Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto

Damn Potter luck

by Keito122 1 review

When Harry defeats Voldemort, they both die. However Harry ends up in the middle of a forest in the elemental into a 5-year-old. Damn Potter luck. (This story is a crossover betwe...

Category: Naruto - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Crossover,Drama,Humor - Characters: Anko,Naruto,Shikamaru - Warnings: [!!] [V] - Published: 2016-05-08 - Updated: 2016-05-08 - 2600 words

Chapter 1

Smoke rises into the sky swirling and mixing with the ash falling slowly towards the once magical school…Hogwarts. The place he had spent the best and worse years of his life, the place where it all started and where it all will end. Everything had come to this final day. Everything had come down to him. Harry was so sure when he walked through the forbidden forest, when he walked towards Voldemort, he would die. He was so so sure. And yet he was sent back here. Back to this damned world. Back to serve his ’duty’. To save the wizarding world. He snorts, how ironic, prophesised to save the world that ruined his life. Raised to be their weapon. He’ll see it through though, for the people who died because of him, he’ll do it for his parents, for Cedric, for Sirius, for Hermione and Ron, but never for the likes of Dumbledore. His emerald eyes harden in resolve as he marches – not walks, marches, like the little soldier boy he was raised to be, advancing towards his final battle.

Their eyes clash, the scarlet red of blood and the emerald green of – ironically – the killing curse. No sound is made, complete and utter silence surrounds them as the fate of the world hangs on the outcome of this encounter. The silence seems to stretch for an eternity before the one with the eyes of blood, cackles eerily before letting out a roar that shook the souls of the dead as a jet of emerald green, matching the others eyes, shoots from the end of the wand encased in his pale hands. It zig-zags across the clearing like a bolt of lightning only to collide with a burst of red shot from the boy with the emerald eyes’ wand. The two streams clash forming a pure golden light, bursting forth between the two enemies, expanding to encase them both in the blinding light. When it eventually fades all that is left are two piles of ashes where they once stood.


A young boy appearing to be 5 years of age, lies dead to the world under a canopy of trees, dwarfed in clothes several sizes too big. Next to him are three objects, a cloak, a stone and a wand. The boys eye lids twitch slightly before slowly opening, revealing a pair of emerald green eyes, those of which look to old on the face of a child. The boy frowns before his eyes widen in alarm and he bolts upright staring in confusion at his body, at scars he doesn’t remember, at hands too small. He reaches to his face, mapping his features it doesn’t feel right as if this body doesn’t belong to him. But who is he anyway? His eyes frantically scan his surroundings, looking for anything he recognises, just one thing. But there’s nothing. All around him are trees, some reaching higher than 100 feet, he himself is sat in a small clearing under a canopy of trees. Where the hell is he? Out of the corner of his eye he spots three items he didn’t notice before. For some reason he feels strongly towards them, a sense of regret, sadness and grudging acceptance. It doesn’t make sense though, all that’s there is a cloak, a stone and a weird stick, why would they make him react like this? He glares at the objects in frustration, as if they’ll answer his questions. His hand - that feels too small and not right – reaches out and grabs the cloak. His eyes widen at the softness of the material; it nearly slips right out of his grasp. It shimmers in the rays of light penetrating the trees, looking almost transparent. Suddenly a vial rolls out from the cloak, landing at his feet. Placing the cloak back he looks down at the innocent looking substance, that could be god knows what. His hand tentatively reaches for the vial and he turns it around finding a note on the other side reading, ‘Harry Potter, drink this when you wake.’ A sense of familiarity and warmth washes over him as he recognises the name, it’s his. The building panic subsides a little as he finally has something he knows; his name is Harry Potter; he is Harry Potter. Harry eyes the vial, it doesn’t seem dangerous and it’s the only thing he has to go on. It could be what he needs, or it could be poison and kill him. He tuts in annoyance, troublesome.
Looking back over his surroundings he spots a small alcove in the base of one of the trees. Gathering the items in his arms he stands, nearly tripping on the way-too-big clothes, and slowly shuffles towards the tree. He would trip if he tried to walk normally. He stretches out in the small space, it’s big enough for him to sit in sideways with his legs elongated and his back resting against the, surprisingly soft, trunk. Crossing his fingers for luck, he drinks the vial in one gulp. A pain pierces his mind, the feeling of something snapping before he loses consciousness and is plunged into darkness.


The next time his eyes open it’s to the darkness of night and unlike before there’s a spark of knowledge in his emerald eyes. He’s regained the memories of his past, memories of manipulation, abuse, murder. However, he still has no clue where he is. He looks at the three objects tucked at his side, the Deathly Hallows, his curse. He sneers, seems he’ll never be free of them. At least the wand and cloak could be useful, the stone though, that’s another story. He threw the cloak over the stone, both of them disappearing all together – the cloak of invisibility.
His eyes wander over his small body, “Damn Potter luck.” He mutters under his breath. He runs a hand through his wild hair before picking up the wand and waves it over his body in circular movements, his clothes slowly shrink to fit him. He’s still wearing the same clothes he wore to that fateful battle, a phantom pain echoes across his body as he remembers being engulfed in the blinding light and his entire body burning. He should’ve died from that, no he did die but for some reason he woke up here, in this unknown place. From what he could see of the sky, the stars looked completely different, different constellations, was he in another world? Suddenly the feeling of being watched made him swivel his head towards the surrounding trees in time to see flashes of something speeding towards him, cursing under his breath he quickly apparated, landing just outside the tree in time to see four needles impale where his body just was. His breath comes out in short gasps and he realises being de-aged seems to have reduced his magical ability as well, or at least the amount his body could handle. He looks back towards the trees; this really wasn’t the time to pass out from magical drain. He quickly dives to the left; a needle slicing his cheek as he lands on the muddy forest floor. He forces himself back into a crouched position, blood trickling down his cheek, dripping onto his already tattered robe. His vision starts to blur as his body sways and he falls to the floor slowly losing consciousness, they must have poisoned the needle he thinks, before he succumbs to the darkness once again. His last thought being how this might be a new record for him.
Hasn’t even been 24 hours and he’s already in trouble.


The sound of a loud bang jolted Harry back into the land of the living, he groaned at the aching all over his body and the predicament he was in. He really wasn’t in the best of situations. He was strapped to a metal chair in an interrogation room, with the only point of entry/exit being the door that was just slammed shut by a tall intimidating figure. Usually someone like this wouldn’t phase Harry, he would be intimidated of course but considering what he’s seen he wouldn’t be scared, but it seems being de-aged has also changed that.
The man wore a bandana covering his head with a metal plate attached to the front inscribed with a weird symbol. The man’s face was covered with two long scars that added to his I’ll-Kill-You aura. Harry wondered what kind of place he’s ended up in, to try and kill a 5-year-old and then send him to this place. Admittedly he was a 17-year-old wizard but they don’t need to know that.
He decided to go with the ‘act dumb’ plan, which was actually a lot easier than he expected, considering he didn’t understand a word the man was speaking. It definitely wasn’t a language anyone from his world spoke, yes he’s decided this must be another world.
The man made a noise Harry recognised as frustration, probably annoyed with the blank stare he was receiving, before storming out of the room and slamming the door shut – again. He needs to work on his anger.

Harry took the time to inspect the room he was in, but there really wasn’t anything to see. The only things inside the metal box because it really wasn’t a room, was the metal chair he was strapped to which was nailed into the floor and a metal table in front of him. Usually if he was in this type of situation he would just apparate the hell out of here but seeing as he only made it a few feet the last time he tried and he didn’t know anywhere to apparate to, he didn’t want to risk it. He sighed in annoyance and wondered if he was being watched which was a dumb thought, of course he was being watched any competent…uh prison – or whatever the hell this place is – would watch their ‘prisoners’.
After a while the door opens again and this time a woman walks in. She has black hair with a violet tint to it, styled into a spiky ponytail. Her brown eyes are pupil less and her mouth is stretched into a creepy grin. But what really catches Harry’s attention is the large snake loosely wrapped around her neck that she’s quietly talking to and the snake seems to be hissing in reply.
Well if the snakes here haven’t changed to a weird language then this means he might have a way to talk to them. But does he really want to risk it? Again with a stupid question, of course he should. If he doesn’t talk, well he doesn’t want to think what would happen. So after a minute of silence Harry hisses out a simple ‘Hello’. The look of surprise on the woman’s face almost makes it worth it.

“A ssspeaker?” The snake asks, it’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, that’ss me.” He hisses back.

The woman asks the snake something - in whatever language they speak – and it bobs it’s head in the affirmative. The woman says something else to the snake who then turns and hisses at Harry.

“My contractor wantss to know your name.”


“Yess.” Harry realised the snake wasn’t going to elaborate and made a noise of annoyance.

He turned so he was looking into the pupil less eyes of the women and just said his name ‘Harry Potter’, there wasn’t any need to address the snake since his name is the same in either language.

“Harui Potteru?” The women said in confusion and Harry winced at the butchering of his name, at least he thought it would be the same.

“Iss there a name that sssounds ssimilar to Harry? I would prefer my name not to be desstroyed.” He hissed to the snake, who Harry swore was smirking at him.

“There’ss Haru, it meanss ssspring.” It hissed backed. He considered it for a moment and decided to go with it.

“Can you tell your uh contractor to usse that name then?” The snake nodded his head in reply and hissed at the woman.

“Haru?” She asked and he nodded in reply.

The woman spoke to the snake before placing it around his neck and leaving. Harry guessed it was supposed to scare him and to be honest it worked. He may be able to speak to snakes but that doesn’t stop them from killing him and in his opinion this snake looks quite dangerous. And yet he still doesn’t keep his trap shut.

“Are you ssupposed to intimidate me?”

“Am I intimidating?”

“A bit.”

“Then I’m doing my tassk right.”

Silence then. “What’ss a contractor?” Damn his curiosity.

“A contractor, iss a contractor.”

“Yess bu-” The coils tightening slightly around his neck warned him he’d pushed his luck.

He then acted like the 5-year-old he looks and slouched in the chair, pouting slightly. Ok there’s seriously something wrong with him. Before he could contemplate that thought further though, the door creaked open again and in walked scar-man from earlier and snake-women with another person he hadn’t seen before, he nearly freaked out when they first walked in, which he hopes he covered. They were wearing a mask and he nearly mistook them for a death eater until he realised it was in the shape on an animal and there was no way in hell a death eater would wear a bunny mask. He almost laughed at the thought. The bunny-man – not a death eater – was carrying some paper and a pen, he guessed they were going to be a scribe.
It was at this point in time Harry realised he should have been thinking of a cover story instead of questioning a snake and thinking of death eaters in bunny masks – no matter how funny it seemed. The only plan he has now is to pretend he doesn’t remember anything apart from his name. Now he wishes he doesn’t have his memories. Ok no, that’s a lie, he doesn’t wish that because then he wouldn’t know magic and he needs his magic. He doesn’t care what happens as long as he has his magic.
And then he remembers that his attacker saw him apparate, they know he has magic, or at least has a weird skill. He might be able to pass it off as an unknown skill.
Then the now nick-named scar-man - because it makes him seem less scary - walked up and had to place the elder wand on the table. He nearly glared at the man and he sure as hell hopes his confusion looked real because as long as his attacker didn’t see him using the wand he can pretend it’s just a stick his five-year-old brain found pretty. Then his hopes where shot down the drain into the pits of hell burning up in flames as there in front of him snake-woman had placed the damned cloak, stone and empty vial. And this time he couldn’t stop the glare from gracing his face or the string of curse words that left his mouth.

Next thing he knows they’ll have a bloody mind reader.
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