Okay, so, Unusual Friends fell through. But for a a couple of good reasons. Firstly, I'm still suffering from some burnout from writing so much of Virtus et Scientia. Secondly, and more importantly, I thought of a better Unique Skill for Harry, one that will give him a character arc that, while pretty angsty at first, will give him a light at the end of the tunnel.

I won't say what it is. I'll let the new title of the fic speak for itself. It's not that much different from the original, but different enough to warrant a new posting.

UNIQUE SKILL: OBSCURUS

CHAPTER 1:

THE FUGITIVE

He wished he had never been born. Or at least he'd never been born with this curse. If he never had it, then things wouldn't be this way.

And magic was indeed a curse.

Most people wouldn't think that way, especially if they knew about the existence of magic. But they hadn't lived his life, a rollercoaster of ups and downs which had been flung off the rails and crashed. Of the fickleness of fame.

He hated it. If it weren't for magic, maybe his parents wouldn't have been murdered. If it weren't for magic, he wouldn't be famous. If it weren't for magic, he could have had an ordinary life.

He wouldn't be betrayed, imprisoned, cold, miserable, suffering from hallucinations of his mother screaming for a mercy from one who never gave it. He wouldn't have been framed for murder, not of a friend, but at least a comrade in arms. He wouldn't be sitting here, waiting to be executed for a crime he didn't commit.

He hated it. He hated his magic. It was just like those people who betrayed him, the people who called themselves the Ministry of Magic. They were just a bunch of arrogant, corrupt bastards. His fame meant little to them, never mind a more important quality, his virtue. No…what was it that Disney film said? The golden rule was that he with all the gold makes the rules. And that fat fucker Fudge listened only to whoever slipped him enough coins.

His magic…his fame…that was to blame. He hated the Ministry and those Death Eaters, but he also hated himself and his magic. He didn't want to be a wizard, a freak anymore. He hated his magic, despised it, even though it was an integral part of himself.

He also wished he could have done more, that when these spells were used on them, he could pay them back, with interest. He was supposed to be the best thing since Merlin, but all he could do was fight defensively. Ugh, what use was his magic.

It was unfortunate that his self-loathing towards his magic was happening. An old seal on him, made with the best of intentions, despite what the road to Hell was paved with, was crumbling away. A parasite deep within his soul, far more primal than the Horcrux in his scar, was awakened once more.

And then, something latched onto him. Light consumed his vision. And before everything changed, he thought he heard a voice. An androgynous voice that sounded almost like a computer was speaking.

"CONFIRMED: Acquisition of Unique Skill: Obscurus successful. CONFIRMED: Acquisition of Unique Skill: Bl…"

But he heard no more. For now…

"So, what's the problem?" Rimuru Tempest asked. The high-pitched, childish and androgynous voice belied the fact that he was once a 37-year-old Japanese salaryman and otaku by the name of Satoru Mikami. Now, after a mugging gone wrong, he died, and somehow reincarnated in a fantasy world as a slime monster. He'd just returned from the Dwargon Kingdom after a series of mishaps there, only to find the Goblin Chief, whom he had Named Rigurd, asking for him.

"…Yesterday, a human somehow entered the village, Lord Rimuru. At first, it was more like a cloud of black smoke, and yet, soon after breaching our borders, it reformed into a human lad. He fell unconscious," Rigurd said. "Given your rules about humans, we're keeping him here for now, but I thought you could make the decision."

"Anything I should know?"

"Well, I can't confess to be an expert in human medicine, but he seemed…well, not quite starved, but certainly ill-treated. And that dark cloud he was before…it gave us the heebie-jeebies."

Rimuru nodded, or at least as much as a round blob of gel with no real anatomical features could. "Okay, I'll try to handle this."

He hopped into the tent where the human was, and peered at him. A teenager, by all accounts, and one who looked Caucasian. Wearing glasses too. Did glasses exist on this world? Hmm, he thinks he saw some being worn in Dwargon. What a nasty-looking scar on his forehead, though. And he looked scrawny and grimy.

Inwardly, he asked the voice that had accompanied him to this world something. Hey, Great Sage, could you check the kid out?

Acknowledged, the Great Sage said. After a few seconds, it said, ANALYSIS: Human male. Age approximately sixteen years old. Has magical ability, a recent hybridisation of magicule usage and a form of innate magic not native to this world.

Whoa! So he's an Otherworlder like me?! And he could use magic before he got here?

ANSWER: In all likelihood, yes. It seems more likely that he ended up in this world due to a summoning or by accident rather than by reincarnation. Current physical condition suboptimal, but not critical. Medical treatment advisable, but not urgent. However, there is something of considerable concern. The subject has at least two Unique Skills, which are yet to be discerned, and more analysis is required. But of more concern is his scar.

…What about it? What's wrong with the scar?

OBSERVATION: The scar contains a combination of dark magic of a kind not seen on this world, as well as the fragment of a soul. The nearest analogous term is a phylactery.

Holy crap! That kid has part of someone else's soul in that scar?

ANSWER: Yes. The malevolence in the phylactery is unmistakeable, and it acts as a parasite on the boy's life-force and magical power. However, it is possible that, with the careful application of your Predator Skill, this phylactery can be removed without endangering his life. The phylactery can be then analysed and destroyed within you. If nothing else, Veldora can destroy it.

Okay, let's go with that, then! Rimuru said. Hopefully, he'll be friendly to us. And a bit of gratitude for ridding him of this thing wouldn't go astray.

With that, directed by the Great Sage, he extended part of his form, and began consuming the thing in the boy's scar. It felt icky and shit, whatever he was nomming from the scar, but hopefully, it wouldn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. The boy convulsed a few times, as if the phylactery was fighting its removal, but Rimuru eventually finished.

Belching softly, Rimuru grumbled, "Ugh, the aftertaste is nasty. Can Slimes use mouthwash?"

ANSWER: No mouthwash is available in this world. It would not affect your constitution either, due to your power.

"…That was a rhetorical question, Great Sage."

ANALYSIS: No, it was not.

"…Did you just sass me? Ugh, never mind. How's dealing with the phylactery going?"

PROGRESS REPORT: The phylactery is being broken down. Useful memories and abilities are being siphoned from it. Language: Parseltongue is one of them. It appears to be an innate ability to communicate with certain reptiles, specifically snakes. The boy retains that ability.

"Okay, cool, so, what about the guy this phylactery belonged to? Or girl?"

ANSWER: The phylactery belonged to Tom Marvolo Riddle. Memories are fragmented, but analysis shows that he was born in the United Kingdom of your world. He became known and feared as Lord Voldemort, derived from an anagram of his name. A warlock who espoused blood purity, despite knowing himself to be a Halfblood, that is, a wizard with a parent with no magical ability.

"Yeesh, sounds like a Nazi with a chuunibyou nature. As if you could be any more edgy than a Nazi."

Voldemort was powerful and feared, but he was also extremely thanatophobic, obsessed with creating these phylacteries, which in his memories, he dubs 'Horcruxes'.

"Hey, dying sucks. Having gone through it myself, I can't blame him."

The ritual used to prepare the soul for fragmentation to create Horcruxes is a particularly vile one. It says much about how vile when the process of murder in cold blood to split the soul is less vile than the process leading up to it. It is extremely unlikely that you would wish to use it yourself. In addition, the process erodes one's mental well-being.

Rimuru grimaced at the thought. "So what was the Horcrux doing in this kid?"

ANALYSIS: Memories are sketchy, but it appears that Voldemort actually intended to create a Horcrux upon killing this boy. At the time, the boy was an infant, and Voldemort slew his parents. Somehow, the boy survived, possibly due to a sacrificial ritual his mother used, one where she sacrificed her own life. The Horcrux in the boy's scar was, in all likelihood, created by accident, as Voldemort wished to create one with the boy's demise, not use the boy as one. That marks the end of this Horcrux's memories.

"Sounds like a real charmer. Well, hopefully, the kid won't be bad, or too traumatised by what he went through. I mean, this'll probably be the big test of my 'don't hurt humans' rule. If the kid lashes out, it could be real messy." Rimuru sighed. True, he didn't technically have lungs anymore in this new life, but there comes a time in every sentient being's life when they need to sigh.

He just hoped he wasn't going to regret this…

Pain was too familiar to him, its ache throbbing throughout his body. It was more the pain of weariness, thankfully, but still…it was not fun. Not fun at all.

And then, there was the sudden burning pain from his scar. He was sure his heart stopped once or twice during that. And yet, once it was finished…he felt better than he had for a long time.

Still, when he woke up, he wasn't expecting to see what looked like a blue blob the rough size of a beach ball with squinty eyes peering at him. Nor was he expecting the blob to wave a tendril, and say, in a childish, androgynous voice, "Hey there! Don't worry, I'm a good Slime, slurp!"

He stared at the blob. Of all the things for it to say, he wasn't expecting that. "…What."

The blob seemed to sigh. "…Hmm, maybe it was too much to ask for him to know about Dragon Quest. Then again, is it popular in Britain?" it muttered to itself.

He blinked at that. "Sorry, what? How do you know I'm from Britain?"

"Aside from the accent? Long story short, you had a fragment of someone's soul in that scar, someone who was apparently pretty nasty. So I ate it," the blob said, rather casually. "Does the name Voldemort mean anything to you?"

He felt a thrill of fear and repulsion. He had a fragment of Voldemort's soul in his scar? "Yeah. It does. Is it gone?" he asked, more calmly than he felt, sitting up.

"All digested and gone, turned into slime poop. Not that I poop anyway. Look, I know it may seem bad, but you're safe here now."

"And here is…where? I'm guessing I'm somewhere in the Great Forest of Jura, I was on the outskirts of that when I transformed to kill that monster, but…" He trailed off. He found himself uncertain whether he could trust this creature or not.

As if sensing this, the blob extended a tendril and gently patted his shoulder. "Hey…it's okay, kid. You actually are safe here. Believe it or not, I'm from Earth too. Japan, actually."

He felt his suspicions inflamed again. Perhaps unfairly, but still, he was wary. "So were the other three. I was summoned to some country, Falmuth, and those three…they were nasty pieces of work. Okay, I get it, we were abducted, but…they were Japanese. I'm not saying that's a reason to distrust you, only that I can't trust you simply on the basis of you being from Earth as well."

The blob flinched, or seemed to. "…Okay, that sounds like a hell of a long story. But I promise you, we won't hurt you. You're in the middle of a village I'm having built, one populated by Goblins…well, Hobgoblins now, and Direwolves, well, Tempest Wolves too. As long as you don't start anything, you're safe from us."

"…Even if you're telling the truth, I'm not sure you're safe from me," he admitted. "When I was summoned…I was in prison, for a crime I didn't commit. They claimed I murdered someone, and bunged me up in a prison where the guards are soul-sucking demons that bring up your worst memories and fears." His face fell. "I hated it. I hated my magic. And that gave me a Unique Skill. Something called an Obscurus. I'm…a monster now. It kept playing up, so they sent me to a fortress on the borderland between Falmuth and Jura, to prevent me from hurting them. Not that they didn't deserve it, they're a greedy and immoral bunch of bastards. We were little more than weapons to them."

He put his head in his hands. But once more, the blob patted his shoulder. "Hey. I get that you're not exactly trusting. Like I said, it sounds like a hell of a long story. But…I'm willing to help. This place is probably going to become a haven for monsters, but that doesn't mean humans aren't welcome. I want to help people, whether they be Goblins, Dwarves, Direwolves, or humans. Gimme a chance. We help each other, okay?"

It took what felt like an eternity to make a decision, though it was more a matter of seconds. His treatment both before and after coming to this world left him wary and suspicious. And yet…this blob thing…unlike those bastards in Falmuth, he seemed at least sincere.

Of course, there was also the problem of his Unique Skill. The one that he found hard to control. Though maybe this blob could help him control it.

Maybe he would give it a shot. It wasn't like he had anywhere concrete to go. "…Fine. Let's just hope neither of us regret this."

"Anyway, the name's Rimuru Tempest! Well, I was Satoru Mikami back in Japan, but that was before I got reincarnated as a Slime! What's your name?"

"…Harry Potter…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Harry's in the world of TenSura, and has met Rimuru. But how exactly did he end up there? And what happened in Falmuth?

So, why is Harry an Obscurial? Well, I've been meaning to write such a story for some time, and I did flirt with it somewhat for my Resident Evil crossover Mycoreincarnation. But I think JK Rowling's assertion that Harry wasn't in any danger of becoming an Obscurial to be complete and utter bullshit. The Dursleys may not have been as bad as Mary Lou Barebone, but their abusive ways could very well have caused the growth of an Obscurial.

The seal was placed, of course, by Dumbledore, though he won't be bashed here, or at least not beyond the usual calling out of his mistakes. For this story, he's not a moustache-twirling villain, but a good but flawed man who has fucked up badly.

Harry began hating his magic thanks to being framed and bunged up in Azkaban by the Ministry for Cedric's murder. His fame meant little to them, nor did his prior actions, and he felt that, if he wasn't a wizard, he wouldn't have to deal with it. Irrational, yes, but he was being driven half-mad by both betrayal and the Dementors.

No numbered annotations this time.