DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NARUTO OR HARRY POTTER
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|MASTER OF DEATH|

"Understand?"

Harry nodded as the sound of the train's whistle, a sharp, clear note cut through the air. He wasn't sure how long he and Sirius had been talking. It felt like forever had passed since he opened his eyes, yet still not long enough.

Sirius had spent most of the time teaching Harry everything he knew about women. There was a lot Harry didn't know, having died a virgin and all. He did his best to listen to everything, but the main rule that stuck out to him was that while some witches didn't mind being talked about, Sirius had never met a witch who liked rumors being spread about her. So don't go running your mouth. That was a surefire way to cut the number of witches he would get to shag in half. Because the witches he did take to a broom closet would be telling all their friends that he was a blabber mouth.

Steam billowed from the train and it started to move. I don't want to leave yet, Harry thought and his face must have been an open book because Sirius patted him on the back.

"Go on then, Harry," Sirius said, trying to keep the mood light. "And remember, no matter where you end up, you have a life to live beyond what others expect of you. Always make the selfish choice to be happy. You've earned that right."

With a final hug, a squeeze that seemed to convey all the unsaid words and feelings, Sirius stepped back. Harry climbed the steps to the train, turned back once to wave, and then disappeared inside.

Inside the train, it was warm and bright. Harry found a compartment and settled into the seat, looking out the window as the train started to move, slowly at first, then faster as it picked up speed.

He expected to see a city or the gentle rolling of countryside hills. Instead, the world outside the glass became a movie, flashing with scenes from his life. The first scene wasn't as scary as it had been before—a flash of green light, the very one that had attempted to end his life in my infancy and did end his life in the forest.

The view shifted to a more mundane, yet equally defining part of his life—growing up in the house of the Dursleys. There he was, a small figure with a mop of untidy hair, sneaking around a much larger, blonder boy: Dudley. He watched as Dudley, in a fit, threw away the Naruto manga he had asked for his birthday because he wanted the full set, and if he didn't have all the volumes then he didn't want any!

Harry watched his younger self take the books from the bin before they could be thrown away. He could see himself huddled in the cupboard under the stairs, blanket drawn over his head like a tent as he started reading. Before he ever knew magic was even a thing, that story was Harry's portal to another world, a world where someone like him, unwanted and hated, could become a hero.

The train raced on, and the images began to blend together. Hagrid telling him he was a wizard. Meeting Ron and Hermione. His fun and exciting, but also dangerous school years at Hogwarts. And each summer, when he returned to Privet Drive, cut off from the magical world and his friends—because Vernon locked up Hedgewig, Ron was in Egypt, or on Dumbledore's strict orders—re reading the manga, and when they started airing, watching the episodes of the anime. It wasn't just a way to pass the time—the ninja world was his escape, his refuge from the dreary and sometimes harsh reality of his summers with the Dursleys.

When all the scenes had their course and finally faded completely after Harry saw himself walking into the forest, the train came to a complete stop and the door to his compartment slid open.

Instead of the hallway of the Hogwarts Express, the doorway looked more like Veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry stepped through the doorway.

A few seconds later, or at least from Harry's perspective, the Boy Who Lived found his vision filled with a blinding white light and there was an otherworldly voice resonating around him, filling his ears and soul with an eerie melody.

"We finally meet, Master."

Harry looked over his shoulder toward the voice. Floating in the air was a humanoid figure twice as tall as him and covered in long robes and hooded cloaks of ripped white cloth.

"Death?" Harry asked, not sure why he even bothered. Who else would it be? He had just accepted his death after all.

Two pale white hands reached up to pull the hood back. Harry expected to see something ghoulish, like a Dementor's face covered in thin, scabbed skin, with empty eye sockets and a gaping large hole where the mouth should've been. He was ready to keep himself from reacting, even if he was here to die, that didn't mean he wanted to insult Death.

Death's hood fell revealing the pale and ashen face of a beautiful woman. "Yes master," she said, her voice was light and sweet, but it still gave him chills. "I've been waiting for you."

Harry gave a slight bow. That was something people did for death right?

"Then you know why I am here Lady Death," he said, then he registered what she said and frowned. "Could you please not call me Master? I don't like that word."

Death laughed, and she floated around him forcing Harry to turn on his feels to follow. "You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."

"So it's true?" asked Harry. "All of it? The Peverell brothers —"

"—were the three brothers of the tale," said Death, nodding. "Oh yes, I granted them each one of my Hallows."

Harry was shocked. Even till the end, he always assumed that the story of the three brothers was a bedtime story, or at the very least not the complete truth. He thought the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death's own Hallows seemed to him the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

But here he was, hearing it from Death herself.

She floated closer until there was only an inch of air between their noses. Harry was once again glad she didn't look anything like how he thought Death would look.

"Did you think I would be some hideous beast?" Death tilted her head to the side. She was looking at him curiously, then she sighed. "You mortals always think that. I wonder why?"

After a moment, Harry realized the question wasn't rhetorical and that Death was waiting for him to answer.

"Um…because you're Death?" he answered, though it came out like a question. "I mean, to most people, dying is the scariest thing in the world."

"Exactly!" Death let out a little huff. "It's not like I'm killing the mortals. I don't have any control over when or how they die. That's not my power. I only come after they die, to gently sever the last ties between the soul and the body, and to guide the deceased to the afterlife. Why would I present myself as some scary terrifying beast and make the whole ordeal even more difficult?"

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted. He couldn't really argue when she put it like that.

It made sense, but it still didn't change the fact that the idea of dying was terrifying. He had faced it multiple times already, and even at the very end, when he accepted his death, walking into the forest had been the hardest thing he had ever done.

Not that he planned on arguing semantics with Death. He might be the "Master of Death" but he wasn't sure what that meant. Was it a metaphor, or was he supposed to become the new death? And if Death was just a guide, what if he insulted her and she refused to take him to the afterlife? Would he be forced back to the Wizarding World? What would happen when he died again?

Death reached out and gently cupped Harry's cheeks. Harry felt a sudden rush of peace wash over him. All his worries faded away as he looked into her purple eyes.

"Do not be afraid, Harry," she said, in answer to Harry's unasked questions. "You have nothing to fear from dying, because you can't die."

"What?"

"To guide a soul to the afterlife, I must sever the ties between the soul and the mortal world, but a servant cannot harm their Master."

"I don't want to be the Master of Death," Harry protested weakly, the title sounding too grand and permanent for his liking.

"It is not a choice that can be undone. You have proved yourself worthy with my Hallows, Harry. The title is yours."

Harry's protest grew into frustration. "But why do you even need a master?" he demanded. "Why risk giving your Hallows to three mortals?"

For a moment, Death looked almost sheepish, which was odd, considering her role.

"Being Death is a lonely and thankless job, Harry," she admitted. "I wanted someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't just see me as the end."

Staring at her startlingly human expression, Harry sighed. "I'm still scared of you, though," he confessed.

"Yes, you are now. But this is only your first time," Death said with a smile. "The thing with mortals, even those who believe in reincarnation, is that they never remember their past encounters with me. They forget that there is no reason to be afraid and always come back scared."

"First time?" Harry asked. "So, I'm not going to spend eternity here with you?"

Death looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion. "Of course not," she said quickly. "I might want someone to talk to every now and then, but I don't need a pet."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit insulted by the jump straight to 'pet' instead of something like boyfriend or husband. But then again, to a being like Death, the idea of dating a mortal probably didn't even register.

"Oh?" In a sudden playful move, Death squished Harry's cheeks so that his lips puckered. She grinned at him playfully. "Do you find me attractive, Master? Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Caught off guard by her forwardness, Harry didn't know how to respond. He was about to quickly change the subject when he remembered Sirius advice: Witches liked confidence, and pretty privilege was a thing. The only difference between being a creep or a flirt was whether a witch found him attractive or not.

Boldly reaching around Death, Harry spanked her white robes taking a great big handful of her large, round arse, filling his palm and fingers with springy, bouncy ass cheek.

"Harry!" Death yelped at Harry's sudden boldness.

He was worried he may have overstepped and was about to let go and apologize when he felt her arch slightly into his touch. There was a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes as she let moved her hands from his face to wrap her arms around his neck.

"How bold of you, Master. Maybe you do want to be my boyfriend," she said, cheeks red as she pouted up at him. "We might have to explore that idea sometime."

Harry gave her a lopsided smile and another playful squeeze. "So, I'm just going to keep getting reincarnated, but because I'm the Master of Death, I'll remember all this?"

"That's right," Death said, and before Harry could ask how reincarnating worked, she leaned even closer and pressed her lips against his.

The sensation of it consumed his senses, far beyond anything he'd ever experienced. As Death's lips moved against his, a subtle vibration of energy pulsed through him, and Harry felt his soul being pulled out. It was like the Dementor's Kiss, yet completely different; there was no pain at all, Death's hands were soft and light not strong and clammy.

Thankfully, her breath didn't smell putrid like a Dementor either. She smelled like treacle tart. Harry opened his mouth, hoping to deepen the kiss and really start snogging when he started to feel dizzy.

His eyelids grew heavy, fluttering as the world around him—the infinite expanse that seemed both nowhere and everywhere—began to dim. He could feel his knees weakening, the effort to remain standing becoming a battle he was losing.

"Relax, Harry," Death whispered against his lips. "Let go."

Her arms wrapped around him more firmly, guiding him gently to the ground.

"What's…" Harry heard his own bewildered whisper and felt his consciousness slipping away…

|HARRY POTTERxNARUTO|

Sakumo Izuno, or rather Izuno Sakumo woke face down in the dirt. He pushed himself up off the ground, and his head swam, the world around him turning into a blur of greens and browns. The first thing that went through his mind was: I can't believe I just snogged Death! The second thing was: I can't believe I lost to Sasuke again!

"Bloody hell," he muttered, then blinked at the foreign phrase that had slipped out.

The last thing he remembered as Sakumo was Mizuki pairing Sasuke and him together for sparring practice and Sasuke knocking him out with one punch to the head. He lifted one hand from underneath him and gingerly touched the side of his head, wincing at the large bruise already swelling above his ear.

Sasuke went too far, as usual, Sakumo thought, resisting the urge to spit curses about the Uchiha prodigy. But what What should have been a normal moment of frustration after a sparring match suddenly became much more complex. Because now, layered atop that memory was another—walking into the Forbidden Forest, facing Voldemort, accepting death.

And then...Death herself. A kiss. A promise of reincarnation.

Today was Sakumo's 17th birthday, and with it came memories of another life entirely. A life as Harry Potter, a wizard who had died at the same age Sakumo was now.

He wasn't just Sakumo anymore. He was Harry Potter too.

This was not followed by a panic attack, mostly, he thought, due to his access to memories that shouldn't belong to him—a boy, also an orphan, living in a small cupboard under the stairs, mistreated by his aunt and uncle, despised by his cousin. And even more bewildering, this boy, Harry, had lived in a world where magic was real, filled with wands, spells, and a school called Hogwarts.

Sakumo—no, Harry—no, both?—shook his head, trying to sort through the tangle of memories. He'd lived seventeen years as Sakumo Izuno, orphan of Konoha. But he'd also lived seventeen years as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. And somehow, even more bizarre, he had memories of watching an 'anime' called "Naruto," all about the life of Uzumaki Naruto.

"This is mental," he groaned, clutching his head.

He had memories of seeing Naruto around the academy. The orange-wearing loudmouth was a year younger than him, so they had never had classes together until this year, but the Naruto that Sakumo knew was the same blonde from the anime and manga Harry Potter loved.

A shadow passed over his face and he heard a relieved sigh. "Take it easy," a voice suggested. The tone was calm but carried an undercurrent of something Sakumo couldn't quite place. Concern? Mockery? It was hard to tell.

He blinked away the blurring colors and looked up at the guy staring down at him. They was older than him by a few years, probably in his mid-20's, with silver shoulder-length hair. He wore a standard Leaf Village ninja outfit, complete with a forehead protector and flak jacket.

"Here," Mizuki offered, extending a hand to help him up.

"Thank... you..." Sakumo mumbled, still struggling to get his head straight as he accepted Mizuki's hand.

He needed to act normal, to not arouse suspicion. But he couldn't trust Mizuki; he was just a snake in the grass, waiting to strike.

"Are you alright?" Mizuki asked, his concern clearly fake from to Sakumo's new perspective. "You were unconscious for a few minutes. Do you need to see a medic?"

"I'm fine," Sakumo grunted, swaying slightly as he managed to stand on shaky legs. He needed to get away from Mizuki or he was gonna deck him. "Can I be dismissed for the day?"

Mizuki smiled his fake smile and nodded. "Of course! Go home, get some rest!" He patted Sakumo's back. "Tomorrow's the graduation exam, and without a doctor's note, Iruka won't make any exceptions."

Right, the graduation exam, Sakumo thought as he watched Mizuki walk away. He didn't turn his back until he saw the chunin disappear around the corner of the academy building.

Sakumo left the academy grounds, his head still pounding from both Sasuke's punch and the rush of new memories. As he walked through the streets of Konoha, the familiar sights and sounds took on a surreal quality. Everything was exactly as it should be, yet it all felt somehow different now.

He stopped as he passed by the Hokage Monument, his gaze drawn to a commotion near the top. There, just as he remembered from the manga Harry had read, was Naruto, scrubbing furiously at the graffiti he'd painted on the stone faces while Iruka stood below, arms crossed, supervising the cleanup.

Sakumo snorted. Some things never change. The walk to his home in the small Izuno clan compound near the village's edge felt like it took forever. By the time he reached his place in the Izuno compound, he was ready to crash.

Sakumo fumbled with his keys and stumbled through the door. Once inside, he made his way to the living room and flopped onto the couch with a groan.

"What a day," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. The graduation exam was tomorrow, and he knew he should be focusing on that. But his mind kept jumping to the future and all the devastation that Konoha would face in the next few years—Orochimaru's invasion during the upcoming Chunin Exams, Sasuke Uchiha leaving the village, the Akatsuki collecting the Tailed-Beasts, Pain's attack on the Hidden Leaf, the Fourth Shinobi World War!

"One thing at a time," Sakumo told himself. "Pass the exam first, then figure out how to save the world or whatever."

Decided to change how Harry being reincarnated works and jump right in at the start of the anime!

While I was writing rough drafts, I didn't like how the dialogue felt when characters used the name "Sakumo" while the rest of the story it's "Harry did this" or "Harry did that".

So, for simplicity's sake, Harry=Sakumo from now on!

Thanks for reading!