Trapped in Mirrors

Chapter 1

Harry glanced around the incredibly large basement-tunnel-thing and felt the sinking feeling of trepidation in his stomach. Maybe he had been too rash?

He snorted to himself, thinking about the Philosopher's Stone incident… and the Chamber of Secrets… and the time-turner slash rescue Buckbeak and Sirius incident… yeah, that was enough. Rashness wasn't anything new to him. Besides, he had beaten some other poor soul to his Navigator, causing that man to be unable to participate, so he couldn't in good conscience back out now.

"Sir? Sir!" Harry heard someone calling—presumably for him—and looked around, searching for anyone who could've made the noise. "Down here, sir!"

Harry looked down and saw… green. A rubbery, vaguely bean-shaped green blob, to be exact. "Uh. Hi?" he asked, rather confused. Not his most eloquent moment, admittedly.

"Your number, sir. Please pin it onto your chest," the thing said. Harry thought it was probably a guy, but it was a little bit hard to tell. He looked down at the circular badge that had been pressed into his hand, flipping it over to inspect the printed number.

Three hundred seventy-three. The numbers that had the most magical power—something he was intimately familiar with by now. Was that bad luck or good luck, he wondered? His particular fortune seemed to come in alternating waves between the two.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" he muttered aloud, taking care to keep his voice down. Even though, from the look of these people, there were far more eccentric weirdoes than poor innocent teenagers who talked to themselves (especially considering he had seen one specific person who had thick needles stuck in his face), he didn't really want to be branded crazy so soon. It would have been more convenient just to think silently, but it just didn't have the same despairing 'I'm-the-stupidest-person-alive' feeling as talking aloud did.

'It's all to get back home,' he thought determinedly to himself, steeling his nerves. 'Back to Ron and Hermione and Ginny and…'

"Hey! Rookie!" Harry was rudely jolted out of his thoughts by a loud, almost brash voice.

This time, he looked down first. 'Never let it be said that I don't learn,' he thought proudly. His gaze met… a belly. A rather overweight, chubby belly too. He slowly directed his eyes upward, meeting the eyes of a plump-faced, brown-haired man.

"Hi…" he murmured cautiously, one hand reflexively wrapping around the base of the Elder Wand hidden up his sleeve, tucked away into a wand holster.

"Your first time here, right?" The man cheerfully asked, smiling broadly.

"You can tell?" Harry knit his eyebrows together, slightly worried. This new place-country-world was a lot more focused on the physical aspects compared to his world (his home) but he liked to think that managing to survive and lead one war should've hardened him to the point where he could at least appear confident and competent.

"Don't worry, I could only tell because I'd never seen your face before. I've taken the test thirty-five times already, you see, so I know just about everyone here," the man explained. "Oh yes, by the way, my name's Tonpa! What about you?"

"…Call me Harry," he offered, not giving up a last name, especially as this Tonpa hadn't either. "Thirty-five times? How… impressive." And in a way, it really was. If Tonpa had been honestly trying thirty-five times in a row and still had the fortitude and mental strength to continue on, then Harry commended him. Harry's stubbornness was legendary, but even he wasn't sure if he could do the same if he had been rejected thirty plus times.

"So, why'd you decide to take this exam? You look pretty young!" Tonpa probed.

Harry gave him a long look, debating the merits of answering, before deciding it couldn't do that much harm. All he had to do was bend the truth a little and it would all be fine. "I want to go somewhere far away, and I need a Hunter license to get there."

None of it was a lie. He was fairly certain that going to an alternate universe constituted as being very far away, and while he didn't need a Hunter license, it would be extremely convenient to have one. All the lanes of questioning he had attempted (bar Legilimency, but he didn't exactly have enough faith in that particular skill to be able to successfully invade someone's thoughts without totally destroying said person's mind) were closed or blocked, and a fair number of those channels could be opened with a license.

Besides, even if that fell through, there were multiple ways that becoming a Hunter could become helpful to him. Even investigative purposes—maybe someone here knew what exactly the Veil was?

"Oh, I see," Tonpa nodded, still smiling amiably. It was getting kind of creepy, actually. Who came up to random newbies and just struck up a conversation with them? Even if Tonpa had wanted to comfort him out of the kindness of his heart, Harry was sure that he hadn't really looked nervous in the first place. Resigned? Yes. Annoyed? Yes. Despairing-at-his-own-stupidity? Of course. But nervous? No way.

The silence stretched on between them.

"Um… So…? Did you need anything…?" he attempted, wincing at his own awkwardness. So he wasn't good with people. Sue him.

Harry squinted to see clearer. Did he just see a vein twitch? Wow, Tonpa must be really irritated. He felt mildly offended, actually. He hadn't done that much, even, just been his normal awkward, Gryffindor-ish self.

"Oh no, there's nothing. I was just going to offer you a drink, actually. It could calm your nerves." Tonpa held out a bright orange can of juice. After a moment's pause, Harry accepted it, rolling it in his hands to read the fine print on the back of the can.

"Thanks," he said, putting it in the small waist-pouch-thing he had bought for an exceedingly cheap price (and which was, consequentially, extremely poor quality, but who needed stuff like good-quality bags when he had magic? With the amount of spells he had loaded on the thing it could probably withstand a nuclear bomb, contain a mansion, and then some). Then he stared at Tonpa for a while longer. "Um…" he prompted, wondering if there was anything else the mildly suspicious man wanted.

"I'll just be going now, then. Best of luck, rookie-san!" Tonpa waved and turned away after a moment of strained silence.

"You too...?" Harry called after him. When Tonpa had been lost in the crowd, he weaved through people in the opposite direction until he stood in the shadow of a wall. Discretely, he pulled out the can and let his wand fall into his hand, murmuring a charm to detect poisons and the like (it had been very, very convenient during the war). He watched as the little meter that appeared blinked a light orange—not a particularly lethal poison, then, but still harmful enough to put him out of action for a few days. It had become practice to use this spell before every meal and drink, though it was not a habit he enjoyed. It was, undeniably, rather helpful though.

"Evanesco," he muttered, vanishing the can and all the liquid within it.

Another reminder that he could trust no one in this foreign world.

He sighed, leaning his head backwards against the stone wall. How exactly had he gotten himself into this mess? It could pretty much be summed up in one word.

Veil.

He had gotten into the habit of paying tribute to what was, in a way, Sirius' grave each year. When he was twenty-five, he had decided to bring a bouquet of flowers in. An innocuous enough present, surely.

One careless gesture, one brush of skin against the silky grey material of the Veil in an effort to pick up the scattered flowers, and he was gone.

Harry had woken up in the middle of nowhere, back in his seventeen-year old body (which was still scrawny and small enough to be mistaken for a fourteen or fifteen year old) with no idea where he was or how he was going to get back.

And thus, through much confusion and pain and effort, he was led here. To the Hunter Exams. He had met many people—some kind, some not so much—who had either directly or indirectly hinted at what benefits being a Hunter could bring. He desperately needed that: some method of investigation into how to return home.

'If I was Hermione,' he thought despondently to himself, 'I could probably just invent a spell that could cross worlds, especially with the Elder Wand in my possession.'

When Harry had inexplicably appeared into this strange world (Merlin knows that the animals here were messed up), his beloved holly and phoenix feather wand was nowhere to be found. Even now, he still felt an ache in his chest at the thought of its loss. Instead, the Elder Wand had neatly tucked into his wand holster, the Resurrection Stone in his boot, and the Invisibility Cloak draped around his shoulders.

The only explanation he could think of was that the Veil must be connected to death, which would also explain how he was stuck in his seventeen-year old body again—it was the age at which he had last died (and if anyone else heard that they would probably think he was insane). And what was more intimately connected with death than the Deathly Hallows? Nothing, except maybe Harry himself. But then what was the connection to this particular world? There must be millions of universes out there, so why this one?

Argh, whatever! He had gone over this so many times in his head, and he couldn't understand for the life of him. He huffed childishly, blowing a messy strand of black hair out of his face. He reached up to adjust his glasses, but ended up groping his face instead.

"Wha—?" he started, but then remembered. He had brewed a temporary eyesight correction potion (that he had thankfully used enough times to memorize the steps, and thank every god and goddess under the sky that he could find the correct ingredients even in this weird world) for the duration of the Exam. It would surely be inconvenient to have to deal with his glasses in what was reputed to be such a dangerous set of trials.

He coughed into his hand, stuffing both hands into the pockets of his loose black pants awkwardly. He must be creating such a bad impression right now. Merlin, he hoped no one saw that.

He dimly heard some sort of commotion in the background, but it didn't sound violent so he ignored it. If anything, it sounded like an excited child. But that was ridiculous, because what would anyone under seventeen be doing here, if the exam was so life-threatening?

Harry paused. Could that be considered hypocrisy? It wouldn't be, would it? He wasn't actually seventeen, after all, even if his body looked that age… Or younger… Whatever, it didn't matter. The point was, no child in his or her right mind would come to a test like this.

Right at that moment, he glanced up and saw a rather short and slight figure with a shock of poufy silver-white hair passing in front of him, holding a skateboard under one hand and whistling cheerfully. He blinked slowly. The boy couldn't have been more than thirteen.

"Well, found one such lunatic, I suppose," he muttered to himself. He started when clear blue eyes swiveled to stare-slash-glare at him. Harry just looked back. There was no way the kid heard him, right? He'd barely even made an audible noise! But the suspicious look in those cerulean eyes was undeniable.

Laughing weakly, Harry waved a hand in the boy's direction, offering up an I'm-totally-innocent smile. After a second, the white-haired boy rolled his eyes and casually sauntered away.

Harry let his hand drop, just staring after the small figure. What the heck? Were even little cute twelve-year olds (barely second years at Hogwarts) scary psychopathic killers who were willing to enter a deadly exam? What had this world come to?

(He knew those eyes, after all. They were the eyes of a killer. The eyes he saw in the mirror each morning.)

He was still frowning, silently ranting on the impossibility of midget super-humans taking impossible trials to become even more of a superhuman midget when a terrified scream broke him out of his thoughts.

Harry shot to his feet, fifteen inches of painstakingly polished elder wood falling instantly into his hand as he sought to isolate the possible danger.

"M-my arms! Help! Someone! My arms! Arghhh!" His head snapped towards the wailing cries and he shoved (as discretely as it was possible to discretely shove) through the horrified crowd. He stopped, stricken as he saw a man writhing on the ground, arms dissolving impossibly into glimmering red clovers.

'Magic?' was his first thought as he stood, tensed and ready. He was certain that such a thing would be possible in his world, but here? He'd yet to hear about such abilities. Then there was the guilt that came with the knowledge that, even if he could've helped, he probably wouldn't have.

Harry was the first to admit that he'd had a bit of a hero-complex, especially in his Hogwarts days. But after seeing the most gruesome tortures imaginable by Voldemort and his little Death Munchers, and a good eight years as one of the Ministry's top Aurors had gone a long way towards healing his inclination to blindly help anyone.

He would always, always help the innocent, but in this case—his first and only priority was to get home. By entering the Hunter Exam, everyone here had just about signed away their lives anyway—they had all known what they were getting into.

Suddenly he was struck by the thought, 'Even the kids?' He swallowed harshly, remembering the small corpses he had seen during the war—there were none more innocent than the children. This he knew even when he himself was but a child—the young and weak are meant to be protected.

'No,' he decided. 'Not the children.' If worst came to worst, and he was out of commission to the point where he could not provide aid, then so be it. But until that point came, he would try to protect those who could still be considered as children, naïve though such a thought may be. Preferably without said children finding out, though, he thought with a shudder. Whitey's glare was pretty scary… for a brat.

"Oh, how peculiar… His arms seem to have become flower petals." A pause, a chuckle, and then the man continued onwards, "No smoke and mirrors here." The velvety, terrifyingly sadistic voice broke Harry out of his thoughts. His hand tightened around the handle of the Elder Wand as nigh unnoticeable tremors shook him.

This man was strong. No, that wasn't a powerful enough word—this man was a barely-restrained monster made human. What sort of ability was this? It had the taste of not-magic (so familiar, so tantalizingly out of reach, always so close yet so far in this strange land), so very close to the magic of back home, but different somehow. More untamed—but not really, because who knows better than Harry just how volatile magic can be?

He could not describe it. There was a constant pulsation of energy, almost like magic but different, all around him from each and every individual, stronger in some than others. This pale-skinned man with the red-pink hair (as if it had been washed in blood), with the almost childish tattoos and the jester themed clothes—this man's energy was stronger than anyone else he had encountered in this world so far. Granted, he had tried to stay out of truly dangerous situations as best he could, but still—this man was completely, undeniably deadly.

Harry swallowed, feeling a light bead of sweat roll down his temple. He had to stay out of this man's way—he could not afford to get in trouble when he still knew so little, when he had so much to lose and yet so very little. He seared the man's number into his mind—forty-four. To be avoided at all costs.

Harry slowly backed up through the crowd, never taking his eyes off of the man even as the red-haired man glibly continued onwards, "Do take care. When you bump into someone, you really should apologize."

He froze, disbelieving. This man—this terrifying, dangerous man—had killed someone merely because the other man had bumped into him? Where was the regard for life? Were these people really so callous as to simply take away another's dreams, hopes, ambitions, future, life for such a petty, meaningless reason?

Bile rising up in his throat, Harry took another step back until he was out of number forty-four's vision range. As he was leaving, eager to get as far away from that psychopath as possible, he heard Tonpa's voice in the background.

"Number forty-four. Hisoka, the magician," Tonpa was explaining to another group of kids (or at least two were kids, the other looked like he was in his middle ages). Why exactly were there so many brats so eager to die these days?

Harry determined ignored the irony in that statement.

But really, magician? That man, Hisoka, was a magician like Harry was a house-elf. Their abilities vaguely came into the same spectrum, but like hell were they the same thing.

"…until he all but killed an examiner he didn't like." He overheard Tonpa finishing. That was enough for Harry—he already knew to avoid Hisoka like the plague, and he had all the tools to accomplish such a deed.

He was as far as humanly possible from Hisoka, yet still in the same giant room-thing, when a loud, grating ringing noise erupted out of nowhere. For the nth time this hour, the Elder Wand slid smoothly into Harry's hand.

Just as abruptly, the noise shut off, leaving blessed silence behind. With a loud rumble, the far semi-circular wall of the tunnel slowly rose, revealing a single, lean man. Harry narrowed his green eyes, straining to pick out the details of the figure.

Strangely flipped silver-violet hair, a curly mustache, and almost unnaturally lean limbs—overall a quite unassuming appearance, if rather unique—if not for the aura around him. Not as blood-thirsty and soul-chilling as number forty-four's had been, but still with an undeniable refined power so different from everyone else Harry had met.

So the Hunter Exams really were something special, huh?

Harry listened carefully as the man made his introductions and announced the beginning of the Hunter Exams.

"Very well. All four hundred and four applicants will participate in Phase One," with those words, the man began marching off with a very… interesting walking style.

Bemused, Harry attempted to copy it for a little out of personal interest. It was… extremely difficult. How do people do this? While he was still attempting to move his limbs in the same manner as the man leading them, he noticed people beginning to run around him.

He sighed, finally dropping the attempt, and sprinted so he was closer to the front and therefore would find it easier to listen. The man was beginning to speak again.

"I neglected to introduce myself. I am Satotz, the Phase One examiner. I shall lead you to the exam's Second Phase," Satotz's crisp voice rang out. Harry instantly picked up on the underneath—the First Phase had already begun.

Tuning out the rest of the commotion, he swiveled his head in an attempt to locate Hisoka who was… lurking somewhere near the middle-ish back. 'Okay,' he decided, staying at the front the entire time it is. Besides, it was always safest next to the examiner, especially in what was presumably a marathon-endurance-speed-tracking test of some sort.

Harry discretely aimed a tracking spell towards Satotz, then blinked in shock when it was dodged with a barely noticeable movement to the right. Wha—?

How does someone dodge something that should be completely unnoticeable?! Unless this Satotz could sense his magic as well? If he could sense the strange energy despite the fact that he could only wield his magic, then would it stand to reason that Satotz could sense his magic despite the fact that he could only use the energy?

He hesitated, wondering if it was the smartest idea to try again, before deciding with all his Gryffindor rashness, 'Why not?' Aiming carefully even as he moved his arms in a running movement, this time Harry pumped substantially more magic into the tracking spell even as he concealed it's typically bright color.

Once more, Satotz avoided it neatly and without hassle, never breaking stride.

Was it all just instinct? If so, then that was so unfair.

"Number three hundred seventy-three, if you do not cease your attempts to attack an examiner, you will be disqualified immediately," Satotz intoned, sounding quite disinterested.

…Oh. Well. That debunked that theory.

"Of course, sir, wouldn't dream of it," Harry responded, plastering the most innocent expression on his face that he could. Some other applicants near him cast curious looks—they hadn't seen a single movement that looked like an attack. Harry just ignored the curious gazes.

Falling into a comfortable, but still quick pace, Harry idly wondered how long he had to run. His stamina was on the high side for a wizard, but from what he had seen of Hunters, he had a long way to go. But that was what magic was for, right?

And Pepper-Ups, of course.

Pepper-Ups were the inventions of god. It was undeniable.

Sighing, Harry steeled himself for a long and painful day.

'I hate life, I hate life, I hate life, IhatelifeIhatelifeIhatelifeIHATELIFE—!' Such had become Harry's mantra over the past, oh, five or six hours of painful running torture.

Harry had lasted the first three to four hours of misery before finally giving into the temptation of potions. He could fly with the best of them, oh yes, but running? He was more of a short sprint guy compared to a freaking EIGHTY KILOMETER MARATHON AT SPRINTING SPEED.

Or so he guesstimated, anyway. His sense of time and distance had become rather distorted after he fell into a trance of right foot step, left foot step, one, right foot step, left foot step, two… And so on so forth.

Miraculously, he was still right behind the examiner. His breathing was hard, but he could still keep going for a while yet, if need be—like he had said, Pepper-Ups were the work of god. He didn't even appear that tired, but he definitely felt it.

He had long ago taken off his dark green jacket, dropping it in his black hole of a small bag. The only problem would be if he could get it back out again later… The thing was practically a Gringotts vault in and of itself.

He perked up as he felt something change through his running haze. Then he saw what was ahead of him and resisted the temptation to scream curses aloud.

Why was his life filled with such torture?

Someone, just kill him now. Mercy, please.

What could've caused Harry Potter, the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Conquered, to wish for such a thing?

Stairs.

Harry kind of wanted to cry now, actually. The winding staircase in front of him seemed to go on forever, and Harry really, really, really didn't want to run anymore.

He contemplated unshrinking his Firebolt, which was currently hung like some bizarre piece of jewelry around his neck, and just coasting on that all the way to wherever they were going in the first place. He had blessed his (sometimes) good luck that he had been wearing the Firebolt-necklace when he had, for lack of a better term, jumped worlds.

He was even pretty sure that it wasn't against the rules! Actually, he didn't even know if there were any rules in this particular exam. No attacking the examiner, he knew from experience, but anything else, as far as he knew, was fair game. Harry was pretty sure he had seen Whitey drifting around on a skateboard a while ago, anyway.

But, no, he decided sadly. A skateboard was one thing, but a floating broom that a person could ride on? He really doubted that that would go unquestioned. Unless he wore his invisibility cloak? That wouldn't work either, as he couldn't just put on the cloak and disappear in front of everyone—and there was no way whatsoever that he would move to the back to put it on.

Hisoka=no way in hell.

Sucking it up and running it was. Harry made a mental note to bump up the physical aspect of his training as soon as he finished this exam. There were actually spells he could use to increase speed, stamina, and strength, but with no knowledge as to how long this exam could take, he needed to conserve magic.

He startled as two small figures passed him, looking fresh as daisies. One fluffy white head was particularly familiar, though the other spiky black-haired boy was unknown.

"Ah, Whi—!" he cut himself off, remembering the kid's abnormally sharp hearing and how Whitey wasn't actually his name. Maybe it was best if he just remained quiet…

Too late. The boy had heard, and had turned to look at him, running backwards up the stairs without any effort at all. "It's you!"

Harry smiled wanly, cursing himself in his head. He really should've just kept his mouth shut. He had planned to talk to no one, if he could help it, let alone kids who he was probably going to protect out of personal morals.

"Hey," he offered up, still smiling, slightly jealous of how the kid could just bound up the stairs—backwards, at that. Then there was him, who was slowly dying on the inside.

"Who is this, Killua?" the black-haired boy beside Whitey asked curiously, turning his head to look at Harry. Harry mentally filed away the name. Whitey=Killua.

…What a scary name. It sounded like a murderer. It even had the word 'kill' in it!

"He called me a lunatic earlier," Killua informed his friend, sounding childishly affronted.

"Eh? That's not very nice!" The other boy exclaimed, frowning. Killua snickered, nodding along faux-solemnly.

"Uh-huh! You should give me an apology!" Killua grinned playfully, but Harry could still see the suspicion lurking underneath the childish, carefree exterior.

"…I'm very sorry, then," Harry apologized after a moment's consideration. It was better to just say sorry rather than unnecessarily prolong or drag out such a trivial conflict.

"Nah, it's fine," the white-haired boy waved it off. "Ne, you look around our age, right? How old are you?"

Harry felt rather offended. Sure, he was a bit small for a seventeen year old (even though he was actually twenty five for heaven's sake), but surely he didn't look young enough to be mistaken for a twelve year old?

He sighed. Who was he kidding? His seventeen year old body was pathetically tiny for someone who had already come of age. Resigned to the shock that would come, he muttered, "I'm seventeen, actually."

"What? No way!" the black-haired boy cried out, completely surprised. "You can't be older than thirteen!"

Harry died a little inside.

"Hahaha, you and that old man are both teenagers?" Killua was laughing hysterically, yet still managed to be running backwards without cracking his skull against the stairs. By this point, Harry was more than mildly impressed.

"Don't be mean…" Harry muttered, unconsciously pouting. Was he getting more childish the longer he stayed around little kids? Oh, the horror!

"Hey, hey, what's your name?" The black-haired boy looked back at him, amber-brown eyes shining curiously. "My name's Gon, and this is Killua!"

"…Call me Harry," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Mm!" Gon made an affirmative noise, cheerfully exclaiming, "It's nice to meet you too, Harry!"

Harry looked away awkwardly. It was hard to deal with people like this, who were so happy all the time, and so purely innocent besides. When he had been that age, he had been an angsty brat. Then again, that was around the time he was being accused by the entire school for the first time, so he had good reason to be angsty…

His eyes widened as he saw a light at the end of the staircase-tunnel. "Hey—!" he called out, pointing ahead at the distant glow.

Killua's head swiveled around to look where his finger was pointing, then his blue eyes shone. "We're almost out! Hey Gon, let's race!" He finally turned so he was running normally up the staircase, ready to sprint to the end.

"Okay!" Gon excitedly agreed, also gearing up to run off. "Ready… set… go!"

The two kids sped off, leaving Harry behind. Green eyes brightened at the thought of an end to this torture… hopefully. "Almost done…" he muttered, speeding up as well, but not nearly as much as the two younger boys.

"Gooooooooal!" he dimly heard as Killua and Gon jumped to the top of the staircase right behind Satotz. He himself passed a few moments later, albeit much more quietly, to an argument between the two about who had to buy who dinner.

Bent over, panting slightly, Harry watched them in bemusement. How did they have so much energy?

"Ne, ne, Harry, who do you think won?" Gon questioned seriously, fixing his large brown eyes on Harry. Killua too turned expectant bright blue eyes on Harry.

"I didn't see, sorry," Harry said quickly, choosing not to get involved. It was true too, he just didn't mention he had a spell that could probably determine the victor. As the competition was light-hearted and fun anyway, he didn't really see a need to make it complicated.

The other contestants began making it to the top as well, gathering into a loose crowd and talking among themselves in relief. Harry was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic, so he moved to the outskirts of the people. He then saw Hisoka grinning creepily, and promptly turned right back around, marching back to where Killua and Gon were.

"Harry? Where'd you go?" Gon questioned innocently.

"…Just to go take a look at something," Harry replied in lieu of saying, 'I wanted to get away from all these people, saw Hisoka, and decided it was a better idea to just stay here.'

Killua gave him an assessing look that clearly said the white-haired boy knew he wasn't telling the whole truth, but let it go to talk with Gon excitedly. It was the clear the two were becoming fast friends.

He saw the black-haired boy's other two companions come up at the back of the crowd. So the other kid had made it too—one more to watch out for, although probably not quite as much. The blond boy looked around seventeen or eighteen, after all—old enough to fight, old enough to die. He had still rather hoped that he would just drop out at the beginning though, where it was presumably safest.

Oh, he'd nearly forgotten. Discretely, Harry inched his wand out of his sleeve and aimed it at each of the three kids in turn, Gon first, then Killua, and finally Blondie over there. It would be best to have tracking and monitoring spells on them for the duration of this exam—that way he could try his best not to let them die. He smiled in relief as each spell hit, none of the three showing any sign that they detected the spells, unlike a certain examiner standing a few feet away with his eyebrows raised, most likely because of Harry's magic use.

Harry paused, a sudden thought striking him. Wouldn't it be very convenient to have a few spells on Hisoka as well? So he knew how to avoid the terrifying man? But he really, seriously doubted that he could manage to plant a tracking and monitoring spell on Hisoka. If Satotz could detect the use of magic, then Hisoka definitely could too. And unlike Satotz, Harry didn't know what Hisoka would do at all if said spells were detected.

An unpredictable opponent was always the most dangerous.

Still, Harry could really think of no other way to keep track of a man such as Hisoka. It wouldn't hurt to try, would it? Mustering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry aimed the Elder Wand at Hisoka, about to cast the spell, when Satotz suddenly began talking and everyone turned his direction. Lightning fast, Harry slid the wand back into his wand holster. He couldn't afford people seeing his magic.

"The Numere Wastelands, also known as the Swindlers' Swamp. We must cross these wetlands to reach Phase Two of the exam. This place is home to many bizarre animals, many of them cunning, insatiable creatures that deceive and prey upon humans. Be very careful. If you let them fool you…" Satotz paused, turning to look at the murmuring crowd behind him, "…you're dead."

As if by some unspoken cue, the tunnel which they had all just came out of abruptly began closing with a rumbling sound. Harry winced as he heard the despairing cries of those left behind. 'It must be horrible to be so close, yet so far, to your goal,' he mused.

Satotz continued on with his apparent introduction to the second half of the First Phase, "These wetland creatures will use every trick in the book to fool their prey. An environment in which creatures obtain food and survive only through deceit… Hence the name, Swindlers' Swamp." He turned back around with one last warning, "Stay very close to me so you won't be deceived."

Harry listened intently—this place was sounding like a mixture between a Slytherin's den and the Forbidden Forest. Never a particularly good combination. Not to mention it would mean more running…

"Don't let them fool you!" A desperate cry rang out from around the corner of the sealed tunnel entrance.

Harry turned with the rest of the crowd to view an average looking man, scraped and bruised, stagger into view. He frowned to himself. There was something… different about this man.

"D-don't fall for it… He's lying to you!" the unknown man continued, pointing accusingly at Satotz. The tense crowd of Hunter applicants whispered to each other, confused and suspicious. Harry just continued to observe the man. There was something off about the guy, he just knew it. Now if only he could figure out what…

He was tuning out the man's claims that he was the real examiner and not Satotz—which was completely impossible, that refined not-magic aura made Harry certain of that—still puzzling over what was so strange, when the realization hit him, brought on by the 'Man-Faced Ape' the man brandished.

The man didn't have that an aura at all. Every person he had met so far had had it, no matter how small, weak, or unrefined the energy had been. Then, of course, there were people like Hisoka and Satotz, whose auras were developed to the point that it made him uncomfortable being around them.

The not-magic didn't feel bad, necessarily, but it only served as a reminder that this world was different from his own. Even if the energy felt slightly similar, it was so obviously different after a second glance that every time he brushed against such a concentrated aura, it was like a knife wound to the heart.

But back to the point, this average looking man accusing Satotz of fraud didn't have an aura. At all. Could he be concealing it? 'No,' Harry decided, 'I'm fairly certain I could've sensed it even under concealment. It takes energy to hide something as well, after all.'

So how could this man not have that strange aura? Was he like a Muggle? No way, as even the most civilian of civilians that Harry had come across had some form of the not-magic.

That only really left one option. This man wasn't actually a man at all—if he had to wager, he would guess that the fake-examiner was one of the Man-Faced Apes that he had attempted to use to accuse Satotz. It would fit all the information given to them on said animals, after all. It wasn't a far leap of logic to make.

Unfortunately, Harry really did not feel inclined to share his revelations. At the same time, though, he didn't really want a battle to break out if those too suspicious attacked Satotz… Then he might never get this Exam over with and become a Hunter. What to do? Dilemmas, dilemmas…

After a moment's consideration, ignoring the rising fury of the crowd around him, Harry decided he might as well just take the Man-Faced Ape out of commission. With any luck, whatever the monkey used to change his face would be undone in unconsciousness, and if not, at least the ease in which the animal was taken out should awaken some suspicions. Mind made up, Harry was about to cast a Stunner (silent and wandless, so he didn't have to reveal himself), when someone acted before him.

Three playing cards planted themselves into the imposter's chest, almost faster than Harry could see. He bit back the horrified shout that he had instinctively wanted to release, instantly knowing who had done this.

Simultaneously, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Satotz smoothly catch three razor sharp playing cards speeding towards him. Slowly and carefully, Harry turned to see Hisoka, who was casually shuffling a deck of cards in the air. He swallowed almost painfully, fear once more racing through him. It was inexplicable, but something about Hisoka's very presence sent shivers up and down his spine. Harry hated it—the feeling of being so weak.

Hisoka chuckled, a silky, smooth sound as he murmured, "I see, I see…" uncaring of the horrified, riveted audience all around him, Harry amongst them. "That settles it…You're the real one." At that last statement, Hisoka looked straight to Satotz.

While everyone else looked in the direction of Hisoka's gaze, Harry took the chance and ran with it. Not even hesitating, Harry whipped out his wand and cast the most powerful tracking charm he knew, following it up immediately with a monitoring spell. Breath caught in his throat, Harry watched Hisoka warily for a reaction.

He got one. Hisoka startled, albeit almost unnoticeably, but still got hit with both spells.

Harry frowned, suspicious. He should feel happy that he had succeeded—but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that Hisoka had let himself get hit.

At that very moment, Hisoka snapped his head around and pinned him with a stare, not quite glaring, but filled with what Harry could only describe as amused interest. Harry took a step back involuntarily, but met the golden eyes square on. It wouldn't do to show weakness.

A slow smile spread across the red-haired man's sharp features, something almost maniacal sparking in those sharp eyes. Harry numbly noticed that he himself was trembling, shivers wracking his small body.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Hisoka turned back to Satotz, continuing onto his explanation as to how he knew Satotz was the real examiner, that silky, amused tone never once wavering.

Harry didn't hear a thing, caught up in the horror that he was still frozen by. He didn't even know why he was so scared—while he in no way knew the extent of Hisoka's abilities and he didn't know if he could beat the other man, he was certain that, if need be, he could escape him. And Harry, in his rather short but war-torn life, had faced at least a few who were around Hisoka's skill level. But still—this man terrified him in a way no man, not even Voldemort, had before.

He finally snapped out of his reverie when the group set off. He instantly sped up his pace so he was at the front of the group—once more, far away from Hisoka. However, his neck prickled as he sensed those eyes, filled with wicked amusement and interest, trained on his back. Trembling, Harry only increased his pace even more, desperately hoping for the fog to increase.

After a few more minutes of running, the gaze disappeared, lost through the ever thickening mist. Relieved, Harry finally let himself relax. Now that he had the chance, he focused in on the four separate 'connections' he had formed.

Gon's link appeared as a light, pure green thread, extending off behind him into the fog. He could tell that Gon wasn't far behind him and in good condition.

Next to the green glow on his 'radar' that was Gon, was a bright, almost electric blue for Killua. The white-haired boy was also in good shape, although Harry could sense a slight anxiety.

The blond teenager was farther behind the two, in good health as well. Harry hadn't used as strong a tracking and monitoring spell for him, so he couldn't be as precise as he could with the younger children.

Finally, there was him. Hesitantly, Harry opened his consciousness to the blood red glow that was Hisoka. The thread connecting the two, invisible to any but Harry, was stronger than the other three. When Harry's mind touched it, though, he couldn't help but mentally recoil. There was a sadistic bloodlust within, and something inherently terrifying. Shuddering, Harry honed in on the location. Hisoka was a fair distance behind Killua and Gon, which in turn meant he was quite far away from Harry himself, thank goodness, but unsettling close to the blond boy.

…Actually, Harry felt kind of stalker-ish. It was for their own good, though! And it wasn't like he would keep it always open… Yeah, so he was probably a terrible, creepy person. Whatever.

…He felt no remorse whatsoever when it came to Hisoka though.

Harry tensed as he suddenly felt Hisoka's blood red 'light' come to a stop. The blond boy's stopped as well as few seconds later. What had happened?

His mouth opened in a silent gasp as he nearly stumbled, a wave of bloodlust washing over him from the other side of Hisoka's link. Hisoka was thirsting for death. And from the apprehensive fear coming faintly through from the golden link, the blond boy was one of the targets.

Harry wondered what he should do. He had put the link on the boy in the first place because he wanted no children to die—but at the same time, he desperately, selfishly yearned to stay as far away as possible from Hisoka as possible. But still—he had promised himself. He had to go. Didn't he?

He was still wavering back and forth, caught between the lingering remains of his hero-complex and the overwhelming terror that Hisoka brought forth, when he felt Gon's clear green glow abruptly move back towards Hisoka's and the blond boy's, speeding the opposite direction from Harry at amazing speeds.

He swore aloud, uncaring of how the applicants around him looked at him strangely, swiveling on his heel and running back into the fog, heading for where he could sense the pulsing auras. One boy, still a child, could make him waver, but two? And especially one so young? He would not be able to forgive himself if he did nothing.

Harry muttered, "Expecto Patronum," barely waiting for the ghostly stag to appear before sprinting as quickly as he could through the forest, following the faintly glowing lines back to where Hisoka, Gon, and the blond boy were, casting speed enhancement spells on himself as he went. His Patronus, knowing his intentions, bounded ahead of him, clearing the fog and leading him around any potentially lethal flora and fauna.

'Please, please, please let me be fast enough,' he pleaded mentally. He had no wish to see any more children die. That fateful battle—the battle that had ended the war—had been enough for an eternity.

After a few more strained minutes of sprinting at top speed, Harry slowed as he felt himself approaching the three's general location. He paused for a second, realizing he didn't have a plan at all, but forged forwards when he felt Gon's anger and protective instinct surge and Hisoka's interest mount.

He hastily summoned his invisibility cloak out of the charmed bag he wore, draping it around his shoulders and pulling the hood up. With all luck, the cloak should be able to conceal his magic and presence, not just his visibility—he hadn't exactly tested it, but as a Deathly Hallow, the Peverell brother's Invisibility Cloak should have perfect concealment. Or at least, he desperately hoped it did.

Harry crept forward, wand in hand, breaking into a small clearing just fast enough to see Gon whack Hisoka across the face with a… fishing rod? 'Oh,' he dimly noted in the back of his mind, 'that's what that thing was for.' He heard a faint grunt from Hisoka, and through the monitoring charm, a rising sense of surprised glee.

It might have been hilarious if Harry hadn't been so horrified at the thought of what Hisoka would do in retaliation. He wavered, wondering what to do. Protect Gon? Or just stop Hisoka?

"I made it in time," he heard Gon say, small shoulders shaking. With fear? Harry concentrated on their connection. From what he could feel, it was a mixture of terror, exhilaration, protective anger, and adrenaline.

Gon was a genuinely good person, he realized. There was no doubt in his mind that the younger boy had only come back to save his friend—the middle-aged man that he had only just noticed lying on the ground.

He could not let such a person (that reminded him so much of his much, much younger self, so young and naïve and desperately wanting to protect his friends, albeit much less angsty) die. Not against a psychopath like Hisoka.

He kept his green eyes trained on Hisoka's face, which was still turned away from the impact, a faint red blooming on the man's abnormally pale white skin. He hadn't even noticed, but he had been holding his breath, the tension in the air almost too much for him.

Finally, Hisoka turned around to look at Gon, a smirk tugging up his pale lips. "Not bad… little boy," was all he said, unnaturally bright yellow eyes gleaming even through the fog. Harry switched his gaze to Gon, watching how his small hands tightened around his fishing pole.

At that exact moment, unnoticed by Harry, Hisoka's sharp golden gaze flitted over the spot where Harry stood, cloaked and invisible, by the forest, even more interest filling his eyes.

"Is that a fishing pole? What a fascinating weapon," Hisoka said aloud, with the smooth silkiness of a predator. Slowly but steadily, he began taking steps closer to Gon. The black-haired boy, in turn, tensed even further. The close Hisoka got to Gon, the more Harry could sense Hisoka's anticipation rising in the still open link his monitoring spell had left.

As he walked closer, Hisoka extended a snowy white, long fingered hand toward Gon, a surprisingly elegant gesture. "Allow me a closer look," he coaxed, pleasure evident in his face as he stalked down his prey.

Right as Harry was about to intervene, as Hisoka grew ever closer to Gon, he heard a lower voice from behind Hisoka. "Your fight… is with me!" The man, Gon's friend, charged Hisoka bravely, a wooden branch clenched tightly in his fist.

Harry let out an awed breath despite himself. What courage—there was no way the older man didn't know he was outmatched, and yet he still powered on to an impossible goal—Hisoka. Some might call it stupidity or folly, but courage was more than fifty percent blind foolishness anyway. 'He would have made a great Gryffindor… And Gon too,' Harry thought absentmindedly, still watching the fight (more like a one-sided beat down, actually) intently.

Sure enough, as he expected, Hisoka floored the man with a single punch, so powerful it sent the man flying and slumping onto the ground a few feet away. Startlingly enough, Harry could sense no anger from Hisoka at all—just curiosity and delight.

Was Hisoka… having fun from this? What had he walked into anyway? Hisoka's killing intent that he had first sensed seemed totally gone—the only reason Hisoka could have to fight that Harry could sense was personal interest.

He heard a high-pitched battle cry and, startled out of his thoughts, quickly returned his gaze to a new battle. Gon was, once again, attacking Hisoka. Hisoka, though, disappeared the second Gon's fishing pole approached him.

Raking his eyes across the clearing, Harry saw Hisoka standing at least ten feet behind Gon. What in the world—?

But he couldn't hesitate right now. There was not a doubt in his mind that, should Hisoka abruptly change his mood, Gon would die instantly. Raising his wand, he mouthed, "Confringo," sending the blasting curse straight at Hisoka.

He watched as Hisoka turned, golden eyes momentarily startled, before—to his surprise—narrowing in glee. The man disappeared again, this time appearing a few feet to the right. The curse continued on unimpeded all the way until it hit the ground, leaving behind a huge explosion and a small crater carved out of the wet marshlands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Gon's shocked expression.

Then he saw Hisoka's body flicker, and a second later, a voice echoed from behind him, cold breath ghosting against his ear.

"Well, well, well… Would this be Mr. Green Eyes then?"

A/N: Annnnnnd….. it's done. Hallelujah! I hope you enjoyed it. Please note that, while mostly canon compliant, the seventh Harry Potter book and onwards is slightly AU in this story. I'm basing the Hunter x Hunter plot off of a mixture of the anime and the manga, and the names as well. (For example, I'll probably use Kuroro as opposed to Chrollo.)

On a different note, I could use a beta. Any offers? Once more, thanks for reading!