Hello :)

I've wanted to write a Harry Potter crossover for some time now, and I finally gota an idea I liked for it.

Before anything else, you're warned that this story, though it'll take a while to get there as we begin in first year, is yaoi, slash, male x male or whatever else you want to call it. If you don't like it, please just leave, no one forces you to read. If you do like it, then I hope you like my story as well ^^

It's Marco/Ace, and I swear there's no bestiality in here xD The story will diverge from canon as we advance.

The updates won't be too frequent, as I have other stories to work on aside from this one, but I promise somewhat long chapters (and this one is long compared to what I usually write) to compensate.

This is being beta read by The Red Harlequin On The Luna, who was kind enough not to murder me for throwing the story at her out of nowhere.

Luna: -blows kisshus- Helloooo

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs either to Eiichiro Oda or to J.K. Rowling. I don't make any money out of this, and couldn't pay if I was sued for writing this.

Now, this chapter is the introduction. I tried to go fast over what we already know so we can get into the story itself as soon as possible.

Chapter 1: The boy who dreamed

"From now on, we're brothers!"

Harry Potter woke up to the racket that accompanied his cousin as he stomped loudly and heavily down the stairs and he groaned. It couldn't be too early, as Dudley probably didn't even knew the possibility of waking up early during the summer holidays existed, but he had been asleep and, taking advantage of his wonderfully chore-free day, Harry had wanted to sleep in as much as possible. Alright, so it wasn't as much a chore-free day as it was the second day of the three he would spend not allowed to leave his closet for more than two five minute visits to the bathroom as a consequence of his last stunt.

But, seriously, it wasn't as if he could have avoided it. He didn't care that his Aunt and Uncle always thought anything that happened was his fault, or that they believed whatever nonsense Dudley whined about. He wasn't going to let his whale of a cousin chase him around with the stupid goons he called friends just because if he fought back Uncle Vernon would whack him over the head and stuff him in the closet for the next few days. He much preferred to fight back and get stuck here a couple of days.

And that's why, when Dudley had decided to try again his 'Harry Hunting', Harry had beaten his friends into a crying mess of preteen idiots. He had been careful, however, not to touch Dudley, as he didn't want to have a repeat of what had happened the last time he had beaten him, but the message had been clear: by the time Harry had been done with his friends, Dudley had been a trembling mess. As always. Anybody would expect that, after the spectacular failures that all the previous attempts at that game had been, those idiots would have learned the lesson and leave him alone. But then, no smart guy would be Dudley's friend, so Harry guessed it made sense that they agreed to help every time Dudley decided to try.

After every attempt, it always took a longer time for the next one to happen.

That explained why Harry was confined to his cupboard right now. These punishments, in his opinion, were both a curse and a blessing.

The curse took two forms. The first one was that Harry liked to be outside, he really did. There he could run around, climb trees and mock-fight with the air as much as he wanted.

When he was little, he used to fight against the neighbourhood's kids, though it would be more accurate to say that the children thought the weird, poorly dressed boy no one cared about would be a good target for her taunts and Harry proved to them how sorely mistaken they were almost every time. There had been only a couple of exceptions where he had lost, and that had been when a group of at least three years older kids picked on him, but that had been before. Harry hadn't lost against anybody in two whole years, and by now the only ones who occasionally attempted to fight him were Dudley's gang of morons. The others stayed well away from him, calling him a monster or other names but were too terrified of his strength to do more than glower when they thought Harry wasn't looking.

Then there was the second reason, that was by far the biggest inconvenience in Harry's opinion: no food. The Dursleys weren't exactly generous with the amount of food they gave him, and even less with its quality, but if Harry could go out, he could procure food on his own, even if he had to resort to eating and then running away or, as he had learned when he became older, steal. Harry wasn't a great pickpocket, in fact his few attempts at it had been disastrous, but he had found other ways of procuring money: the school's classrooms during recesses were his preferred source. He just had to be careful not to take money from too many schoolbags at once and, even though he had been suspected sometimes whenever the theft had been discovered in school, but nobody had ever been able to find the stolen money -it wasn't like they could check his underwear. The funniest part of it was that many teachers suspected Dudley, too, but knew how useless and unpleasant it would be to bring it up with the Dursleys, and many times didn't bother to report Harry either.

It was a good thing that this tactic worked so far, because, after all, there were only so many restaurants in the area, and with how much he ate, Harry would soon run out of places to go if he kept the other practice up too often.

The good part of these punishments, though, was that he wasn't expected to do any chores, and consequentially could spend as much time as he wanted sleeping. Harry loved to sleep. Since he could remember, he had always had very interesting dreams. He couldn't remember them in much detail, though they became easier to remember as he grew older. The dreams were a strange thing that happened to him —perhaps even stranger than his hair growing on its own, Dudley's Gameboy catching fire when he was taunting Harry about how he would never let him play or appearing on the roof of the school, but luckily, contrary to those instances, no one knew about these dreams— and one he enjoyed immensely. They were thrilling, showing things he couldn't believe his mind could come up to. Now, Harry was no idiot —it didn't matter that his Aunt and Uncle didn't want him to have better grades than Dudley and so his academic performance was terrible— but he was amazed his brain had created such a complex world.

Because, despite all the things he couldn't remember once he woke up, he knew he dreamed about a complex world.

All the dreams seemed to be related, from the first one he could remember having. There were many recurring characters —the boy with the straw hat, the giant old man, the blond with the pineapple hairstyle— he could connect the events of some dreams to others, they seemed to be all placed in the same world and then, of course, there was his character.

Because he was always the same person in these dreams, indifferently if in the dream he was ten or nineteen, there was always the freckled boy with dark hair. Now, Harry had black hair, and freckles that his Aunt stared at curiously from time to time, but his hair was much more of a rat's nest than the one in the dream, and he wasn't nearly as muscled as the kid, not even at age ten, despite all the chores he was forced to do and all the exercise he managed to fit in his free time —not that he could do much exercise while school was on, classes and chores took up almost all of his time then. And he had those stupid glasses.

Harry liked to think that, once he grew up he would be as tall and strong as that guy was. He would love to see Uncle Vernon try to get his hands on the seventeen years old man that had left the island in a small boat to go fulfil his dream.

If only he could remember that boy's name... For some reason, despite how many times it was said throughout the dreams, it was one of the things he could never remember once he woke up.

Harry heard the front door slam closed, a signal that Dudley had left, and rolled on the small cot that acted as his bed. Mere moments later he was fast asleep.

Harry could have slapped himself for letting his stupid cousin see the letter he had received. Not even seeing Uncle Vernon's unhealthy purple face and Aunt Petunia almost fainting had been worth not knowing what it said. Especially because of those reactions. It had to be very good to warrant them. What had followed had only increased Harry's desire to read the letter.

The letters had kept coming, more and more every time and in a stranger way as time went by, but unfortunately Harry hadn't been able to get his hands on a single one. Not even fleeing had served to stop them, for the letters had followed them, as if they magically —and wouldn't his relatives hate that thought, because they hated the notion of magic— knew where to find them. Him. Not only the place, but the exact place.

Where he slept.

That was another reason Harry liked those letters: after they had first arrived, the Dursleys had panicked at the thought that someone knew where he slept and gave him Dudley's second bedroom. Dudley hadn't been happy, it had been great to witness one of his epic temper tantrums failing like that.

But now, amusement aside, things had gone a little too far. Harry liked the ocean, it reminded him of his dreams and how the boy in them had loved it, but being in a shack in the middle of the water during a storm was a little too much even for him.

Oh, and it was about to be his birthday.

Eleven years old, reached during a potentially deadly excursion to flee a horde of flying letters his relatives didn't want him to read. He grinned. The boy would have loved it and that made Harry love it. He felt the boy was a part of himself, after all.

Mere minutes before his birthday, loud sounds, too loud to belong to the raging storm outside, began to be heard.

Harry spent over twenty minutes laughing so hard it was lucky for him Hagrid didn't mind, because he wouldn't have been able to stop.

That had been great.

Seeing his relatives so terrified, Dudley's tail, meeting Hagrid —who seemed really nice despite certain others' reactions to him— and getting a cake had been a perfect birthday present. His first cake, of which nothing remained by now.

Oh, and he was a wizard.

Hagrid had been surprised when, after discovering how the Dursleys had tried to hide the truth from him, Harry hadn't been either amazed or incredulous, instead taking it in stride. But, seriously, despite his relatives' loud claims that such a thing as magic didn't exist, he would have to be daft to not realize something was off with all the stuff that happened to him. Besides, he had spent his whole life dreaming about Devil Fruits, magic wasn't so surprising after that.

There had been a downside to this night, of course. It had been a relief to know that his relatives had lied and his parents hadn't died in a car crash, but the knowledge that a power-hungry madman had killed them hadn't settled well in him. For some reason he couldn't place, it brought a deep sense of hatred towards that Voldemort guy, and he regretted he had already killed him as a baby, because he would have liked to get his hands on him now.

Shaking his head to get rid of those dark thoughts, Harry laid back and attempted to sleep. It was a happy day now, not only because it was his birthday, but because he was a wizard and would be leaving the Dursleys' house for the whole school year.

He idly wondered if he would have to come up with some creative way of acquiring money to be able to pay for his school supplies.

As it turned out, no stealing was required for his shopping trip to Diagon Alley. He was loaded, as he soon discovered once Hagrid brought him to Gringotts, a magical bank. The goblin who accompanied them, Griphook, had directed a strange look at him when Harry very nearly salivated at the sight of the gold mounds in his vault. It was a treasure! And it could pay for a lot of food. But no, Harry only took a reasonable amount, deciding he would try to keep the money for important things —he had learned the value of saving when the freckled boy and Sabo had collected all that treasure, though in that case it had been for naught at the end— and left, trying to discover what Hagrid had collected from that other vault to no avail. At least the trips on the carts were fun. Harry had laughed the whole way, that action earning him strange looks from both Griphook and Hagrid.

That experience had raised his mood back to what it had been the night before, and he was glad for it. Before going to the bank they had had to pass through a pub to get to the magical shopping street —that had a lot of cool shops— and there had been an incident.

When Hagrid had told him he was famous the night before, Harry hadn't been prepared for what it truly meant. It wasn't just that he was famous, those people worshipped him. Like they would do to some kind of hero. Harry had already guessed his fame wouldn't have anything to do with how the freckled boy, once he became a pirate, was so infamous, but that... He hadn't liked it, it had made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He hoped that not everybody would react in that way to meeting him, but he didn't put much faith into it.

Following with the shopping trip, after Gringotts —he had chuckled at the warning in the door and wondered what the goblins would think of his dreams— they had gone to get his uniform, and there Harry had met a posh blond kid he wasn't looking forward to meeting again. At least he had learned some things, like Quidditch —Hagrid had later explained it was a popular sport, and Harry thought he would like to try it, even more for the flying part— or the fact that the school was divided into houses. If that boy was anything to go by, Harry doubted he would like being in Slytherin, but he might be wrong and the boy was not an example of how the people in that house were, who knew.

He had also got the impression that the magical world was as prejudiced as what wizards called the muggle world, both from the other boy's comments about wizards coming from muggle families and Hagrid's comments about Slytherins.

The visit to the book store was uneventful, and Harry browsed some spell books that caught his attention, but decided to wait to know a little of how to cast magic before buying anything. That Hagrid told him he couldn't use magic outside of school had probably influenced him on that decision.

After that, he bought his cauldron and scales —and ogled the gold cauldron until Hagrid dragged him away, though he wouldn't have spent money on something like that— and headed to the apothecary, a place that made Aunt Petunia's excessive amount of cleaning supplies smell like heaven.

The ingredients sold there, however, were interesting. He spent his time there browsing the inventory, and through that discovered that animals he thought mythical, such as unicorns, were real. He wondered if phoenixes existed, too.

On their way to the wand shop, Hagrid said he would buy him a birthday present. Harry knew he should have acted modest, assuring the man it wasn't necessary, but instead he launched himself at the supposed giant —that looked short in comparison to many people Harry had dreamed of, like Pops— thanking him profusely. He didn't care what the present would be, because it would be his first real present, and that made it great.

His present turned out to be an owl, something Hagrid thought every boy wanted to have and that would be useful, as owls were used to send letters in the wizarding world.

Much to the man's horror, however, Harry named his new owl Stefan, unaware at the time that said owl was female, and refused to listen to Hagrid's stammered suggestion that he could wait and get a good name from his history textbook or something. The owl was white, and Harry remembered Whitebeard having a white dog with his same moustache. Harry might not be able to get the owl to grow a moustache, but she was white and so he had named her Stefan. He had never been good at telling the gender of an animal, and Hagrid had been too gobsmacked by the name —for an owl!—to notice either.

The visit to the wand shop was plain strange and somewhat unnerving. Ollivander, the wand maker, made Harry nervous, but he also liked the visit. Not the part where his new wand was the brother of Voldemort's wand, that fact disturbed him more than anything else, but his wand's core was a phoenix feather. Phoenixes were real, and he now owned the proof of it. He barely resisted the urge to ask if they were blue.

Also, Ollivander had said Harry would do great things. He had no intention of turning into a second Voldemort or anything like that, related wands or not, but he hoped that meant he would live many adventures.

That would be great.

Finally they went to eat at the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry did his best to ignore the stares directed his way, pleased when people finally averted their eyes. It might have had something to do with the way he wolfed down all the food he had ordered —after all, the Dursleys hadn't taught him any manners, and all he knew was from things he had seen in his dreams and pirates weren't exactly famous for their manners— but he didn't care as long as they stopped watching his every move.

His last month at the Dursleys' was great. Dudley was terrified of him, which meant he stayed clear of him and didn't try anything, while his Aunt and Uncle were both scared and furious, and had taken to ignoring him. There had been no chores and no going back to the cupboard, which meant Harry had had the whole month for himself.

The dreams had continued: he had seen the freckled boy play and train with Sabo and Luffy, set sail to pursue his dreams, meet some of his first crewmembers, how he had tried to kill Whitebeard one of so many times, the party the crew threw when he finally agreed to join them... This month's dreams had been all good, with none of the sad moments of the boy's life that Harry had dreamt of in the past. The time he had learned why Sabo had disappeared at some point when the boy was ten, Harry had been eight, and had felt glad about being locked in his cupboard at the moment, because he had spent the whole day crying.

Now that he knew magic was real, Harry had tried to figure out if those dreams had any meaning besides that, dreams, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything that didn't sound ridiculous and his textbooks —that he had browsed mostly to see what kind of magic he would be learning— hadn't helped at all. The only textbook he had read to some extent had been the one about magical creatures, and of it he had mostly browsed what types of creatures existed and practically memorized the section about phoenixes.

For the most part, though, Harry spent his time outside, running around, climbing trees, using the park's slide and swings in ways that they weren't meant to be used, and anything else that came to mind.

When September 1st arrived, Harry was so excited he would have spent the whole night before jumping around if it wasn't because he knew the Dursleys would kill him. Or not take him to King's Cross, which would be worse.

Harry had barely resisted from punching Uncle Vernon for his obvious mocking attitude since he heard the platform's name.

The only thing that made him control himself was that he knew it had to be something magical, and so he headed for platforms nine and ten and began to search for anyone who looked magical. He had noticed at Diagon Alley how different their clothes were.

It didn't take long.

His attention was drawn to a large group of redheads that walked close to him, and he caught the word 'muggle' in what the woman with them, obviously the mother, was saying.

Harry stood back to look at what they did and watched, fascinated, as first the boy that had to be the oldest —and there were four boys and a girl, a lot of kids for a family— disappeared through the wall separating platforms nine and ten, followed by two identical, slightly younger boys.

Convinced that it had to be what he had been looking for, he approached the woman.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

"Hello, dear," she said, "First year at Hogwarts, right? Ron is also new." She pointed to the last of her sons, redheaded like all the others, he was a gangly boy, taller than Harry and with freckles. Harry grinned at him in greeting.

"Yeah. Is that the platform?" He asked, signalling to the wall with his head. The woman smiled at him.

"Yes. You just have to walk up to it to cross to platform 9¾. Why don't you go before Ron?"

Harry grinned at her in thanks, turned to push his trolley forward and, at the last moment before moving, he decided to run at it instead of walking. When he passed through the wall, as if it hadn't even been there, he had taken so much impulse that it was a miracle he managed to stop himself before he ran a woman over. The woman glared at him and walked away.

In this new platform, where almost everybody he could see was wearing wizards' robes instead of muggle clothes, was a huge, bright red steam train. He grinned.

Ignoring the conversations around, the families parting for the school year and the friends meeting again after the summer, Harry pushed his trolley forward until he found a compartment that wasn't already full with students. He stopped in front of one almost at the end of the train, took Stefan's cage —he had debated on calling her Stefanie after discovering his mistake but had finally decided against it— and carried it into the compartment before coming back to take his trunk. He grinned when he could lift it, having noticed how the other kids that looked his age seemed to need help, and dropped it onto the floor with a heavy sigh once it was inside. He pushed it into a corner, moved Stefan's cage to one of the seats and he himself sat down next to it.

Through the open door, Harry watched with amusement the family of redheads saying goodbye to their mother. Apparently, the older one was a prefect, whatever that was, and the twins were poking fun at him. They sounded amusing, maybe he could become friends with them later. When the mother started to warn them about everything she didn't want to hear they had done, Harry choked in an attempt not to laugh and decided he would like those two.

The train whistled and the boys hurried to climb in. Harry lost himself in the sight of the station growing smaller and smaller, and then the train turned and he was looking at the houses passing at great speed by the window.

He turned when the door to his compartment opened, and saw the younger red haired boy, Ron, standing there awkwardly.

"Is someone sitting here? All other compartments are full."

Harry shook his head and Ron came in, sitting down in the opposite seat. They stayed silent for a moment until the twin brothers came in to tell their younger brother they would go somewhere else.

Then something that Harry would soon grow to hate happened. One of them noticed his scar when he turned to introduce himself. Fred. Fred and George Weasley. At least they hadn't fawned over him as much as the people in the Leaky Cauldron.

When the two older boys left, Harry was left with an even more awkward Ron who now seemed fascinated by him, asking incomplete questions about his scar. When Harry told him he only remembered a green light, they lapsed into silence. Harry, however, wasn't about to waste his chance to discover some more about the wizarding world before school started, and so decided to ask Ron Weasley about it. The conversation soon turned to Ron's family. Harry was fascinated to hear what a wizarding family was like. He soon learned, though Ron tried not to say it, that they didn't have much money and Ron was bitter about not having anything new.

Harry, up until his visit to Diagon Alley, had never had anything new either, and he could sympathize. He hated Dudley's cast-offs.

Over an hour into the conversation, a cart full of food came by their compartment. Ron refused to buy anything but Harry, both with his usual hunger and curiosity for magical food, bought some of everything, and spent the following time eating with Ron. He even got one of Ron's sandwiches in exchange for some sweets. Harry would have given them to him either way, but he wasn't stupid enough to refuse free food.

The magical food was very interesting —Harry was beginning to suspect he could find almost anything in this world if he looked hard enough— and he even got his first look at Hogwarts' headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, in the form of the card from a chocolate frog.

He also met a bossy girl by the name of Hermione Granger who was looking for a boy's toad —the boy had been over asking if they had seen it, too— and, though Ron didn't like her much, Harry thought she didn't necessarily have to be bad. Alright, he hadn't liked her tirade about her having read everything about him, but she had just looked like an extremely nervous girl who had tried to learn as much as possible about this new world that had revealed itself to her.

If Harry cared about fitting in, he would probably have done something similar. Not spouting out all the information when it wasn't needed, but learned it nonetheless.

Their conversation went back to Ron's family and the wizarding world in general until they were interrupted again. This time by the blond kid from the clothes store and this time, contrary to what had happened with Hermione, Harry did not like him. At all. He hated that people tried to tell him what he could and couldn't do, he hated prejudiced people —he understood most people, Harry himself included, were somewhat prejudiced, but this brat had showed in two minutes his life was reigned by his prejudices— and he didn't like cowards. Draco Malfoy was every one of those things wrapped in a pale, posh package, as proved when he squealed and ran away because Ron's rat attacked him.

Incidentally, that attack was the reason why Harry didn't punch him.

Soon after, they changed into their school uniforms and the train arrived at its destination. There was Hagrid, waiting for the first years, and they were soon divided in groups of four to climb into small boats —Harry grinned at being on the water— to sail to Hogwarts.

When his eyes fell on the beautiful castle, Harry's grin widened until it almost hurt his cheeks. The place, that looked magnificent, screamed excitement and adventure.

He couldn't wait to be there.

There had been a lot of speculation, fear and nerves about the selection —not to mention the ghosts that had come to greet them, and that had interested Harry much more— and Harry felt glad when the doors to the Great Hall finally opened and they entered following Professor McGonagall, who had given them a quick overview of the school's structure.

The Great Hall was magnificent, there were four long tables filled with students, a fifth one at the front where the staff sat. It was illuminated by thousands of floating candles and the high ceiling showed the sky outside. He heard Hermione Granger say it was enchanted.

The professor placed a stool on the floor and on top of it a worn pointy hat. Harry jumped when the hat moved and began to sing. He hadn't expected that.

When the song was over, Professor McGonagall began to call the students, and not even when it became clear they only had to put the hat on to be sorted did they calm. Most looked as if they were walking to their execution.

Harry soon grew tired of watching frightened students sitting there and scurrying off to their tables as soon as the hat yelled their house, and he let his eyes roam over the hall, more precisely over the head table, the one that was in front of the first years.

His eyes moved over every face, stopping halfway through them as they fell on a wizened man he recognized as Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he smiled at Harry when he noticed him looking at him. Harry looked away to continue his evaluation of the professors when his eyes fell on the top of the high chair where the headmaster was sitting.

There, standing on the seat and eyes looking straight at him was a bird. A magnificent bird of red feathers that seemed to glow and that Harry recognized, remembering it from his book on magical animals, as a phoenix. He swallowed.

"Potter, Harry!"

To be continued

Whew, I managed to reach the sorting here, that was my intention.

I'm not sorry about changing Hedwig's name. In case someone doesn't know, Oda said in a SBS that Whitebeard had a dog called Stefan with his same moustache (it was a joke, but I couldn't resist.)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think in a review :D