A/N: -glares at korrd-
This is all your fault. If you hadn't sent all those PM's asking for a Harry/Kenshin crossover, this never would have happened. Now I have this, Digimon 00, Card Captor Harry, Uzumaki Naruto, Raven, and Dark Heart to worry about! You realize how many fics I'm working on all at the same time?
-grumbles off, muttering under his breath…-
Raikiri Triken: The Three Souls Swordsman
by Shadow Crystal Mage
Chapter 1: Snakes and Schizophrenic Swords-Wizards
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, or anyone else that anyone would recognize. Please don't sue me.
Orochimaru smirked as his cousin grumbled under his breath, pacing all around the room he had given him in the Hidden Village of Sound. "Told you it was a bad idea."
"Shut up, Orochimaru," Voldemort said.
"'We have immortality', I told you. 'Wait a while', I told you. 'Bide your time', I told you. 'Just live until all your major competition is dead of old age', I told you. Remember any of that?" Orochimaru said gleefully.
"Shut UP, Orochimaru," Voldemort said.
"So instead, you provoke the Wizarding World into open warfare, motivate the person who's suppose to be the one to kill you to want to kill you, and nearly get killed by a seventeen year old in a rather spectacular fashion because all but one of your precious horcruxes have been destroyed, loosing the army and nearly all support you've been able to gather in one fell swoop, just because you thought it was safe to raid your old school since your old teacher was supposedly dead. Now, nearly the whole world thinks your dead, and all you've got is your wand, what little you've been able to hoard away, a horcrux, and me, your dear cousin, who might, or might not, decide to help you," Orochimaru finished, sounding and feeling very smug.
The snake sannin idly dodged the curse. "You know, if you want my help, cousin, cursing me- literally and figuratively, is not a good idea."
"As you just said, I've lost nearly everything," Voldemort hissed. "Excuse me for being a tad wound up."
Orochimaru sighed. "Typical Tom. You're missing the bigger picture."
"What bigger picture?"
"Everyone thinks you're dead. Really dead. After all, all your horcruxes are supposedly gone. So they won't be expecting you coming back."
Voldemort paused. An evil grin began to spread over his face…
The boy sighed. This was what, the eighth time this month? At this point, it was more of an annoyance than a threat. Even if the bandits did look more scarred than Mad-Eye Moody.
He could hear the most murderous of his psyches yelling out for blood, to cut down these weaklings where they stood and be done with it, but his more reasonable spirit suggested maybe reasoning with them, so that maybe they could get out of this without anyone getting killed.
He opted for option two. The third of his psyches was, as usual, silent. He seldom spoke, except during a fight, and late at night when the other two were feeling philosophical about things other than the nature of power and the role of the strong. It was a pity, since of the three, the third one was the one closest to him in mindset.
As if on automatic, the boy heard himself trying to diffuse the situation, and he knew that it was the second personality talking. He was making yet another 'lets-not-fight-why-can't-we-be-friends' speech, which the first persona was sneering at yet again, and which the boy himself was finding a little repetitive. Privately, he was counting down how long before the bandits who'd ambushed him would attack, unconsciously setting his feet apart in a ready stance he'd picked up from the three.
Inside, he heard the second personality sigh and do the equivalent of a shrug as the bandits approach, knives, swords and other pointy-slashy-edgy implements of pain held at the ready. Sighing himself, the boy put his hand on his sakabatou…
About twenty seconds later, the boy was walking away, his sword already sheathed. Behind him, the bandits were still standing in the poses they'd been a while ago, as if paused, before slowly collapsing to the ground, all unconscious, and all with only a few bruises. When they'd come to in a few ours, all they'd remember was a thin boy with long dark hair, and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, before darkness stole their minds and memories.
And thus, the legend of the Raikiri Battōsai was born, spread on wings of fear and awe…
You're pathetic, Shishio said lazily as he did the spirit equivalent of lounging around.
Shut UP, bandages, Harry thought at the arguably insane and evil dead swordsman.
The nut as usual ignored him, continuing on with monologue number fifteen. You had them at your mercy. The techniques, skills, power and knowledge of three of the most powerful swordsmen of their time reside in your head, and you leave little weaklings like them alive? Are you soft in the head, or something?
Don't listen to him, Harry-kun, Kenshin said, leveling Shishio with the spirit equivalent of a glare. You did the right thing.
Oh, please, Shishio said, and by his tone, wanted to roll his eyes. Sōjirō, help me out here!
Sōjirō, as usual, tried to stay neutral, forced as he was between the opposing veiwpoints of his two inspirations. Your form is getting better, Harry-kun, although you're still a little slow. Your speed is steadily approaching the levels ours were at our peak, and…
Are you listening to me, Sōjirō? Shishio screamed.
Leave him alone! Kenshin said, and the two degenrated into pointless bickering that Harry managed to ignore, pushing them into the back of the psyche, as he listened to Sōjirō's analysis of how the fight had gone…
The whole Wizarding world was happy, and why shouldn't it? After all, Voldemort was finally dead! Killed by the Chosen One, no less, the Boy-Who-Lived. There had been many witnesses, so there could be little doubt. In short order, the Ministry, under the new Minister for Magic Arthur Weasley, had more or less flushed it's system of corruption, accounted for every single Death Eater and, with the help of a new spell created by Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood, were hunting down and killing Dementors left and right. Morale was the highest it has ever been in years, and it was all thanks to Harry Potter.
Disturbingly, though, only a select few knew he'd practically disappeared off the face of the planet.
Hermione Granger was one of the select few, and she was currently doing her equivalent of moving Heaven, hell and Earth to find him. Or at least, some indicator of where he was. At the moment, she was backtracking, going through official records to account for his activities.
She was fairly certain she'd tracked him down to a known Wizarding town in Japan, but that was where the trail had ended. Privately, she wished Percy were still here to help, but he had died defending the Ministry from a siege of Death Eaters. She could have really used his knowledge of foreign matters.
Few knew that Harry was firmly convinced that Voldemort was still alive, and every single one of them were keeping a firm lid on it. He did not need any more pity. If the Wizarding World started thinking their hero had become unhinged…
Firmly squashing that thought, Hermione kept on researching. She of all people knew better than to judge anything Harry said, since he was usually close enough to home, but the implications of doing so were frightening. Because it meant that everything wasn't over yet.
Swallowing, Hermione sent a silent prayer up above, hoping the boy she loved was alright…
Ginny stared out the window, watching the rain as it made streaks down the glass. She knew she was all alone in the Burrow. Her mother was with her father, attending some official Ministry function or other. Ron was on a date with Luna at said function, and the twins were busy making sure the memorial to Percy would be completed on schedule for tomorrow. His death had hit them hardest, harder than it had hit their mother, surprising as that was.
She drew Harry's Invisibility Cloak around herself as she hugged the pillow she was holding, inhaling the scent that had somehow sank into the fabric. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was Harry enfolding her in an embrace as she held Hermione in her arms. Sadly, the older Gryffindor girl was spending another late night going through records looking for their Harry, so she was alone again that night.
How could he have left them? Didn't he realize they needed him? How could he? How?
Silently, Ginny stared out the window, the water streaming down the panes as tears flowed down her cheeks…
- To be continued...
A/N: There, the first chap is done.
Don't think you're getting off so easy for making me write, korrd! From now on, I want really long reviews on all my fics from you! It's only fair! Oh, yeah, I'm not sure which sword Sōjirō broke in his fight with Kenshin, whether it's the Nagasone Kotetsu or the Kikuichimonji Norimune. Tell me which, will you? If only for the need for accuraccy…
That done, why did I do it like this? Simple. I think time-travel fics, and time travel stories in general, are really weak (of course, that's just the limited ones I've seen, so I'm slightly biased), unless it's done very well, like the Back to the Future series, or Foxie-sama's fic, For The Love of My Friends. Besides, this was more fun! I got the idea from a fic I read once in the now-defunct Crossover Corner, where Ranma gets a hold of a haunted sword that possesses his girl side, which sent him in time and sets him against Kenshin. This is a modified form of that idea. Kudos to that fic's writer, apologies that I can't remember your name.
Where the swords and stuff came from will be discussed in later chaps. If you'll notice, I don't explain much in my pilot fics, merely setting up the situation for the later insanity.
Please review, C&C welcome. Heck, even flames are welcome. That means at least it's being read, if not liked. Just nothing, absolutely NOTHING on the pairings, implied or otherwise.
Until next time, this is Shadow, signing off. I have to go research on three sets of special attacks, not to mention do my other fics…