Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Dragon Ball Z. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Akira Toriyama, respectively (Plus some other organisations and companies).

Title: VENI VIDI

Summary: HP/DBZ crossover. What if Harry was a spectator at the World Martial Arts Tournament?

A/N: This will not be a long story.

I wanted to write something . . . different. I have never actually read a DBZ/HP crossover, or any crossover, really, that has explored a main character from either universe just sitting, observing, and offering the reader an internal monologue ― something along the lines of possibly being amazed at what they are seeing. The World Martial Arts Tournament, therefore, seemed the perfect excuse to do that.

xxxxx

Chapter One: Versus

His magic had been randomly exploding in almost embarrassing outbursts ever since he'd first landed in this dimension. He didn't quite know why or, to be more precise, how, except that the laws of physics were very different here. Since he didn't much know about the laws of physics (in this world or otherwise), Harry couldn't exactly whip out a notepad and sort everything out.

Three months now.

Three months of having to deal with shattered windows, cracked ceilings, spontaneous furniture combustion, and a surrounding environment (commonly green and healthy) that sometimes changed colour, depending on his mood.

One time Harry had sneezed due to a healthy dose of pepper on his stake and baked potatoes. His hotel manager (plus the rest of the several hundred or so guests eating in the dining room) had been shocked and perplexed upon discovering that all the dishes, chopsticks, and assorted drink containers had suddenly decided to jump off tables, spattering food and drink everywhere. It was a sight to see that bald, portly man running after the rolling, jumping, skipping, shattering crockery. It was a sight to see all the guests with their eyes popping and throats choking.

People in this dimension, Harry had discovered, were easily shocked.

And a little odd.

After that, Harry had tripled his occlumency shields.

Now, everything was almost all right.

Almost.

His still had the occasional slip.

Like just now.

Where he'd accidentally exploded all the cameras on account of the fact that he'd tripped over somebody's expensive shoe.

"Bugger," he muttered, though he felt something was off about the incident. "Oh, excuse me, Ma'am. Are you hurt?"

"What a delicious accent. Tell us, are you going to be fighting today?"

Harry blinked as a large microphone was shoved into his face. The reporter, with her blonde wavy hair, large eyes, shiny lipstick, and perpetually enthusiastic smirk had, for a moment, reminded him of a younger-looking Rita Skeeter.

"No," he told her bluntly.

It was her turn to blink.

"I'm just a spectator."

She lost interest immediately and walked away, waving to her cameraman, who was busy gaping at the broken lens, to follow.

Harry felt the urge to point his wand and discreetly trip her, but felt that too petty a prank to attempt, seeing as he had the advantage. He turned back to watching the auditions instead.

The fighters, some of whom were impossibly large, had to punch a round, red, thick, mattress . . . thing, in order to be able to enter the competition. So far, some had punched to phenomenal numbers ― one short bloke even going so far as to break the thing and spatter it into a wall fifty meters away.

Something a normal person could not do.

Ever.

This time Harry had found himself, along with everyone else, also gaping.

When he realised this he promptly shut his mouth.

Obviously, the surly gravity-defying haired man had access to this dimension's version of magic. Harry reminded himself that he could perform the same feat if he used his wand. So, he told himself, he had nothing to gape over.

Ten minutes past and Harry lost interest in watching the punching. He wandered out of the congregated crowd and onto a milling path, knowing that the Junior Competition was about to start soon. Although the camera incident still gnawed, persistently, at his brain, he told himself to forget it. Yes, those carrying cameras had noticed, but everyone else appeared unconcerned so why should Harry be?

He was startled to note that he was walking behind the same people who had punched those phenomenal numbers. In fact, he was striding only a couple of steps behind the short, surly man.

He could hardly help but listen.

"Android Eighteen!" one of the taller men screamed. He also had extraordinary hair. "Don't tell me the androids have been ravaging the planet while I've been dead!"

Harry allowed his head to turn slightly, then blinked.

A very, very attractive woman with veela blonde hair walked past the big man, flicking that hair as she went.

"Spare me," she drawled.

Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Snape.

A prickle, an edge, something prodded at his neck, urging him to respond.

He was being stared at.

He looked.

A tall muscular green man with house elf ears (also part of the strange group) was staring at him, sweating, and frowning.

Harry stared back.

The man blinked, lip twitching, and sweated some more. Then he looked ahead. At the corner of his eye, Harry noted the man's clenched fists.

The wizard slowed, letting the group go on, then walked again.

His mind, as well as his feet, was beginning to wander, and he couldn't afford to let that happen. Not when magic users, as powerful as what he suspected this group to be, were so close to him.

He had recently discovered that becoming invisible was a great comfort to him in an alien world with its alien customs, alien technology, and alien people. He'd been shocked to see a Tiger Man (as Harry had dubbed him out shopping once, and a Bear Man selling used cars across the street from Harry's hotel.

Yet, they were called human and had human emotions. Perhaps, Harry had thought, while trying not to stare too hard at the Tiger Man's sharp claws, they had mutated?

Harry, however, did not become invisible now. No, he had bought a ticket and was going to sit in the preordained seat. After months of agonisingly trying to find a way back home, he had finally decided to enjoy himself and all this dimension had to offer.

Which was fighting.

People here were mental about fighting. Everything was martial arts this, boxing that.

It was, Harry reflected, very like Asian culture back in his own dimension (they even used chopsticks), except that people had mixed features and unnatural hair colours.

So Harry, in a moment of frustrated pique, had abandoned his dimension-hopping attempts and gone to the World Martial Arts Tournament.

Where he was now.

Walking.

He rather thought he should be sitting.

xxxxx

He had purchased a hot dog with tomato sauce and that sauce now dribbled from the bottom of the bun and onto his lap.

He was about to wave his hand and erase the stain when a napkin was thrust in front of his nose. Harry accepted it and thanked the previous napkin's owner, a blue-haired woman in a tight red dress who sat in the seat beside his.

She flapped a hand. "Oh, no trouble. So, who are you supporting today?"

Harry reflected that this was the second time that day that something unwanted had been pushed into his face. Then he recalled the question. "No one in particular."

"Huh?" She blinked. "You've gotta be supporting someone."

Harry reflected that this was the millionth time that day that he'd been chatted to as if he'd known everyone and as if everyone had known him. "Actually," he tried "I did hear something about that Hercule chap being the best in the world . . ." he trailed off as the woman sniggered.

"Oh no," she said, looking at him. "Don't think I'm laughing at you. Hercule is just . . ." it was her turn to trail off.

Harry suddenly had an epiphany, and it came about when he asked himself just why the woman was being so chatty. "Who are you supporting, then?"

She blushed and giggled and fiddled with her short hair, something which Harry associated only with teenage girl behaviour. "Both my little Trunks and my husband are fighting in the Tournament today. So I guess it's pretty obvious."

"Right," Harry said. "Congratulations, Ma'am."

The woman must have been expecting more of an answer from him, because she stared.

Harry turned back to his hot dog.

"I'm Bulma, by the way. Bulma Briefs."

Mentally, Harry sighed. Outwardly, he shook the offered hand. "Harry Potter."

It was as though Harry had given her permission. Within the next minute, he was promptly introduced to all her companions.

He learned that Chi Chi's husband was also fighting, as were both her sons. Little Marron's father was to be competing as well. The old man with the dark sunglass whose name Harry had forgotten "hmmed" upon being introduced to him.

Harry had never been "hmmed" before, and found it slightly disconcerting, especially as he was trying to be inconspicuous.

The pig, the floating cat, and the scarred man payed scarce attention to him.

xxxxx