Part One

If there was one thing Harry Potter had stood for – had always searched for and willingly given at the same time it was loyalty.

In the wizarding world there was never any doubt to where his loyalty lay – he stuck with his friends come hell or high water and he'd never let anyone stop him. It was settled that first day on the Hogwarts express, when Ron had looked at him in awe and Harry jumped to his defense the moment Draco made that first disparaging remark.

Harry had chosen his side that easily – a little kindhearted deception when the Weasleys 'just happened' to be there to guide him to the platform, a helping hand from the twins and a red-headed boy his age who wanted to be his friend.

The choice was made – his loyalty given freely and fully.

But he'd never gotten the same in return. Bits and pieces of it, yes, and Hermione, at least, stood at his side through it all. But she'd given her loyalty to Dumbledore above him and most of the time he hardly noticed, because in the end his loyalty lay there too.

But sometimes he got so frustrated – that they would let that old man keep secrets from him, that they'd follow the headmaster's orders regarding Harry when Harry had always, always chosen them above anyone. He had tried to hang on to them even when the world went to hell and true war came to them, rolling in like a nightmarish storm; terrible, terrifying and unforgiving.

And even if Ron left, Hermione remained. And that was something. That was everything.

But in the end, after everything it still wasn't enough. Because when the war was over it seems they felt their duty done – they didn't leave him exactly, just started living their own life, with their own priorities and dreams and hopes and he tried to follow, to support them for a change, but no matter how tightly he tried to hold on they slipped further and further away until he started wondering if they were ever truly his at all.

And he was left alone.

That was something he should have been used to by now. Actually perhaps that was the problem – he was too familiar with that feeling of loneliness, he'd known exactly where it would lead him and he was desperate not to fall into that hollow empty space again.

So he did something daring, bold and very stupid.

He followed into his father's and Sirius footsteps and learned the animagus transformation.

Alone, without guidance other than a book and without his friends at his side to caution him. Aching for something he was well aware this endeavor wouldn't give him but he was desperately reaching for it none-the-less and he didn't care that he was always the odd one out, didn't give it another thought as he prepared the necessary potion.

And as he stood and invoked the first change he never realized that his body, his human body was permanently marked by basilisk and phoenix and by a necromancer trying desperately to remain alive. He never stopped to think that his soul – tainted and blessed and twisted into something more could never manage to fit into any normal animal.

Even if he had done more research it would never have occurred to him that the creature he'd shifted into was too large, too powerful, too other for this world. Magic, wonderful, strange and unpredictable magic took note of him and instead of doing the logical thing, acknowledging what he is, carving out a place between all the other wondrous creatures in this world – magic lifted him up instead.

And left him somewhere else.

The first thing he noticed was that the world looked wrong.

And he wasn't talking about his new perspective, which, incidentally, left him many, many feet from the ground. No, being so high up just made it easier to tell – easier to confirm with his eyes what his senses were screaming at him.

This wasn't his world.

It was somewhat funny, really, because he'd been thrust into a completely different world – had been ripped from where he was, from who he was and left abandoned somewhere so other that it should have been an even worse fit for someone, something like him.

But this world wasn't like his – it didn't need to carve out a place for him, because there was always room for more – amongst biju and bloodlines and jutsu, Harry was still different, but different was never wrong, not here – no laws of magic to follow, no rules that couldn't be broken. Because magic was order in chaos – spells and rituals and wondrous and free but still contained, chained to the limits set to it.

Chakra was nature. Chakra was life.

And no living being could live without chakra. And Harry was very, very alive.

He just wasn't sure what else he was.

Except this:

He was just as alone as ever. And whatever he was, changing into it made it no easier to bear.

(Because for all that he could feel the life in everything, the loneliness was just as heavy.)

Time passed and Harry learned. He learned that he could change back, but it was difficult – not just difficult but it felt almost unnatural to spend time in his human form – he felt vulnerable, like walking around naked. But he wanted to know where he'd ended up – needed to know, because he didn't want to walk into another new world and be let by the hand like a lamb to the slaughter.

(By eyes that twinkled brightly, and a kind, grandfatherly smile.)

His animagus form (but was it really? Was this really what having an animagus form was like? Because his human form felt so tiny and fragile and odd) was humongous – it would be seen from miles and miles away and Harry really didn't feel like drawing attention. (Because he knew too well what being gawked at felt like and it was just as painful and hollow as the empty space of being alone.)

So he walked as a human and in the first village he came across he stayed. It was a big village, medieval, Asian, and filled with so many people – all bustling about. Quietly he looked and listened, with a notice-me-not spell on him at all times he slunk about the village, stole bits and pieces of food, lived and slept and listened and learned.

He picked up some of the language – slowly, his speech still unpracticed for the most part, but he could understand more and more just by observing, listening – and perhaps it was the chakra, the force that bound this world and him and life, that made it so much easier to understand – and so much easier to accept that he was here and he was.

He left after a month of lurking; interacting with no-one, because he was alone and he'd accepted that.

When he found a large valley with a lake, days travel from the village, he changed, spread his wings wide open and sighed in relief.

(The loneliness was no easier to bear in this form, but the air tasted so much sweeter.)

He let out a deafening roar and took to the sky.

This was how he spent a year.

Some of the time in human form – most of it hidden, but sometimes he walked as someone who was once Harry Potter and he talked to people, learned more of the language and customs and even if he messed up sometimes, well who cared? Soon enough he would leave behind the humanness of those places and be free to roar and fly. At those times he would split the ground beneath his paws and fell trees with a swipe of his tail or find the wide open desert and run.

On one of those runs he met a group of shinobi.

He had seen them before, these ninja, had heard about what they could do, had followed one at some point and almost gotten caught (because his curiosity was always the thing to get him into trouble).

But this was different. Because there was an animal with the group that was larger than a normal animal had any right to be. (Not that Harry should be one to talk – he dwarfed the wolf by far.)

"Another summon?" one of the shinobi cried out, almost incredulously. "But, whose summon is it?"

Harry shot a disdainful look at all the gathered shinobi and sat down to watch.

Silence spread between them all, until in a split second one of the shinobi acted and another ended up dead.

This was the world Harry now lived in.

He didn't twitch. He'd seen too much dead in his life to let his hero complex kick in again in a situation where he didn't know whose side he was even on.

(Or you could pick a side Harry – just pick a side, something inside him whispered and he ignored it with practiced ease.)

The shinobi for their part kept a cautious eye out, but battled without engaging the large creature (or at least they kept their attacks from coming directly at him). Because no-one wanted to be the one that made him join the enemy.

When all was over, only the shinobi with the large wolf remained.

Harry watched the interaction between the two carefully – the wolf could talk and it was the animal, not the shinobi that stepped cautiously forward to greet him.

Harry nodded in return, ignored the questions and turned to leave.

"I don't think he can speak." The wolf told the man. "And if he can… do you really want to try and force him to tell us who his summoner is?"

The shinobi considered the giant summon. A summons like that couldn't stay hidden for long – he would find out later by doing some digging – not by battling what was obviously a boss summons. That way he'd still be alive to pass on the information. "No. Let's go."

That evening, Harry landed next to a lake and changed into a human. He stared at his reflection for long silent minutes, before he sighed and closed his emerald green eyes. Moments later he was once again in his animal form.

After that day, whenever he introduced himself to people, he no longer used his name of 'Hari Poteru'. Instead he called himself Hiroto and left the last name out – because he had no family anyway and Harry Potter was no longer who or what he was.

The next time he came upon a group of fighting shinobi it was an entirely different situation.

He had been napping when the sound of steel upon steel, steel upon flesh, screams and fire and lightning assaulted his sensitive ears.

He rose and stood undecided – because it really wasn't his business and his saviour complex had all but burned out.

But it seems it was not up to him at all.

While the one other instance in which he found himself witnessing a shinobi battle, the fighting humans had allowed themselves to be distracted by him, this time the combatants didn't so much as blink.

They invaded his presence with the scent of blood and dirt and death and fought fiercely. But the two who bore the signs of one village were clearly at a disadvantage. Not just because they were outnumbered – it seemed in terms of skill the white-haired one was clearly capable. But his partner was wounded – badly wounded and a handicap. And from all that he had learned so far in this world that meant he should be left behind. This was how ninja – no, how everyone in this world - worked.

"Why do you keep defending him?" Hiroto asked, curiously, even as the battle raged on. "It will cause your death."

The white-haired man grunted, obviously surprised by the loud growling voice from the large creature, but didn't respond. His dark-haired partner, long since fallen down and bleeding from a variety of wounds looked up at him. "Leaf-nin don't abandon their comrades. Especially Kakashi."

"He will die for you. You will let him?" Hiroto pressed further, stepping closer to the downed man because all of this was curious - at odds with everything he had seen of this world so far.

"No. I will not." The man forced out between gritted teeth, and he obviously made an attempt to rise, to aid, to fight. The most he managed was sitting up, and it was clear this action had cost him because the man seemed to be holding on to his consciousness by sheer force of will. "But I can't exactly stop him." There was frustration in that voice, anger, aimed at himself – the sort of helpless fury Harry, wizard-boy-saviour knew intimately.

One of those little tiny knifes flew at the bleeding man and Hiroto almost automatically knocked it out of the air with a swipe of his tail. He came closer still, placed his draconian paw behind the man's back and sat down, his head and stomach towering over the small human.

Then Harry felt the weight against his paw increase slightly – such a small amount, and it was hard to tell, really – and maybe it was not weight that made him notice at all, but that swirling life force around and inside all of them – that meant that the man was now leaning against him, tired and drained of all of his strength.

A blast of fire came at them and in a flash the white haired man stood before them – between them and the blaze – spitting a flood of water from his mouth to meet the flames.

Unconsciously his wings came up, and before he even noticed it, they were curling around in front of him, almost protectively. Little knifes rained against them, but even if they were not the unyielding wings of a dragon, they were the wings of a healer – strong, protective and unwavering. Water and sand was harmlessly repelled, and blasts of fire only made their golden glow shine so much brighter.

There was a break in the fighting, one shinobi dead on the ground, three shinobi standing to one side – and one shinobi right next to him.

"Will you guard him?" The white-haired man asked – his voice so much softer than Hiroto would have expected from a man who faced his enemies without mercy, without faltering, without fear.

But that was wrong, because there was fear.

The man did not look at him as he spoke, his eyes firmly on the ninja across from him. "Please?"

The fear was there, in that one word, in that almost desperate little waver and when was the last time someone actually asked him, begged him for help in such a way? When was the last time someone asked – truly and honestly, from one person to another without demanding or threatening or claiming it as a right and Hiroto might have refused – Hiroto could say no to this, he could, but Harry couldn't, not really, and maybe not all of who he was had vanished after all.

"I will keep him safely beneath my wings." Harry promised, and his heart beat faster than it had in a long time – because there was someone counting on him and he was not alone and there was something exhilarating and terrifying in all of that.

The masked man nodded and charged – and whatever wounds he had gained in this battle, whatever exhaustion tried to drag him down, the ninja didn't let it stop him – he fought, and without his previous handicap, he won.

Three more men dead upon the ground and a fierce murderer marching towards him.

But Hiroto opened his wings when the man who dealt dead reached him and let the shinobi see to his unconscious friend.

And when that man looked up-up-up to meet Harry's still green eyes, and curled his single eye up in a smile, something deep inside of him opened up a tiny bit and sighed in relief.

Then the man slumped down on the floor beside his friend and gave into his exhaustion.

Hiroto stared at the mess of four dead men scattered around in front of him. Then he looked down at the two unconscious at his feet and snapped his beak in annoyance.

With a sigh Hiroto closed his wings around the duo again and settled in to wait.

(Because Gryffindors don't run away, and maybe a part of him was still too stubborn and too stupid and too much of a Gryffindor even now.)

Both of the men (Kakashi and Genma, they had names and they were people, more than the nameless strangers he crossed paths with because somehow they were more) were settled carefully on his back and Harry decided to walk instead of flying because he wasn't used to the feeling of having someone there and it was strange and uncomfortable and what if he dropped them?

They asked for his name and he gave it. They asked for his summoner's name and he fell silent and refused to talk any more because even if he didn't truly understand how those summoning animals worked, he remembered that wolf and his shinobi and it reminded him that he was still and always and endlessly alone.

At nightfall he let them climb down from his back and left them alone to find his dinner.

When he came back, belly full of a few small birds, a small, cheerful little fire was raging between the two and Harry stared at it for a moment, lost in thoughts of fireplaces and Floo and nights spent in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione, with Neville and Fred and George and at those moments he had felt so filled with life and laughter and love and loyalty that he'd felt his heart could burst.

"Are you alright?" Genma asked him. A hint of concern pointed right at him, and wasn't that strange? How could this shinobi read his inhuman face?

"I - am." His answer was more of a statement that he is rather than that he is alright. That he is alive and breathing and a being, even if not exactly and not always a human being, but I am. I am something.

"Well, I've regained a bit of my chakra." The masked one, Kakashi, cheerfully dropped into their stretching silence. "I'll summon Pakkun and we can send the Hokage a message."

Hiroto stared at the small pug – at the summoner and his summons as they assured each other of their wellbeing, bantered, badgered and exchanged small tokens of affection, all of the fondness hidden beneath little sniffs and growls and touches and his curiosity grew because really, how does that work? How can a human understand an animal so well – how can these animals even speak, or are they not animals at all, but more like him?

"Kakashi?" Hiroto asked after the little dog had long since left their sight, not bothering with the strange custom of suffixes - really, what use did he have for them?

"Hmm?" That sharp eye belied the shinobi's otherwise carefully casual appearance.

"How do summons work?" Hirotu straight-out asked, because he long since stopped caring what people thought about him. He preferred being direct – he'd always had because lies, deception and manipulation only hurt people, people like him, in the end.

Both ninja sat up.

"What do you mean?" Kakashi asked, still hiding something beneath his easy-going tone.

"Just that. How do summons work? How do animals become summons? Why do animals become summons? How can you summon them?"

This time both shinobi gave up any pretense at disinterest. "Don't you know?" Genma marveled and then frowned in thought, "But if you're not a summon, then what are you?"

Harry looked away, his wings instinctively curling around his body like a shield. "I am… I just… Am." Because what could he say?

In the silence of lost and empty and hollow and alone, Genma slowly walked over, crossed that distance, ducked underneath his wings and settled down carefully against his furry side.

And for a moment it was hard to breathe because that was something – something, anything, and how long had it been since there was someone or something so human?

Then Kakashi's voice washed over him – as soft and gentle as he'd first heard it, but this time not with fear or hope or 'please', but with something warm and protective and sheltering like wings.

The man talked of ninken and friendship and sensei with toads and Harry listened and sighed and felt the warmth against his side pulse with life.

(And the campfire blazed in their midst, as much a living part of this as anything else.)

He followed them, like a lost puppy. Followed when he had sworn to himself that he would never give out his loyalty that easily anymore. (That a grandfatherly smile, a kind word and a boy his age looking for a friend would not be enough for him to become that weapon – not again, not ever again.)

But Harry was that lost puppy, had always been that lost little puppy filled with an aching desperate longing and he couldn't deny it, not to himself.

So he carried them back to Konoha - to a forest with trees so large that it was almost possible for him to walk between them without felling trees with every footfall. Almost, but not quite, so he stopped and told his passengers 'hang on' when what he meant was don't let go – just don't let go.

He lifted into the air keeping his wing-beats as gentle as he could and Kakashi said 'Maa, it's fine.' and Genma whooped and laughed. And had Harry ever smiled in this form before? He didn't think so because his face felt so strange because beaks can't shift into smiles, can they? It seems that they can.

Just outside the gate Kakashi asked him to land and so of course he did.

(Careful, so very careful not to step on anything or anyone because Genma had told him a bit about Konoha and this was their home and Harry literally could not mess this up. Couldn't because how could he bear that endlessly stretching loneliness of Hiroto forever?)

The gates were high, for human gates, but Harry was higher and had a good view of the city – village - from where he stood.

He lay down, allowing the ninja to slide from his back easily, and allowing himself to peak through those doors like a diorama. And there was something nice about that thought – about that feeling and the way those gate guards at their desks gawked and blinked and then smiled at him like a friend. (Because he was a giant creature that he was sure they never could have seen before, some sort of mixture between griffin and dragon and phoenix and as tall as a large building but those tiny humans smiled at him from their desks none-the-less.)

"Konoha seems nice." Harry said, something stunned in his voice.

"I'd ask you to come in, but I think that might be a somewhat of a challenge." Genma replied, and even if he sounded almost flippant, his eyes were shadowed with something both warm and sad.

"Not as much as you think." Harry answered, but he didn't change – because his human form was weak and vulnerable and tiny and he wasn't sure if he could bear this largeness in his chest while being so small.

Kakashi shot him that look – that careful one filled with too many hidden things. "What do you mean?"

Hiroto shrugged in response; "I don't always look like this."

Genma lay a hand on his flank and brushed the soft, lion fur. "What else could you look like?"

"Something bony and small and naked." Harry answered, truthfully, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Like what, exactly?" Kakashi pushed – with that soft voice that he only used when he thought something might break if he added more force to it.

Hesitantly, Harry answered because he could never not answer that tone of Kakashi, not while a part of him was Harry.

"Somewhat like you."

"You can look human?" the dark-haired ninja sounded stunned. Of course he was, because that was not normal. He was never normal.

"I." Harry stumbled on his words, as lost as someone stumbling around in the dark. "I." Because at one point he was, but was he now? He wasn't sure. And how could he be sure? "I was." He finally answered, the words tumbling out like a scared kitten.

"Could you show me?" Kakashi asked all soft and soothing and there, and Hiroto wasn't sure, but Harry wanted to - ached with the want and need, not because he missed being human, not because he wanted that form, but because it would allow him to really look these men in the eyes, to walk besides them as one of them and wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't that be good?

Or would it be a lie? Would it be another world of bits and pieces of loyalty and love thrown at him like scraps to feed the good little dog and keep it tame? He didn't know, didn't know at all but he wanted.

"Well, hello." Genma managed, blinking at the young man so suddenly in front of him. A silent moment of assessment between them and Harry realized that he was short. He had to look up to meet Genma's eyes and that was just wrong, because how can he shelter this man beneath his wings when he was so tiny?

Genma cleared his throat and carefully asked; "So who are you?"

"Harry, my name was Harry." He said with a lostness in his voice that was impossible to suppress in this form (so soft and vulnerable and open and small).

Kakashi was even more gentle in his silence - as the white-haired man carefully took one of his hands.

A moment of stillness, of silence and Harry couldn't help but look, look in that one eye and feel himself balanced on the edge of something - and if he fell, he would break, he was certain - he would fall and break and this form was too small, too vulnerable, too easy to tear apart.

"Please." He whispered, fear and hope and pain and alone all wrapped around it like wings.

Genma lay a hand on his head, not as fluffy as a lion's fur, but the caress was just as tender.

A tug on his hand and together they passed the towering gates.

(Led like a lamb towards the slaughter, Hiroto whispered in his mind - reminding him of weapons wielded by uncaring hands, always for the greater good.)

(Loyalty - Harry answered with desperation. Loyalty or empty spaces of hollow and alone. And he was determined to hold on even more tightly this time, so tightly that they couldn't slip away, that he couldn't slip away, because that emptiness was endless and could devour people and creatures bigger than himself.)

A.N. Ok, so a bit strange and train of consciousness and who knows what. But I needed to write something and this is what spew itself across my screen. On the other hand, I did end up putting it in a one-shot instead of a collection of drabbles so there's that.

Might be more to come - Because I'm unpredictable like that... I just never know if the story is really done or if my imagination gets sparked again.

This story was going to be Harry as a kick-ass summons, but somehow the story just went this way and stopped here, maybe. I hate it when my stories run away with me. Well, that's not true, actually. It's fine.

Supposedly Hiroto is a combination of hiro 'large, great' and to 'soar, fly'. But then, that's just what internet tells me.

Now I just need to find some pretty coverart. I'm not up to drawing a griffin/dragon/phoenix hybrid so... google a picture of Kakashi? Meh...