AN: I don't even know why I wrote another story. This one probably won't be as frequently updated as my other ones, if I even continue it. I just had to get the plot bunny out. I guess I'll see how you guys like it before I decide on what to do.

I know nothing about Japan except for what I learned when I visited there this summer.

The Lesser Sanctuary
Chapter One

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers

Harry didn't notice he was being followed for a whole five minutes. That, in itself, was impressive, considering he was probably the twitchiest civilian in Konoha. Not that he really was a civilian, but no one was supposed to know that.

He lived in the lower middle-class part of town. He supposed he could afford better, but people were too preoccupied with the daily grind to pay attention to a young man with an awkward smile and slightly foreign accent. After the whole demon thing a few years ago, they couldn't afford to be picky about extra money or help, of which he had plenty to offer.

Harry worked in the hospital as a medic. It wasn't what he'd ever thought he would do, but it seemed he had steady hands and an innate talent for it. Maybe it was a way to atone for the deaths he had caused. His colleagues thought he was quiet and kind, perpetually elusive, and a hard worker. Some of the nurses thought he was cute. A shame. He avoided all social interaction like the plague.

Every day, he took the long way to work. It consisted of four different routes that he took by random and added anywhere between half an hour to an hour's worth of total travel to his day. He didn't mind the exercise. As he always took the morning shifts, he could watch the city wake up around him—the windows opening, yawning children being bustled out to school, merchants opening up their wares. The sweet smell of fresh bread mixed with dirt and the scent of future rain.

That's when he realized he was being followed.

He caught a glimpse of his little stalker on a newly washed storefront window. A kid, maybe five, probably four. Dirty blonde hair. Wide, startled eyes. A muffled squeak. Harry suppressed a smirk. You're good, kid, but not that good just yet.

Harry paused by a fruit stand, guarded by a toothless old woman who liked to haggle almost as much as she liked to pinch his cheeks. "How much for three?" he asked with a smile. When she told him the price, he nodded and fished out his wallet, then picked an apple, a pear, and an orange.

He walked into an alley, sat down on a plastic bin, and said, "You might as well come out now."

A big blue eye peeked out from the overturned garbage can a few feet away. The kid quickly climbed out, brushing the assortment of garbage and rotting fruit off his dirty clothes like that had been his intention all along.

"Haha, mister, you're pretty good!" he said in a too-loud, exuberant voice. Harry winced when it drew more attention. "Not many people are able to spot me, the great Uzumaki Naruto!"

When Harry stood up, the smile faltered and he flinched like he was expecting to be hit, but when he slowly lowered his arms he saw Harry crouched at eye level in front of him, smiling and holding out the fruit.

"So that's your name, huh?" he mused. "Uzumaki Naruto."

The kid eyed his hands uncertainly. He tried to put on that cheerful mask again (but Harry had not learned to lie to trained assassins for years about his identity for nothing). "Yeah, that's me! And don't you forget it."

"I'm sure I won't, Naruto-chan." He put the paper bag at Naruto's feet and ruffled the boy's dirty hair. He squawked indignantly.

"Don't call me that, mister!... Is that... for me?"

Harry carefully rearranged his features so that no pity would show. "Of course."

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck. "I... uh..." He seemed to be at a loss for words, so Harry put him out of his misery with another gentle smile and stood up to leave. He made it to the end of the alley before a hesitant voice hollered behind him, "Hey, mister! What's your name?"

He turned back. For a moment, he almost told him his real name, but bit his tongue. It was irrational to wish he could. "Hikaru. And don't you forget it."

Then he was gone, replaced by displaced sunshine. Naruto hugged the paper bag to his chest, staring after him and wondering if he had been a figment of his imagination. But, no. The fruit was still there.

The apple was the sweetest he ever tasted.

"Hikaru," he murmured quietly to himself, sucking fruit juice from his fingers. It had a heady, pungent aroma that was punctuated by the grit of dirt beneath his nails. Hikaru. He committed the name to memory. He wouldn't ever forget.

Two days, three surgeries, and a fourteen hour shift later, there was a shock of blonde hair poking out from behind a lamppost. Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"You know, the whole point of hiding is that I can't see you."

Naruto peeked out from the side with a grin. "Hikaru! You're here! I've been waiting aaaaall day come on come onnn—" He grabbed Harry's hand and tugged with all his might. Unfortunately, he was four and Harry was twenty one, and even if he was never going to be Hagrid, years of fighting for his life had built up some muscle. He didn't budge.

"...Naruto," he said. "It's ten pm."

"So?"

"So, I'm walking you home."

"I don't wanna go home!" After another moment of sulking, he scuffed the ground with one foot sullenly. "There ain't much to do there anyway."

"Your parents will be worried."

This time, he looked away. "I got no parents," he said, pretending not to care, even though his voice faltered.

"I'm sorry."

"'S not your fault."

(Red eyes, nine tails, blonde man. Harry winced and tried to push down the guilt.)

"Is there someone that takes care of you, then?"

"We-ell, Jiji sends someone to do the cooking and stuff sometimes, but she doesn't always..." he broke off and shook his head. "S'okay. I can take care of myself."

He pressed his lips together but saw that Naruto did not want to talk about it. "Okay," he said gently. One step at a time. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked... maybe he was just jumping to conclusions. He had too much of a bleeding heart, which even death could not cure. "I'll walk you home anyway."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement. He snapped his head to the side, eyes narrowed, but there was nothing. Only a tickle.

Naruto was tugging on his hand. "C'mon, this way."

Harry threw one last glance at the narrow hedge of bushes and followed. The streets were almost deserted. Ninjas (and wasn't that a surprise when he first landed in this world?) occasionally passed by on rooftops. They were fast, and Harry couldn't quite pick them out with his eyes unless he enhanced them with his magic, but he didn't need sight to know when something was there. Just like he knew there was someone watching them now.

Of course it could be any multitude of people. Some civilians passing them from the other side of the road kept giving them odd looks. Surreptitiously, he checked his reflection in a window. Did he forget to change clothes? No, he was fine. No blood on his face either. What was with all the staring?

"Here," said Naruto, and led him into a back alley. Harry could feel his eyebrows creeping upwards, threatening to disappear into his hairline. Hidden by refuse, there was a rusting metal ladder that led up the crumbling brick wall (scrawled with profanity and stained with suspicious fluids; this was the red lights district, after all, even if it was at the very border of it). Naruto was able to get up easily, but it creaked ominously under Harry's weight. He pushed himself onto the roof. Across a couple buildings, Naruto was opening a window from the outside. He looked backward at Harry and grinned. "C'mon."

He leaped in. After a few seconds, the lights turned on. Harry followed, though less gracefully. He closed the window behind him and locked it, then shut the curtains.

The room was a mess. The paint was peeling to reveal the brick and drywall beneath, there were yellow water stains on the walls and ceiling, and it stank. Instant ramen containers were scattered over the floor until it seemed to create a kind of white carpet. It came halfway up his shin and he could swear something was nibbling on his toes. The sink was stacked with dirty plates, some of which were drowning in murky grey dishwater and accumulating an interesting colony of mold. Harry didn't even know mold could be red and purple. The fridge didn't work (there was only a sad, rotting apple in there anyway), and neither did the hot water. When Harry opened up the tap the water went brown for half a minute before it turned a suspicious translucent yellow.

There was only one lightbulb, and it flickered halfheartedly. He was sure there were a few rats and cockroaches around. They irritated his nose and he could hear them scuttling.

Naruto was anxiously awaiting his opinion.

"It's... lovely, Naruto-chan."

Not his best lie, but the blonde boy beamed up at him, greatly relieved, and Harry didn't have the heart to ask why he lived in such a filthy, decrepit place. No wonder he didn't want to go home. This place was worse than the cupboard.

Harry didn't have to question why Naruto went through the window instead of the front door. They were several stories up; probably on the fifth or sixth level. The door was bolted shut with iron padlocks (three of them) and metal chain intercrossing the door from either side, tightened on hoops. It reminded Harry of a grotesque corset. The wall the iron rings were driven into were cracked and they were leaning towards each other. The door itself was slightly indented. He could feel his blood run cold. This was meant to keep people out, not in. And many people, it seemed.

Troubled, Harry bade Naruto a distracted farewell and climbed out the window. He wandered around the streets for a while before returning home. In comparison, his dingy flat was practically a mansion. He was bone-tired but unable to sleep. He lay in his bed in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't just... let a kid live in those conditions. But he wasn't exactly able to take care of him either. Not to mention they'd just met. It was best to put it out of his mind for now.

And yet...

He saw Naruto again in the morning, waiting for him near the alley they'd first met. And the morning after that. And the one after that. Soon, Harry found himself pausing there and waiting for a small hand to slip into his before continuing on with his journey.

Harry would be the first to admit that he wasn't the most observant person around. For example, he didn't realize Ginny Weasley had a massive crush on him until she cornered him in an empty classroom one day and landed a big wet kiss on his lips. He could have reacted better to that. He honestly had not known of her infatuation, even though everyone else and their dog had.

But he wasn't blind. He could tell people kept staring at him when he was with Naruto. It wasn't the awed, friendly kind of look, either. It was as if Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had spontaneously learned how to dimension hop, multiply infinitely, and henge. Once, when he was alone, a lady in a plain muslin dress pulled him aside and said in a quick, whispered voice, "You don't want to be seen with him." The last word was said with a taste of loathing.

Harry blinked innocently, slowly. "Who?"

She scowled. "The demon boy."

The freak.

"Who?"

"Uzumaki!"

He smiled, then. It wasn't a pretty expression—it was the one he saved for Death Eaters, the one that showed the not-all-there gleam in his eyes when he let himself go. She flinched away, her tight grip on his forearm dropping. She took several steps back.

"That," he said. "Is none of your concern."

Still, the sheer animosity disturbed him. What had he done to her? Naruto seemed to be the village pariah. He couldn't understand why. (A voice in his head whispered bitterly: they locked you up because they were scared. It doesn't have to be a good reason, or a reason at all.)

Their hostility spilled over to times when Naruto was there, as well. A hissed word. Someone spitting at their feet. Harry could feel that dangerous smile creeping over his face, his eyes hard and cold as steel. Naruto flinched into his torso when someone snarled something too fast for him to hear, and when he tried to move away Harry kept him there with one arm, as though to shield him from their caustic hatred. He didn't know the kid well, but he seemed genuinely innocent and sweet. He was missing something crucial; a piece of information they knew but he didn't.

Gradually, the people of the slums no longer treated Harry the same way either. The old lady who pinched cheeks no longer sold her fruit to him. The baker gave him the hardest loaves. Mothers would draw their children away when he passed. He didn't really care. He wasn't here to make friends.

His goal was to find a way home. He needed to go back. But it was looking less and less likely by the day. He wondered if time passed the same way—if his friends were even alive, with Voldemort still on the loose. He wondered if it even mattered anymore. Then he would scold himself and pinch himself.

He wasn't here to make friends. He wasn't here to be a doctor. He wasn't here to protect orphans.

That was what he reassured himself with.

There was someone watching him. No one else seemed to see the silent figure in the shadows. Maybe he wasn't supposed to either.

He knew, as the blank eyeholes in its mask fixed on him, that it was here for him. His magic pulsed beneath his fingers in reassurance. He was trying to keep it a secret, but if they attacked him he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself. He wasn't weak anymore.

He waved to it as he passed.

"What do you know about Uzumaki Naruto?" Harry asked casually.

It seemed like a long shot, but this was the only civilian hospital in Konoha and anyway, they all seemed to know something he didn't. He was elbow deep in a patient's guts —they were doing another surgery— and his fellow doctor, Takeshi, looked at him sharply.

"Can't say I've heard of him." Harry rolled his eyes even though the other couldn't see. "Why are you asking?"

"I've seen him wandering around a few times," he lied. "I pass him when I walk to work sometimes and I noticed that everyone seems to... dislike him, for some reason."

"I can't say," Takeshi said, but the way he stressed can't made Harry think of legal ramifications. "But I can give you a piece of advice: stay away from him."

That was the end of their conversation.

Stay away from him.

Harry peeled the bloody gloves off his hands, lost in thought.

Stay away from him.

Well, what fun were rules if they were not meant to be broken?

A prickling on the back of his neck. Eyes—there.

A flash of porcelain, black cloth.

A ninja?

"—I really am sorry to ask this of you, Hikaru-san..."

Harry sighed and ran one hand through his hair, making it stick up stubbornly. He repressed a yawn. "It's fine," he said. "Go on, the baby won't wait."

It was six pm and he'd been here since six am. It seemed he would be here for another six. At least they didn't get many patients at night. By the window, Harry could make out faint orange lights in the heart of town, could hear the distant clamours of some kind of festival. Faint chanting, cheering. Fireworks. Harry squinted and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was hallucinating. He felt like he was this close to having an out of body experience.

"What's going on?"

"It's the Great Autumn Festival today," the receptionist, a kind lady named Inoue, pointed out mildly.

"Aha... I forgot."

October 10th. The Kyuubi festival.

It was the anniversary of his arrival in Konoha.

Red eyes, red hair, nine tails. A toad, a man—no. Not now. Not ever.

The hours passed with agonizing slowness. Thankfully, no one came in except for a bawling boy who had somehow gotten a wooden pole jammed through his hand. His harried mother said they were playing some kind of wannabe-ninja game.

At eleven fifty pm, Harry stumbled around his office like a drunk and collected his coat. "Don't expect to see me for another five days," he called to Inoue as he left.

He took the shortest route home. For the first time he was glad his brain was too numb to think. The world was too thick and loud and made his head hurt. He could hear people shouting.

"—no Harry, don't!"

Green light. A black cloaked figure. A train.

The broken tracks.

"Harry, no!"

"It's up to you now, Neville... get Nagini. Keep them safe."

"Kill him!"

Harry blinked sluggishly. That was way too loud to be part of his imagination.

It wasn't.

They were in the middle of the street.

There was a group of men huddled on one side. At first glance it was impossible to determine how many there were, but he estimated around twenty or so, enough to spill onto the other side of the road and block off the street altogether. They seemed to be drunk, in various states of undress, and a few were holding baseball bats or newspapers or broken glass bottles.

The sound of breaking glass on something hard. A pain-filled scream.

Harry stiffened. All sleepiness was out of his system in an instant, replaced instead with slow, suffusing rage. He'd recognized the voice.

"...what," he said in a quiet, icy voice that carried to the men. "...is going on here?"

A few on the peripherals of the crowd turned to face him, but most didn't pay attention until Harry reached forward with one hand, formed into a claw, and ripped it through the air, feeling white-hot energy burn through his arm and explode outwards, slamming into them and tearing them off the ground. Many hit the buildings on the other side with a loud yell.

There was someone watching them. He blended into the shadows so well even Harry almost passed him by. The air seemed to shimmer over his body as if it were a mirage.

There was a slumped, bloody figure curled in the corner.

Harry took a shaky breath.

"Hey, what're you doin'!" One of the drunks was getting to his feet, looking rather indignant. Harry turned to him slowly.

"What are you doing?"

"Teachin'm a lessn!"

"I...see."

So Harry took out his anger on him instead. The arc of lightning caught him in the chest and blew him backwards, his heels skidding on the ground until he bashed his head against the concrete road as he fell. Blood pooled out; he did not move.

Harry knelt by Naruto's side. "Naru-chan?" he said quietly. "You okay?"

The boy whimpered and groped blindly for Harry's hand. He let him take it, then with careful movements lifted him into his arms. Naruto's small fists closed around his shirt so tight Harry thought it would tear. He turned around to glare at the remaining crowd.

"I will rip you apart if I see you again," he told them, then smiled and dipped his head respectfully. "Good night."

He walked home as quickly as he could without jarring Naruto's injuries. He was covered in blood, but before his eyes, they were sealing up into scabs and disappearing into a faint, silvery white line. At one point, Naruto deliriously scratched at Harry's collarbone, smearing his blood over his neck and shoulders.

"Hikaarrruu...?"

"We're almost there."

"You heard meee," he slurred, sounding rather amazed. "I caalled for you..."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there sooner."

"But you're here now... aren't cha...?"

"I am."

Harry was never happier to see his crappy flat. He swept into the building, past the surprised and stuttering receptionist below, and took the stairs two at a time. When he got to the third floor, he cautiously juggled Naruto into one arm and fished for his keys. After several moments of blind fumbling he managed to get the door open.

"Can you stand?"

"Uh-huh."

Harry turned on the lights.

It looked even worse up close. He could feel himself grinding his teeth together. Naruto looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"'S not that bad," he muttered. "Looks worse than it is."

"Let's get you cleaned up first."

He steered Naruto into the bathroom.

"Can you manage?"

"Yeah." He sounded almost offended. Harry almost smiled.

"Call if you need anything. I'll get you some clothing that might fit a bit better." Well, he was actually going to just shrink some of his shirts to a decent size, but he wasn't going to say that.

Even though it was reaching two am, Harry opened the fridge and peered inside. Maybe a hot soup. He fished out some vegetables and wished he'd gotten groceries when he had the time. He closed the door with his foot.

Just then the shower stopped. Naruto stepped outside in a towel. Harry blinked at him in surprise.

"You can't possibly be done. That was one minute." He peered closer. "There's still blood on your hands."

Naruto flinched. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's not..." Harry sighed, then looked to the ceiling as he thought of another way to phrase his question. "Do you want to take a longer shower?"

"Can I?"

Harry did some mental calculations. "Yeah. I'm making some soup, so it won't be done for a bit anyway."

"Twenty minutes?" he voiced the time hesitantly, and seemed shocked when Harry nodded.

"Good idea. Take as long as you need."

The shower stopped exactly twenty minutes later, Harry noted with morbid amusement. He balanced a bowl of hot soup and some slightly-stale crackers on a tray and set it on a table. Naruto emerged wearing one of his magically-shrunk t-shirts.

"Hey, you're looking pretty good." He was careful to keep his voice gentle. "A long shower can do wonders. Once I sat in there for an hour and my friend Hermione had to drag me out. Want some soup? Here, I just made it."

Naruto took the spoon like he'd never seen one before. Instead of pressing him to eat, Harry began to talk, filling the silence with soothing, meaningless words, and ate his own bowl. After a minute, Naruto began to copy him. When he was halfway done, his eyelids began to droop.

"Why... why are you so nice to me?" he asked with a trembling voice. He was gripping his spoon so hard it probably hurt.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't... spit on me and say nasty things and call me a demon. You defend me and give me food and smiles and I..." His pleading gaze on Harry dissolved as he burst into tears. Harry swallowed. He could feel his heart give a funny clench as he bent down and carefully gathered the little boy to his chest. His hair was soft and spiky, covered in dirt. He was crying into Harry's shoulder. Maybe he wasn't meant to hear the last part but he did regardless. "I wish you had always been here."

"Do I need an excuse to act like a decent human being?"

"They're... they're not... when I'm Hokage they'll..." His fists tightened into Harry's shirt. "...they're saying bad things about you too, because of me... maybe you should..."

Harry waited until the sobs had subsided to quiet, faint hiccups, and said, "Do you want to hear a story, Naruto?"

The boy didn't lift his face from his shoulder but Harry felt him nod. He rubbed Naruto's back soothingly and kept his voice low and gentle.

"Once there was a boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. His parents were dead. He lived with his aunt and uncle, and they hated him. They kicked him around a lot, and spread nasty rumours, but when the boy was eleven he escaped them forever."

"How?" The question was muffled but made Harry smile. Carefully, he touched his wand, still strapped to his forearm.

"He was special, Naruto. His family was jealous of what he could do and tried to hurt him all his life, but he broke free. They were scared. He could do things with his mind—with his will. Once he breathed fire. Another time he set snakes on his fat cousin."

Naruto was suitably calmer now, and seemed rather enamoured with the story he was telling.

"Like jutsu?" he said eagerly.

"Ah, sort of like that, yes. Except it was something he inherited from his parents. He'd always been told they were no-good drunks, but they were the best people in the world. They'd died for him when he was a baby."

"What happened to him?"

He lost himself.

"He became a hero."

Naruto's eyes were wide. "Wow..." he breathed. "I wanna become a hero one day."

"You don't need to become a hero for the people who matter to care about you." His lips twisted wryly. If anything, they'll fight tooth and nail against it. "Always remember who you are. It's easy to forget that under the expectations of others. The villagers don't matter. They're petty and stupid and it will hurt, there is a part of you that will always hurt but know that there are people who care for you."

Harry pried the spoon out of Naruto's hand and led him to the guest room. "Good night, Naruto," he said. "Sleep well."

After ten minutes, the door creaked open again.

In the darkness, Naruto climbed into Harry's bed and wrapped cold little arms around his waist, burying a colder nose against his chest and nuzzling it sleepily. "I'm glad I met you, Karu-nii," he whispered, then fell asleep.

The boy from the cupboard lay awake in the darkness, remembering, living, breathing.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Naruto and adjusted them to a more comfortable position, then drew the covers over them both.

A blank-faced agent dropped a pile of pictures onto a steel table.

"A civilian?"

"No, Danzo-sama. It is impossible."

The man emerged from the shadows, one eye gleaming. He caught the report and scanned it. Whatever he saw seemed to please him greatly. He walked forward and gently put it down, then fixed his gaze on his agent with barely suppressed hunger.

"Tell me more."