Eternally Searching

Don't know how the hell I came up with this, but I did, and now I am going to try and develop it. This will probably not be updated regularly as I mostly focus on my other story Edo Tensei: Resurrecting Gods and my seven other stories are side stories that pass the time when I have no ideas for Edo Tensei.

I must note that this story may have some concepts wrong in the muggle world as I have no idea of the technological or political climate of that time, so I will mostly be working in the backwards society of wizarding Britain (not that its much better) if we are to venture into the unknown (to me) depths of muggle Britain during this time, assistance would be much obliged

I'm moving the timeline up 10 years though. Sorry.

Enjoy (Or hate) anyway.

"Speech"

'Thoughts'

"Japanese"

Warning: Character death.

Chapter 1: Of Butterflies, Hurricanes and Fate.

"I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom."

― Edgar Allan Poe

August 1997

Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain.

'England is boring' A dark haired man thought as he walked through endless streets of identical suburbia.

Each and every house was a perfect carbon copy of some template thought up who knows how many years afore, and as such, the sight was actually painful to his eyes. Do these people have no personality? No personal thought at all?

He made not a sound as he strode through the street, giving a brief rub to a cat's head as he passed and ignoring the sign denoting the boring name the natives had probably given to this piece of hell on earth.

His dark eyes were blank as he gazed across the empty street languidly, sighing once again at the lack of human presence this street had, such was the place so remarkably perfect and untouched.

The young man pushed the long lock of hair that fell into his face away and tucked it behind his ear, allowing the man to see through his previously covered right eye. The long pronounced tear-troughs marred the otherwise perfect face shifted slightly, as the man sneered slightly at the sight of an extremely plump child that could be mistaken for a whale.

The child waddled through the streets with an assemblage of children that looked about the same age as the overweight boy - Around seven - and had the same look about them.

A look of vindictive mischievousness.

The rotund boy was cheerfully talking about something. Evident by the wild hand gestures and the happy expression on his face. The boy kept pointing to a certain house and to different places across the big street and upon closer observation, the man realised what they were.

Escape routes.

A few children broke from the pack and stationed themselves at these points, trying to look menacing but only managing to look cute in the dark haired man's eyes. Though a child may have been intimidated by those looks.

The few remaining children followed the large child as the boy plodded up and into the afore pointed to house. The band of shifting boys remaining outside.

Soon after, the boy's readied themselves just in time for a black blur to race out of the house and speed off past them, incurring the wrathful whispers of petulant brats.

With eyes used to quick movements, the man quickly profiled the younger boys features and mannerisms.

Pale skin, dark messy hair, wide fearful green eyes. Small and skinny, a great amount of stamina, flinching whenever one of the attacking children came close. All of these observations convened on a single opinion.

This boy was abused.

Though others wouldn't see it, due to their eyes being blind to other's suffering, he could see. He could see with those cursed eyes of his how much the boy suffered, how the boy lived through loneliness and misery.

He stood at the last remaining exit to the street, the exit as to which the running boy was now approaching at a fast pace. The green eyed boy couldn't see that he stood in his way, as the child was looking for pursuers over a bony shoulder concealed by baggy clothing.

And, as such with these situations; The young boy ran into the man. Causing that flap of a butterfly's wing, that mere inconsequential flap that caused a hurricane and destroyed a village, a town, a city, one's very own fate and destiny.

The boy looked up slowly, startled from hitting a solid body instead of continuing his flee from the blatant abuse. The long haired man smiled gently down at the fear stricken boy, easing the fretted nerves seen clearly on the pale face.

"Hello." He said softly. "Where did you come from?" He decided to play ignorant, see how the boy reacts.

The green eyes shot to the ground in subservience, the shaking body going completely still, not a fidget to be felt.

"Sorry for crashing into you sir." The boy replied quietly. "I'll go back home now." The child made to turn and leave, but a quick hand stopped his retreat.

"May I inquire as to the identity of my little assailant?" The dark haired man asked, a joking lilt to the deep monotone.

The boy looked to the side. "The lady's at school call me Harry..."

The dark haired man rose a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and crouched down to the boys level, a rather low one to be honest.

"And what do your parents call you?"

Harry shifted slightly, small hands and thin fingers wringing in the wake of Harry's nervousness. "My parents are dead. I live with my Uncle and Aunt."

The man stilled slightly before relaxing once more. "Then, what do your Aunt and Uncle call you?"

Harry mumbled something before returning to his attempts of escaping, succeeding due to the man's distracted state. Harry rushed away back to his house quickly, not looking back at the man who stared searchingly at his back.

'Freak?'

He knocked at the door softly, the fading light of the sunset casting bright orange rays down onto the cooling ground and houses.

The door was opened promptly by a whale. No, a man who looked like too much like a whale but was still a man. 'Must be the other boy's father. The uncle.'

The fat man looked quickly at the expensive suit the long haired man wore and the presence of money and power that he produced by his mere existence, the fat man looked up at the young face and his piggy eyes glinted with greed.

"What can I do for you, good sir?" God, could this man have any more subtlety?

"Yes." He wanted to keep this short and get out of this troublesome country. "I have come to inquire about your nephew... Harry, was it?"

The whale man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, All thoughts of money and gain gone. "What's it to you?" Interesting, something was up with this family.

"I shall be frank. What is your price for taking the boy off your hands." He hated this kind of manipulation, but it was necessary.

The man's eyes gleamed with greed once more. "A thousand."

The young man sneered, "You would seriously sell your own nephew?"

"I assumed that was the price you were asking for."

The sneer widened, marring the perfect face of the dark haired man. "I refuse to allow your filth to plague this world. The price?" The younger man laughed darkly, and a dark shine of something left his hand, embedding inside of the fleshy chest of the man.

"Your life."

They were sitting on a curb 10 streets away, awaiting the taxi that would take them to the airport. Harry looked around curiously, he had never really been out of Privet Drive before, only for school and shopping trips.

He watched the man wearily, not at all trusting the man that showed up at his door and killed his Uncle. That was weird in itself.

It was dark now and the piercing calls of sirens could be heard through the air, coming closer and closer to their location. Harry began to panick as the sirens became louder, were they going to be caught? Was he going to be blamed once more for everything that went wrong? Was Uncle Vernon even dead? Vernon had looked dead, but Harry could be wrong. He was always wrong.

The scary man suddenly reached into his pocket, drawing out one of those mobile phone things that everyone but he himself had. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had one. Heck even Dudley had one! He didn't know how but the phone began ringing soon after it was fished out of the suit pocket of the man.

The man answered it, but not in English.

"Hello little brother, how goes the hunt?"

"Tch, Itachi. You know how it went, can't find the bastard anywhere. That lead was a dead end."

"Calm yourself, Sasuke. We will find him."

Itachi could hear some shuffling on the other side of the phone before his brother spoke again.

"So that's Great Britain down. Tch, Itachi when we meet up at the airport, we're going back to Japan. I'm having a few years rest."

"Really? What makes you think you deserve a few years rest?"

"400 years of searching Itachi. That's what."

The line went dead, making Itachi pull the flip phone from his ear and slip it back into his pocket.

"Um..."

Itachi turned surprised, he had forgotten about the boy.

"Are you from that China place or something? You look like it and sound like it." Harry's face was tilted in confusion, small nose scrunched up and his bright green eyes squinted.

Itachi smiled slightly and ruffled the boys hair, making the nest of hair even messier. Harry blushed and pouted cutely, trying to bat Itachi's hand away, but to no avail.

"You were close. I am from Japan. A little more east from "That China place." "

Harry perked up, "Are we going to this... Japan?"

Itachi nodded.

"Is it nice?" Harry asked, green eyes gleaming for more information.

"Yes."

Harry hummed and daydreamed about this new place that he and... Who was he going with? He turned to the unknown man who seemed to know his question before he asked it.

"My name is Itachi. In the Japanese custom, I would be called Uchiha Itachi."

End