Disclaimer:
I solemnly swear that the literature and works of the Harry Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling, Bloomberg and Warner Bros. The only thing I own are the one-shot ideas that popped into my head and whatever OCs I would create for them. This is a work of pure fiction made solely for fun, constructive reviews will be welcomed, flames will be ignored. Any references to characters in real-life or fiction are purely coincidental. If I could make money out of my ideas, it would be nice...
Mischief Managed Damn It!
Title: HP x Bleach (No actual title for now)
Posted Date: March 28 2023
Tags: Harry Potter has Zanpakutou, Manipulative Dumbledore, Japanese Superiority over British Magic
Possible Challenges: WBWL, Alive Potters, Harry x Small Multi, Bad Weasley / Granger
Routes: See below
In many cultures and histories, death was a commonality.
Many cultures had gods related to the ending of life itself. Often depicted as a being or a power that would oppose the gods of life and light, it was a sure thing that battles waged between them would be depicted as forces of nature rearranging the boundaries of nations and bringing forth destruction at a flick of a finger.
It would be legendary.
But what the mortals never realized, that these gods often depicted as the death gods were mere extensions to the being that gave them their powers. An entity that they must answer no matter how much they try to pass the actions it does as their own. A being whose reach extended beyond the planes of the world and into the multiverse.
That being would be the one True "Death".
With the level of power and existence it had over life, it had to monitor a lot of worlds to ensure the souls of the deceased move to their respective places smoothly, and making doubly sure that those with its powers would be using them wisely. It was a big responsibility, and someone had to make sure that nothing would disrupt the cycle of life and death.
And right now, Death was not pleased.
In the void that the being was occupying, an outsider might see a tall "something" that appeared to be shrouded in a cloak of smoke, watching the flow of souls that passed through the windows of different worlds and into the big pool in front of it, with the odd few coming out of said pool to move to close to another world window in preparation of reincarnation. Majority of the souls were white, but there were a few with tinges of blue, green, angry red, or even a ghostly black, making it a sight for any who were present to see. But the being called Death was not looking at the pool. Its focus on one of the windows was steady, and there was a feeling that one would describe as suffocatingly angry around it.
And there was a good reason for that.
"Someone is interfering with my work." A growl could be heard from the figure as a skeletal hand appeared from beneath the robes to reach for one of the souls coming through. Said soul that was green with tinges of black squealed as he pinched it and slowly pulled it to him to examine. It appeared to quiver as he looked at it closely before clenching his fist with a sudden crunch, extinguishing the soul.
"There is a lot of taint coming from this world." A pair of flaming orbs appeared from beneath the hood, and in response the souls leaving that window started increasing their speed as though to get away from his fury. "Who is this Voldemort?" Death plucked another tainted soul and crushed that, reviewing the memories from that soul before letting out a gluttoral hiss. "What is Fate doing in that world? Is she trying to live up to the mortals' word of being a Bitch?" Another soul, another set of memories followed suit before he stopped.
"And it would seem that someone dares to play chess with me." The being stroked 'something' beneath the hood with the fingers before abruptly turning to another window and seemingly gliding to that spot.
"It would appear that Fate is trying to force one of her prophecies into play again. Well, that is going to cost her and the fools who dare to play me." Death reached out again, this time calling forth two orbs to him, one being a misty white with red tinges, the other a green with notable yellow cracks on it. Death studied them with a keen eye before throwing them to the ground, the orbs glowing brightly before enlarging and changing their forms to be more human-like before the light dissipated to show two different individuals. The first was a pale-skinned man wearing a long, white, robe-like coat that had the collar of the robe covered with a thick fur, with signs of a recent fight evident on it. The second was a black-haired woman whose green kimono was torn and fraying, her hair in complete disarray, and the golden obi around her waist was rusting. Tears ran from amber eyes as she choked from the agony wrecking her body as she grabbed her chest. "Sosuke… Why?"
"Where am I?" The man turned about him in muted confusion before looking at his hands. "How am I still alive?"
"Greetings, Muramasa and Kyouka Suigetsu." The two turned and froze at the being towering over them with ease. "Don't bother trying to use your powers. I granted your kind your powers, I can easily take it away."
"I see." The man appeared to be the quickest to recover and answered Death. "From this feeling, you are someone higher than Shinigamis and Hollows." The being in front of them chuckled deeply.
"I suppose you could say that, Muramasa. For I am the beginning of the end, the one who will be seen at the expiration of life itself. The one all will face in the end." Their expressions at that answer were so satisfying to see.
"Are you the Soul King?" Kyouka asked, clearly trying to restrain herself from showing fear. Death scoffed at her answer.
"The Soul King only handles one side of the balance in his world, and even then, he is merely an extension of me. For I am Death, the end for all to see." Death replied. "Now, I believe I have indulged you enough. I brought you here for a reason, and I do not wish to be interrupted."
"What is your bidding, Lord Death?" Muramasa appeared to have designated himself to be the spokesperson, considering how his companion was caught between a fight-or-flight situation. Death did not really care who was talking, just for someone to complete the task he had planned.
"Allow me to say this. Both of you were given the short end of the stick with both your masters going off the deep end." Death started talking to the spirits, uncaring of his tone when reminding them of their issues. "Both of you were close to death when I picked you two out for a task I deemed to be within your skill sets. A simple offer I shall be granting you. One that will decide whether you will move on to die, or to gain your freedoms."
The female spirit snapped at this point and screamed in frustration as cracks of power extended from her feet, making the nearest souls move about in agitation. Muramasa on the other hand was gripping his hands tightly to the point of losing blood from cuts made by the finger nails. Death merely stood by and watched them coolly. After a while, the woman stopped her screaming and glared at Death, her anger at her pain being exposed overriding her fear and only with Muramasa keeping her in check to not run her mouth carelessly lest they get extinguished.
"What exactly do you want from us?" She heaved heavily as she asked.
"Should you accept the task I am to impose on you, I can grant you both a second chance, and with it, a new master for you both to serve." The two spirits startled at that. Muramasa was definitely skeptical about this, but for the female spirit, her anger had cooled quickly at that.
"A… new master?" Kyouka asked him hesitantly, a hint of hope notable in her query.
Death nodded. "There is someone else out there in need of someone to be by their side, just as badly as the both of you need someone to stand alongside." He looked her in the eyes. "However, he is in a bad state and will need the both of you to help him grow. At the same time, I think that would help you heal from both Sosuke's mistreatment of Kyouka and Koga's treatment of you, Muramasa."
"You are saying that we would both serve the same master?" Muramasa asked warily.
"Yes, because he is in great need of help." Death crossed his arms behind him. "There is a great imbalance in the world where the young one is residing. Someone has dared to play games with lives and dared to play God." The two spirits blanched at that. As sword spirits for Shinigami, it was a given that their task was to help regulate the flow of souls to the afterlife, and in their time, they both witnessed people get power hungry and lose themselves to them, their former masters being prime examples to that. Kyoka Suigetsu was definitely more familiar with that example since her last memories of her former master were changing into something that he claimed was a level above all.
"Your task would be to help guide the young soul I will be sending you to, protect him, and ultimately help fulfill his destiny." Death continued to explain. "In that world, one of his enemies has dared to keep themselves from my domain and deny me their due by foolishly splitting their soul." The two spirits hissed at that, unable to phantom the thought of someone willingly splitting their soul in hopes of immortality, only to end up as a Hollow that would prove harder to kill than even a Vasto Lorde at times. The worst part was that killing one would not be enough, as the other parts could be surviving as another Hollow, either on its own or as part of a Menos Grande, just waiting to take control. Even in Soul Society, the most hardened of criminals would swear off such a thing, and would likely come to a truce with the Shinigami to take out the one who dares to do such a thing.
"So you want us to aid the person you have your eyes on while eliminating the soul splitter?" Muramasa narrowed his eyes.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. Ultimately, you can help to restore balance in that world." Death knelt down and extended a hand. "Do we have a deal, Zanpakutos? Either one of you goes, or both go."
Kyouka alternated her eyes between Muramasa and Death hesitantly. "And you promise I won't be treated like Sosuke treats me?" she asked him.
"He won't be as he is. If he turns into another Sosuke, then it is no fault of mine." Death shrugged carelessly at that. "However, you can raise him into a better Sosuke considering where he is in his life." He turned to the other spirit. "How about you?" Muramasa closed his eyes and thought back to his last memories before he came here.
"I suppose this could be my redemption. That much I owe to Kurosaki Ichigo." The man opened his eyes and looked Death in the eye. "I shall accept your offer, Lord Death."
"Very good." Death looked again to Kyouka. "And you? Do we have a deal?"
She looked back and forth to the hand, its owner and her fellow sword spirit. The female Zanpakuto spirit was internally conflicted by the choice presented to her. On one hand, she would be free of the abuse that Sosuke had been subjecting her to with growing frequency and live safely, but at the same time she'd be leaving the Shinigami who she had been with for the last several centuries and who knew the name of her Bankai.
What if this new master never reached that?
What if this new master could not even hear her name?
She gritted her teeth as another wave of the pain surged through her, causing her golden obi to shatter into Dust. Collapsing on her legs, she breathed heavily before she looked up and weekly extended a hand to the higher being in front of her. "Please…" she whispered. "I… accept…" Muramasa extended his hand as well, a minor conflict evident behind his eyes.
Death nodded at both of them and reached out to let them touch his hand, his fingers dwarfing their arms somewhat comically. As contact was made, the two dissolved to form two black Jigokucho that rested tiredly on his hands. One had pale white dots on the wings while the other had dark green lines with notable cuts on it. Death stood up and carried them both to the window that had his attention earlier before extending the arm to let the soul current carry them through.
"I wish you both luck with your new master, and may your lives be better with him."
~ooOOoo~
The boy bit his lip as he cradled his broken arm and curled up in the cupboard, trying to sleep through the pain he got from the latest set of punishments he got from his uncle. He had burnt the bacon slightly for dinner, and the end result had Vernon beating him with his hands and knocking him against the wall that hurt his arm before throwing him into the cupboard. He was only able to get a few bites from dinner so he was sure to be feeling the pangs of hunger later. He slowly moved to light the candle he managed to hide before looking at his injury, wincing as the mediocre pillow brushed against the bump he figured would be the broken bone. It was always like this as far as he could remember, always being blamed and punished for the smallest of mistakes or for the odd things that kept happening around him because of his supposed "Freaky Stuff" as his uncle would put it.
As much as he knew his uncle would be angry, he really hoped the Freaky Stuff would fix his arm while he was asleep. Otherwise, how else would he make breakfast and do all his chores in the morning?
A slight itchy feeling brought his attention to the fact that he was no longer alone in the cupboard. Gently flapping their wings on his broken arm in front of him were two dark butterflies with different looks to them. One had pale white dots decorating the wings while the other had dark green lines decorating them. Even though his Aunt told him all bugs were to be killed without exception, he felt something was different about these two strange butterflies. He moved his head closer to them and found that they appeared to be tired, their wings were bent slightly and the one with the dark lines had cuts on the wings.
"Oh, you're hurt too," the little boy whispered as he went to touch the butterflies. "Maybe I can…" His fingers barely touched their wings when they both straightened from the contact and started glowing a bit. The little boy was so amazed that he couldn't stop staring until he had to close his eyes from the light's growing brightness. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a strange living room. It looked kind of like the one he cleaned, but there were pictures of him on the mantle instead of his cousin and relatives and it felt far more welcoming. The floor seemed to be covered in some type of wood material instead of the carpet, and the couch had an emerald color and was facing a TV that looked even nicer than the one he saw every day. The windows, however, looked out into a dark and stormy sky that seemed to be at the brink of unleashing a storm like none other before seen.
"Wh-where am I?" he fearfully asked. "If Uncle Vernon finds me here-"
"He won't, my dear." came a gentle female voice from behind him with a strange accent.
He turned around and jumped back in fear from the woman who was currently sitting in the single person chair. She had black hair pulled up into a strange bun with two gold sticks through it that ended with small emeralds on the ends. Her skin was milky and flawless, and the white was broken with her black eye makeup and pale pink lips. She was wearing a strange green robe in a manner that Aunt Petunia would call whorish as it exposed a lot of her admittedly large chest and showed off her bare legs from the mid-thigh down, although Harry was too young to understand her state of dress or general appearance. A strange gold belt was around her waist with several cracks in it, making him think someone had broken it. Even though her strange manner of dressing and the odd situation he was in scared him, her amber eyes seemed to draw him in, and told him that everything would be fine. "There's no need to be scared," she told him gently. "We are not here to hurt you."
"We?" Harry blinked and finally asked. "Who's we?"
The woman raised a hand to herself. "Myself." the hand then gestured to somewhere behind Harry. "And my companion." Harry turned and squeaked at a tall, thin man that was standing very close behind him. The man in question had pale skin and shaggy, dark brown hair, two bangs of which crossed over the bridge of his nose, all of which drew attention to the turquoise-colored eyes circled by spiked purple ovals. He wore a long, white, robe-like coat that had the collar of the robe covered with a thick fur, featuring a purple ascot fastened by a ruby brooch. For accessories the man had a wide sash at his waist, decorated by a purple stripe, a pair of boots with pointed tips, and had purple manacles on his wrists. A clicking sound drew Harry's attention to the man's hands that had long fingernails to resemble claws.
"Now, why did you go and scare him like that?" The woman lightly scolded the man who gazed at her briefly before looking back at Harry steadily.
"Apologies." The man's voice was deep and had an undertone of tiredness. Harry switched between the two adults in confusion and a bit of fear. "You need not fear us, young one. We will not hurt you." The man tried to assure the boy.
"Who are you?" Harry asked while putting his back to the wall. The two adults shared a look before the man nodded to the woman.
The woman turned to smile kindly at Harry. "My name is K-ok- Su-tsu. And I am one of your Zanpakuto."
"What?" he asked, now more confused than scared. "I didn't hear your name. Do you not have one?"
She shook her head and giggled. "No, I do have one," she told him. "However, it is clear you need to be ready to hear my name." Harry blinked and turned to the man.
"My name is M–m-sa. I too am your Zanpakuto." Harry to his credit tried to focus his hearing but heard the same thing, meaning nothing, when it came to asking their names. "Yes, you are not yet ready to hear either of our names for the time being. When you do, only then will you begin to truly learn what we have to teach you."
"To teach me? Teach me what?"
The woman giggled at the little boy while covering her mouth with the sleeve. "When you're a little older, young one," she told him while reaching to ruffle his hair, pausing her action when he flinched from her touch. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"No. It is not that." Harry shook his head before hissing in pain while clutching his arm. The two adults moved swiftly to look at him closely.
"Young one, who did this to you?" The woman asked with a notable tone of anger. Harry looked away in shame.
"I see, your relatives were the ones who did this to you." The man answered that with a hint of anger evident in his tone. Harry looked panicked at his reply, how did he know that?!
"You need not worry about repercussions, we won't let you get hurt by these people any longer." The man straightened his back and moved to the door, pausing briefly to look back. "We should consider moving him away before I do this." The woman nodded before looking at Harry gently.
"Speaking of… What's your name?"
"Oh… Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia call me Freak," he told her nervously. "But… m- my name is Harry, ma'am. Harry Potter."
She smiled warmly at him while slowly placing a gentle hand on his head. "Nice to meet you, Harry-kun. I assure you, you won't be harmed by these people ever again." The room started to glow brightly and forced Harry to squint while lifting his arms to block the glare.
"For now, rest well, my partner."
~ooOOoo~
Vernon grumbled as he got out of his bed to go to the toilet, making sure to step a little harder over the general area where the freak was sleeping. That brat needed to learn his place in this household, and that meant he had to learn quickly how to follow orders. The Dursleys were good working folks who did not deserve having the freak passed to them like some parcel. He would make sure that the freakishness was stamped out of the boy quickly, or he would be left in another country if he could swing it.
Perhaps he should do that anyway. Less chances of the freak coming back to their decent home.
Vernon went to relieve himself and then moved to return to the bedroom when he noted an odd glow around the staircase landing. With a growl, Vernon stomped down the staircase and turned to get to the cupboard where the brat was sleeping, turning on the lights along the way. Clearly the boy did not listen to his words to keep his freak magic in control, so he was going to give him another lesson! Vernon went to the door, unlocked the lock and pulled it open while opening his mouth to yell at the boy.
"So you are the one."
Vernon spun around only to find the living area muted in color and a pale man dressed strangely with some odd fur clothes and long fingernails. "Who the bloody hell are you?" The man tilted his head at Vernon's voice, his bored eyes just looking at him in a manner that unsettled Vernon.
"Such an eyesore." The man did something with his hand and Vernon suddenly went stiff, unable to move a muscle. His eyes went wide from both the surprise and mounting fear. The strange man stepped forward while raising a hand, the index fingernail almost touching Vernon in the eye. "You are a very disappointing sight."
"Are you one of those freaks!" Vernon found that he could move his mouth and decided to demand for answers. "You are not supposed to be here! That bearded bastard promised us!" The pale man narrowed his eyes at that.
"Who?"
"You know who I am talking about! Dumbledore!" Vernon kept trying to move his body as he answered, his face turning purple from the exertion. He was however wondering why Petunia had yet to wake up from all the racket he was making. "Release me, damn it!"
"Not until I get some answers." The pale man lowered his hand to chest level. "I will be taking a peek inside." Before Vernon could say anything, the man stabbed his hand straight into his chest, and Vernon felt a sensation that he would never thought he would have in all his life. It felt like hands were sprouting from where the man had stabbed him and was crawling inside his body while reaching everywhere including his brain. The fat man was now utterly terrified at what was happening to him since he could not even scream at that point, and it felt like his mind was being rummaged through. Then he started seeing flashes of his life before his eyes, everything that he had done from his childhood to the current day, before some of the images settled on that freakish boy and the freak who kept stopping them from leaving the brat at the orphanage or elsewhere.
"So that is Dumbledore." The pale man pulled out his arm and Vernon took a deep breath of fresh air to control himself, only realizing a minute later that Petunia and Dudley were next to him and were also frozen into position. "A very unusual individual."
"What do you want from us?" Petunia asked fearfully. The pale man slowly turned to look at her, a hand raised for the long fingernail to lightly touch her, but the manner she was trying to move made it clear she found it repulsive.
"You are a sorry individual. You could not bear the thought of having a sister that was the star in people's light, that you decided to take it out on a child who lost the chance to connect with his family." The man slowly dragged the nail along the cheek, just enough to have it poking but not cutting or piercing her skin. The tone and level of his voice did not change, but there was a hint of menace evident somewhere. "You see no issues doing this despite the instructions passed to you by a meddlesome old man to look after him."
"He is a freak, he should be grateful that we are even giving him food and shelter from the bottom of our hearts!" Vernon yelled at him, his temper rearing its head at the sight of the man poking his wife with the freakish nail. The pale man merely glanced at him without turning his head, the coldness in his eyes rooting Vernon even if he was bound to begin with.
"Your notion of normality is in itself an abnormality, and the methods you used to enforce that are also a sign of your own 'freakishness' as you put it." The man took a few steps back to look at them on the whole. "You did all you could to destroy the boy's reputation while spoiling your son. You praise every little action your son does while scorning the achievements of the child wanting your approval. You seek to break his spirit while having your son act as one of your hands." The man closed his eyes and took a breath.
"How utterly pathetic."
At that, the Dursleys suddenly dropped to the floor from the pressure that had descended upon them like an ocean had appeared to crush them. Vernon was barely keeping himself up with his arms while Petunia wailed helplessly and Dudley screamed in fear. "What are you doing to us?!"
"Honestly, I am half tempted to perform a Konso to see if your souls will go to Hell for what you have done to your nephew. Your actions certainly warrant that." The man talked while walking normally, unaffected by the pressure. "But that would be too easy, instead I will just make sure your true nature is shown to all." To the horror of the Dursleys, his shadow expanded on the floor before pale arms emerged from them and wrapped around them. "You will not escape justice."
"Let us go! You cannot do this to us! You freaks cannot judge us!" Vernon yelled as he watched his wife and son being wrapped in those arms in some twisted cocoon. "That brat needed to be kept down so he would not infect us with it! And Dumbledore will find you to get that brat!"
"He will be dealt with eventually." The pale man raised a hand and before his eyes, a small ball of violet light the size of a large bead appeared in the palm of his hand. "Hmm, so it seems I retained some of the abilities at a lower strength. Unexpected, but more than enough for this." The man looked to Vernon as the arms wrapped his head. "Your services are no longer required to 'take care' of my master, you will not be seeing him after this." Vernon's last sight of the man before his eyes got covered by one of the hands was the pale man pointing the ball at the living room and saying one word.
"Cero."
By the time the firefighters arrived at the scene fifteen minutes later, the house was consumed in flames and it would take some time for them to douse it out. Long enough for paramedics to check the status of the family left strewn on the ground while firefighters tried to control the flames.
Long enough for a couple of them to note the oddity of a cupboard beneath the stairs not touched by said fire and directing the police to that.
Long enough for certain people dressed in odd clothing to appear by the end of the street to witness the scene before going to find the source of the energy trace.
Long enough for one old man to curse at the situation before disappearing with a loud pop.
Possible Route Challenges:
1. Harry gets dragged back to Britain either by a ICW law courtesy of Dumbledore, or by Goblet of Fire.
2. Harry still studies in Japan, but gets mission to handle the Voldemort issue.
3. There is Gotei 13 equivalent in Japan, perhaps a combat school.
Requirements:
1. Harry should study at Mahoutokoro for early childhood, possibly doing early OWLs or NEWTs
2. Harry has no proper ties to Britain for all that has happened. Can include possible theft, or family abandonment in the event of WBWL.
3. Harry learns Kidou and Shinigami related combat.
4. If dragged back to Britain, must not come back as a 1st year.
