so, I wanted to do a chapter for Steven after he was dumped into the HP verse. Here it is. I dont know how many, if any more of these I will do, but you know, r&r, tell me if you like it, or if you would be interested in seeing more of this.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

CH2

In an over grown cemetery, earth bare of all but weathered, crumbling tombstones and the rusting remains of a large, shattered cauldron, there is a nova of green light, a splitting in the fabric of space and time. For the barest of moments, an observer, had there been one, would see the endless darkness of Death's domain before a figure appeared, and the rift closed.

The figure is rail thin, resembling more closely an unwrapped mummy than a man. His shaggy, untamed black hair falling into dirty, unkempt dreadlocks down his back. His robes are ripped and dirty, splashes of blood in areas. Grasped in his hand is a sickly looking pale wood wand, weak sparks spouting from it intermittently. His eyes snap open to reveal glowing green orbs, the same shade as the feared Avada Kedavera.

For a moment he just lays there, then, in a rush, he rolls to his side, hands clawing at his temples while he screams bloody murder. His screaming is cut off as he vomits prolificly, blood and bile spurting from his mouth as he writhes in the dirt, begging for the memories to stop, the pain of twenty years of war and hell to just cease. They don't. And he keeps screaming and intermitantly vomiting, until every year's worth of agony and sorrow asserts its place in his mind.

When the onslaught finally stops, finally, he drags his sleave over his mouth, smearing the bloody bile around with the dirt from his sleave more than wiping it away. He shudders, tears pouring down his face, turning the dirt on his cheeks to a muddy substance. "Th-this isn't wh-what I w-wanted!" He screams to the heavens, "I just want to go home to the gems! Please! Take me home! Please!" He screams this at a headstone, not knowing how, but knowing that the figure that had done this could hear him.

The air shivered before the nearest headstone for a moment, before the creature was there, its every attribute concealed by a ragged black cloak. The creature twitched, then started laughing, a howling, dreadful sound, like the wind blowing through a crypt. "This is exactly what you wanted, and you are home, Harry, back in England, a mere 200 miles from London, that's only two apparition jumps to Grimmauld, you know." Death's voice was like the rasping of the dead, and it was dripping with malice and amusement.

Steven began to cry. "Th-this isn't m-my h-home! I w-want t-to go b-back to Beach City! B-back to m-my Dad and P-Pearl and G-Garnet and Amethyst!" He wailed, lunging for the personification of Death. It stepped back, leaving Steven to grasp only the edge of it's cloak. The motion dislodged its hood, which fell down, revealing the gleaming skull and stack of vertebrae that it stood on.

The skeleton bent slightly and grabbed Steven by the ruff of his neck, lifting to eye level so it could stare into the boys eyes with its empty sockets, "Then you shouldn't have asked a favor from Death." It sneer at him, flinging him away. Struck dumb with fear, Steven ragdolled through the air to impact a headstone with a dull thud.

Death turned on his heal, preparing to leave, and its skull turned a full 180 degrees to look at Steven one more time. "But since your wish has granted my master a great deal of joy and peace, something I couldn't give him myself, I will leave you with some advice. From this point onward, you are Harry Potter, there is no Steven Universe in this reality. There are no Crystal Gems here. Your magic, while powerful, can only be channeled through that wand. The knowledge of how to use it is in your head, quit repressing it and you will find yourself quite adept, though you wont be capable of all my Master's tricks. Go to Grimmauld Place, it's location is in your memories, as well as how to apparate.

Go there, and the man there will be most helpful to you. Do not talk about your past life, my Master is powerful and respected, yes, but he is feared, and any talk of that which does not exist here will only make your life more difficult." Death's skull rotated back forward and he began to shimmer away, only to pause for a moment longer, "And don't shun the man at Grimmauld, he will be your greatest ally, and closest friend, if you allow him." Then Death vanished, the only thing remaining his voice, echoing in the desolate graveyard.

"And don't call for me again, unless your plight truly amuses me, I wont answer." Steven- no, he had to be Harry now, he reminded himself solidly for a few minutes, Harry, sat on the ground for a while mind churning through the memories he had received, shuddering and crying intermittently, as he relived the horrid life of 'Harry'.

After a while, he felt he had a decent grasp of who he was now. He also felt very cold and hungry. He stood, and looked at the wand in his hand. Curious, he trawled his memories quickly for a spell, then pointed the wand at a headstone a fair distance away. 'Bombarda!' he chanted in his head, eyes frowing wide as a yellow light burst from the wand and impacted the stone, causing a thunderous boom and turning the rock to a fine dust.

"Wicked…" He murmured, unconsciously slipping into British vernacular. 'Right, Grimmauld Place' He thought, easily finding the destination in his mind and turning as if to spin around.

With a deafening crack, he appeared In a pristine entry hall, stumbling from the sudden shift of locations and falling on his boney rear. The crack alerted the home to the new arrival, and a set of curtains beside the door flew open, the screeching voice of Walburga Black nearly making his ears bleed with its intensity, "MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS! FILTH! FIIIIILTH!"

The painting screamed, and Harry quickly lost his pacience and snapped, lobbing a silent volley of 'Incedio!' at it. The screeching quickly turned to screaming as the painting began to burn, and In a few short seconds, it was gone. The magical fire cut off, and the only thing remaining was a large scorch mark on the otherwise pristine green wall.

Next thing Harry new, a platinum blond missile had attacked him, tackling him to the floor in a crushing hug. "HARRY! YOUR BACK!" A very soft male voice exclaimed, then continued with, "Eww, and your filty! Come on then, into the wash, you can tell me about where you have been while I clean you up!" With that, Harry Potter was summarily dragged off to the showers by a very enthusiastic Draco Malfoy.