A strange idea that wouldn't leave me alone...

Slight crossover with Naruto, but for the most part, it's Harry Potter. At least... it is after this first part!

...and yes, I know everyone wants more Blackened Sunrise. Buzz off, it's on hiatus until I feel up to rewriting all the parts I don't like.

For Your Dream
Volume 1, Chapter 1
The Itch

It was cold. The snow had been falling for three days straight, and yet the child did not move.

He simply sat there on the edge of the river and watched the cold dark waters whip past, his green eyes bereft of life. Rarely did he move, and when he did it was only to curl up tighter upon himself. His rags were soaked through, chilling him to his very bones and yet he could not find it within himself to care. There seemed to be more dirt than skin on his face, and it was even in his hair; matting it into a tangled mess of knots and snarls.

Looking down at that pathetic waif of a child, he wondered if the smart move would be to just put the boy out of his misery; to just throw him into the river and be done with it. Street trash was merely street trash, after all.

It was then that those dull eyes turned away from the water, and looked up at him. The man and the boy stared at each other for an indeterminable period of time, each lost within their own thoughts; and so it was that it was the man who spoke first, even as his eyes shifted in surprise to the scar that was so prominently displayed on the boy's forehead.

"A kid like you will not be needed by anyone and die a beggar."

It was a lie, but only in part. With the way that the child was shivering and the threadbare quality of his thin clothing... it was doubtful that the boy would live to the age where he would be "taken in" by those that had abandoned him when his usefulness as a child had run out.

The boy, however, did not seem to be listening to his words; only vaguely did he acknowledge them as they had been spoken, instead smiling up at the man. It was a broken smile, one of fear and of bitter guilt. A flash of self-loathing briefly flickered through the depths of his dead eyes; eyes that were still focused solely on his.

"You have the same eyes as me."

His eyes widened slightly as he realized this fact, and a ripple of confusion curled in the back of his mind. He didn't know why they should, would, did have the same eyes. He was a man who had been thrown out of his own family simply for what he had the misfortune to be born as. Why would this child, this oh-so-famous child, have the same dead eyes as a man who had learned to hate where he had come from, and to revel in his job?

The boy simply continued to smile, tipping his head slightly. His long and shaggy dark hair slipped out of his face, only serving to make the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead that much clearer. For a moment, the man paused as a thought struck him and then behind his thick scarf, he too smiled. It was not the same broken smile that the boy shared with him; it was a dead smile, a small look at the emptiness within.

"Kid. Do you want to be needed by someone?" he held the boy's gaze for a moment before he continued at the sight of the child's curiosity. "Can you give everything to me?"

It was slow in coming, but eventually the boy nodded and climbed to his feet.

"Starting today, your ability is mine." he pulled the boy close to him, and for a moment, he thought about just walking off. But that scar was just far too visible. He didn't need any of the muggle-borns that they might come across realizing that he was not a member of the boy's family, and therefore did not have a reason to be taking the Boy-Who-Lived anywhere.

"Boy," he started, and was surprised when a shudder ran through the body beneath his hand.

"Please... don't call me that," the young Harry Potter whispered, in a voice so soft it almost went unheard.

"Why." It was not a question; it was a demand. Harry looked away.

"My... uncle called me that. Before... before I killed him."

Ah... now that was something that he could understand. He smirked slightly, wishing that he had had the power to do the same to his most worthless of parents. "Than what shall I call you? Certainly not... Harry Potter." This time the child jumped as thought he had been stung, and terrified eyes looked up into his. The man chuckled. "Your face is all over the muggle news." It most certainly was not, but lies could be so useful when used properly. "The constables are looking for you in connection with your uncle's murder."

"Please..." his whisper was desperate, "Please don't take me to them."

"I wasn't planning on it," he looked away from the boy, out towards where the horizon would be had civilization not hidden it from view. "You are my tool, child. With your abilities..." he trailed off, forcing away the giddy rush that threatened to take him over. "In any case, we need to do something about that scar of yours. It's far to visible and distinct."

"What should I do, sir?"

"Zabuza Momochi," the man corrected. "Call me... Zabuza-san. It may not be my real name, but it is the name I've gone by since I was denied the Lestrange name." it was a sore spot, as it always had been, that he would be denied the name he was given at birth simply because he could do no magic. Oh what would his "beloved" parents think now? Now that he was just as deadly with his "muggle toys" as they were with their magic...? Not that it mattered considering that both were long dead, and the rest of his family was locked up tight in Azkaban with his deplorable sister-in-law.

"What should I do, Zabuza-san?"

The dark haired squib frowned for a moment, before he pulled off his own scarf and wrapped it around the boy's head. The tails were too long, but what mattered was that the boy's scar was covered. "This will do for now. Your name, though... that is well known as well--" and that, most assuredly, was no lie, "--so you will just have to learn to respond to a different name."

Harry was relieved. He would be useful to someone; it was a feeling that he had not had since the accidental deaths of his family. He would not be able to forget the terrified screams of his aunt and cousin, nor the horrifying sound of the ice spikes tearing them and their home into pieces... but this was a start on the way to becoming someone. To being useful.

He smiled up at Zabuza. "I can do that."

It had been an exercise in his control, and one that Haku was positive that he would not have been able to do even just three weeks ago. What was it about Uzumaki Naruto that had forced him to act with the power he had repressed for so many long years? What was it about Naruto that made him whisper a prayer on the cleaver every night before he went to bed?

Ice had gathered on the cleaver's blade, on the side that stared out over the cliff; this was the side that Naruto never looked at. It had taken a great deal of concentration and very precise chakra control to ensure that the ice did not extend out around the edges of the blade, just in case the young genin was still in the area. Oh, he knew that the cheerful blond wouldn't be there, but it was a precaution created after two weeks of Naruto's nightly visits.

But Naruto had gone back to Konoha, with the memories of his first brush with death still tickling the back of his mind. Haku was sincerely apologetic that he had to be the one to create that first crack in the child's mind, to set him down the path towards becoming a true ninja... but he would not change it. Zabuza-san had needed him, and he had responded even above his own wish for death.

Stepping out of the ice that covered the gleaming edge of the cleaver, Haku paused to stare out over the cliff, only peripherally aware of the sun setting.

If he were being honest with himself, he would miss this beautiful land. He would miss everything that he had learned and done here.

But he was a tool, and he was happy with his lot in life. He would do anything for Zabuza-san's dream-- anything at all. It was with that thought that the former hunter-nin reached up and pulled the blade free from the soft soil that buried two bodies.

With the blade resting carefully across his shoulders the ninja withdrew two senbon. It was harder to target through an object, and the earth was certainly the greatest of objects to try and aim through, but he was fully capable of such a task. The needles flew with such force that they pierced the earth and cut down into the "bodies" below.

A string of chakra connected him to each of his senbon, and it was along that line of energy that Haku sent a spark of... he hesitated to call it magic. Truly, it was nothing of the sort. It was simply the energy behind the magic; mana, he thought it might be called, but he couldn't be sure of that. He hadn't really had much of a chance to study his birthright. Well, whatever that energy may be, it lanced down the path of chakra that he had left for it, and struck the two bodies.

It reversed the transfiguration.

There were two metal girders in the ground now, not two bodies. Without the cleaver to show just where "Momochi Zabuza" and "Haku" were buried, they would not have to worry about anyone trying to "steal" their techniques and abilities from their bodies.

With one hand he ran through the focusing seals to call up one of his ice mirrors, and stepped through it. On the other side he found himself back in that humid cavern where he had been caring for Zabuza-san. While he himself had escaped with only minor injures--kawarimi with a side of transfiguration while Hatake Kakashi's Chidori technique was bare millimeters from piercing his chest had not been a pleasurable experience-- Zabuza-san had nearly died. In fact, he would have died had Haku's desperation not forced him to try an incredibly complex and mostly untested jutsu.

It had taken a large chunk of his chakra and an equal amount of mana in order to transfigure a girder into a bleeding dummy of Zabuza-san, and then to use another form of kawarimi in order to replace the dummy with the Zabuza-san... all while Zabuza-san was touching the Haku-dummy. Following that up by stabilizing Zabuza-san while tucked up under that bridge had been even harder, but Haku had been determined. Once again he had been forced to put Zabuza-san into the death-like state, but he had done it.

After that it was a waiting game; waiting until Hatake Kakashi passed out from chakra exhaustion, waiting until the workers left, waiting until Tazuna and his remaining Konoha guard left... it had been a long time to be hiding under the bridge with Zabuza-san cradled in his arms. His chakra and mana had been depleted to the point where he could barely even stagger away from the bridge. He had left Zabuza-san's cleaver behind out of necessity, but Haku was sure that he would be able to retrieve it at another time. What mattered most was Zabuza-san's survival.

That was why he had spent two weeks nursing the man back to health and two weeks watching Naruto come, night after night, to where the bodies of the first two victims of his life as a ninja were buried. Now that Naruto had left for Konoha, Haku was finally able to take the weapon back. The two missing ninja would be leaving soon, as well, Haku mused as he set the weapon own beside his sleeping master.

His hand went to the old letter inside of his gi top, where it had been tucked for the past three years. It had taken the owl a very long time to actually locate the elusive ninja, and then it had died. Not from age or exhaustion, or any such natural means, but because Haku had been hungry, and he has seen the bird in the air above it. It wasn't until after the bird was dead that he had noticed the letter that had been addressed to his birth name.

It was time for Harry Potter to return to the wizarding world, whether he wanted to or not.

It was, after all, Zabuza-san's decision.

End Part One

...you know, I made myself watch Haku die for the eighteenth time to get the dialogue. And then I had to watch Zabuza-san die again. Every damn time Zabuza-san dies I cry. Every damn time. I've watched him die nearly thirty-times. ZABUZA-SAN! WHY MUST YOU DIE! (bawls)

original word count: 1968 words
revision word count: 2229 words