture.
XXX
Vassily Titov, wearing a waistcoat, white shirt, black pants and a clear glass monocle approached his master with a tray laden with tea. Gloved hands elegantly poured the black concoction into a cup before presenting the tea to his master.
"Anything else master?"
Harry waved him off. Now this was tea!
"Nothing for now V. Come back in an hour. There are some particulars about your skills I would like to know."
"Yes master."
He left the room quietly.
XXX
"How would you like a battleship?"
Boris was apparently in a good mood. Harry had barely sat down in that well worn office chair when he had that bombshell dropped on him. Harry, for once here in person raised an eyebrow.
"And why would I need such a vessel?"
Boris laughed. He was way too cheerful. He was actually wearing a bright white suit that belied any possible negativity.
"I do not know tovarisch. But you seem like just the man to use one!"
Harry raised his other eyebrow.
"You do not seem to be right in the mind…should I come another day?"
Boris laughed again.
"Forgive me my friend. I am unusually cheerful today. Did you know that some of my competition has disappeared from the country?"
Boris was barely suppressing his laughter. Harry shook his head slowly, wondering where this was going. Boris leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially.
"It's true. Some newly exiled fools sought to set up smuggling ring in city. And before I can say a thing, they are wiped out to the man! Even that ship of theirs, sunk in the Indian Ocean! Without my lifting a finger! So yes tovarisch, I am very happy!"
Harry nodded. What a coincidence. It was time to test something. He subtly readied himself for a slaughter if he was wrong, but went ahead anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"Did you know that the leader was a pedophile? He suffered for it."
Boris looked surprised.
"It was you?"
Harry nodded smugly.
"Yes, the London branch of theirs. They were disciplined men, but not anything I could not handle. And on another note, I am sorry to say, I will not be buying ammunition from you for a while."
Boris grinned in that horrible manner of his.
"That is fortunate then. And since you have destroyed my enemies, I will not begrudge loss of business! BWA HA HA!"
The Russian composed himself. His guards continued to mutter cheerfully, as vigilant as ever.
"So what did you need tovarisch?"
"A barrel for an Arctic Warfare L96 rifle. Mine seems to have been…repurposed. It would be unfortunate for me to be associated with a stolen weapon."
The Russian nodded, stroking his beard.
"Yes yes. I can see that. Yuri! You know what to do!"
A guard left the room.
"While that is taken care of, is there anything I can do for you tovarisch?"
Harry suddenly saw his female acquaintance of the demented kind materialize behind the man.
"The ship Harry! The ship! Buy the ship!"
She disappeared.
He opened his mouth and paused when he heard a whisper about a ship. It looked like he was not getting out of this.
"Tell me about that ship…"
Boris grinned. It seemed nothing could extinguish his mood.
"Yes yes! The ship. Ahem. Do you know my friend that a variety of navies around the world are buying and selling ships all the time?"
Harry nodded. It was obvious.
"Excellent. Now, you must realize most of them end up sunk as targets or sold for scrap! But me, I would like to see if anybody could give these beautiful ships a new home. It is amazing the kind of things you can use ex navy battleships for!"
Harry shook his head.
"Are you telling me you have a battleship for sale?"
"But of course! They may call it a cruiser, but the Sverdlov class as they call it is a battleship at heart! Turrets like that don't grow on trees! Do you want one?"
"I'm afraid not. I'd prefer something smaller."
"But of course! Mind you, there are British and American produced ships available, but those will cost both nuts and a dick if you want one!"
Harry nodded. The former Soviet Union was getting a disturbing reputation of being unable to keep its stuff in sight. Everything from toilet paper to biological warfare agents seemed to be disappearing from their storage. Corruption seemed to be the name of the game.
"So what have you got?"
"The navy is decommissioning few large vessels this year and the last. A few calls, some cash and you will have operation vessel in this country next year."
"Which ships are those?"
"I have a couple on file; a Sverdlov class vessel Murmansk, a few Kashin class destroyers, a couple of Burevestnik class frigates, many Grisha class corvettes for a start. I get the feeling the others will not interest you. Mother Russia has shrunk, and so has her proud navy! Some of us old hands feel that it is a bad thing, for such fine boats to end up as scrap metal. So we shall sell them at profit! And on that note tell me if you need tanks or planes?"
Harry shook his head. He had known that having a country collapse like Russia did was bad, but this was ridiculous!
Again Hermione popped up and whispered from behind him. He didn't make it all out, but he heard enough.
"Kashin class, I have a feeling that it is what I want."
A long and ridiculous conversation which quickly included French wine, international telephone calls and a wire transfer later, Harry was unofficially the new owner of the Kashin class destroyer Slavny, (decommissioned on 24th of June, 1991) saving it from its fate of being scrapped. At a hundred million dollars, it was relatively cheap and also included a refit package to keep it afloat. It was completely assured that the Russian government would see very little of the money, but he would most assuredly get that ship. By June of next year, he would be able to take the ship out on his own. Corruption had its perks.
XXX
It was considerably later than last time that Harry even considered going to Diagon Alley. With the characteristic ghost town syndrome, he had been extremely grateful to have plenty of space to shop in. the fact that the new defense professor, a Gilderoy Lockhart had been doing a book signing in the middle of the rush period was an excellent motivation for avoiding the alley then.
There was something not right about that man. He had found the whole thing a little excessive. What kind of defense professor forced the entire school to buy many of his books as a textbook anyway? And that was before he saw a poster of the man.
Still, the year seemed promising enough. He needed to see if his system was compatible with runes as existed in the wizarding world. Sure they were slow to make, required actual understanding and intelligence and were shunned by wizards who were proponents of powerful spells as a measure of true strength. But all that were bright examples of why he should check them out. He had already bought a whole set of books to occupy his clones. Now he just needed to figure out how the two meshed.
XXX
XXX
"Granger, we meet again."
Hermione was this time wearing an elaborate metal armor. If he had any idea, he might have recognized it as the attire of an Inquisitor of the Imperium of Man. As he did not know this and did not pay attention to the authentic looking Godwyn-De'az Pattern Boltgun in its holster, he did not suffer the nightmares that such a sight might have otherwise induced in him.
Harry shook his head and looked around him once again. This time they were on the tower of London, a historic place that despite its reputation had very few executions to its name. Considering he had suddenly been taken from testing his exploding bullets to sitting in this place, he was a bit mystified and wary.
Hermione sat down beside him, resting her chin on armored fists.
"Do you know what power is?" she asked softly.
"I'll tell you. Power is the ability of an entity to reject the laws set in place. Political power is the ability to ignore laws set forth by man. Physical power is the ability to discard the conditions set forth by weakness. And true power is the ability to reject the rules of reality."
Harry was curious and apprehensive. Something that was not uncommon with her in the mix.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"its because you cannot hope to move forward without knowing this. Without the spark of understanding of that concept, you cannot progress further along your evolution. You are after all completely ignoring a part of your ability to defy reality."
"W-What?"
Tell me Harry, do you have magic?"
Harry frowned.
"Of course I do!"
"Then why do you not use it?"
Hermione shook her head sadly. She spoke in that sad melancholy way, as if speaking of a profound loss. It was a voice that touched him in ways he was not comfortable with. This change from that silly manner of hers, it was too soon, too sudden for him to accommodate.
"It's sad really. You are a facet of destiny, and you shall remain one until you fulfill it. Your very limits can be defined only by yourself. So why do you squander it all away?"
"What are you talking about?! Make some sense woman!"
Not girl, never a simple silly girl.
"Do you think it is normal what you do? Your ability to use chakra? Your entirely separate but still extraordinary capacity for magic? Your instinct and use of fuuinjutsu? Wake up Harry! This is not a joke. You cannot afford to play your little games anymore. There will be harder opponents, greater enemies, impossible scenarios. And all you can think off are playing with those ninja! There's a reason you need that ship!"
Harry crushed the urge to hurt her. He could not hurt her. And for some reason he found that he could not refute her. He wished he could do either. So instead he snapped at her.
"What do you think I should do then?"
"You should be better! But then, you have forced my hand already, and my interference cannot continue. But before I leave, I will give you something. It is as some say a gift and a curse. I will use my own ability to as you say 'rape the laws of nature' and change you while I still can."
Harry quickly grew alarmed. Why was she becoming like this? Was this the end?
"Oh, nothing like that Harry. I must do this and then I can forget about this for a while. Aurora can keep up pretenses at home and Hogwarts. She is closer to the me who should have been than I am."
Klaxons were ringing in his head.
"Keep still Harry. Wouldn't want me to mess this up!"
Then she took a breath and breathed into an open palm. A black mist blew from her mouth into her palm. Instead of dissipating, it was swept up into a spinning globe, a storm in a palm, a soundless Rasengan. It scared the hell out of him.
When she had blown enough of the mist into the pitch black ball you couldn't tell was rotating, she swung her hand and slammed it into his chest.
It hurt.
Pain flooded his system, yet he didn't scream.
Because screaming meant that you could control your lungs a bit yet he couldn't.
Why did it hurt so much? Why?
He blacked out.
XXX
"Master are you awake?"
Harry groaned and opened his eyes.
"What happened?"
His butler, who he had renamed V stood straight and answered.
"You appeared like this five minutes ago sir. You were out of your armor and you seemed to be unconscious. There were no visible injuries and you seemed to waking up naturally."
Harry nodded.
Hermione had done something. There was something in him now. He could feel "it", a cold sensation that pumped through his veins. She had done something and he didn't know why. And if she was to be believed, she wasn't even going to be there next year.
When Harry slept though, he found her again.
He asked her why. And she said but one thing.
"Just remember Harry…"
(A blond haired boy writes into a worn looking black diary.)
"…some things…"
(A blonde haired girl with radish earrings dances in her Hogwarts uniform.)
"…are simply…."
(A blonde man in garish robes admires his sparkling teeth in a mirror.)
"…fated to happen."
XXX
A/N: How was that? You can never tell how people will react till after, but I'm hoping for some positive feedback on this one. A lot of references to previous chapters and other outside universes, who belong to their respective owners. A bit of foreshadowing and some more useless tidbits of history.
It's a slightly shorter chapter and unusually quick given my posting history, hope no one minds.
Hermione the walking dues ex machina has left. For a while. I wonder if anyone will actually complain, since she is actually less popular than some of the OCs if the reviews are believed.
And yes, I've included exploding bullets. Curse you reviewer who put the idea into the forefront of my mind! That's you kenegi!
It has the first official mention of any sort of romance in this story. Only, it's a behind the scenes tale of betrayal and heartbreak, one half is missing, and the other has been brainwashed. Sorry?
Anyone else seeing that harry's breadwinning job is actually a thief? It seems to have written itself here curiously enough.
I wonder if anyone can guess what the "picture" all the assassinations will point to? it's a very interesting scenario for me. Digital cookie if you get it!
As always, more reviews are always welcome. And even if my reply pms are late, I do read them all. As always, your feedback is appreciated. They stoke the fires of YOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUTH! Or fanfiction as the case maybe…
Here's my legacy stats, until the last chapter, for those interested in it. Thanks for all the support!
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