Disclaimer: Obviously, nothing except the plot belongs to me.

Title: Roughhousing In the Playpen

Genre: Drama/Humor

Category: Eyeshield 21 x Harry Potter

Pairing: Unclear, up for grabs

Summary: A series of vignettes that explore what would happen if Harry Potter met the Eyeshield 21 cast.


Roughhousing In the Playpen

By: Falling Right Side-Up

Prompt: In which hell gets a new resident


It was hot. And the air conditioner was – not – working.

"Fucking useless!" Hiruma spat and delivered a hateful kick to the large external contraption sitting in his living room. "Reliable," the blond snarked in a mocking, simpering tone as he kicked again, "Guaranteed to make your home a - fucking - artic wonderland!"

Hanai Mizuri, newly promoted 29-year-old sales manager of "Excel Appliances" store, was a dead-man. He didn't know it yet, but the rather dangerous looking teen to whom he'd shoved off his 100th back-logged item was going to be out not just for his blood but his dignity, just as soon as the weather became bearable.

Hiruma threw up his hands with an aggravated shout, stomped to his kitchen while peeling off his black-wife beater and tossed it aside on a stool. With jerky, angry movements he made himself sugar-less iced tea and guzzled a quart before calming down just a smidgen. He gave an explosive sigh, the air ruffling the long, blond bangs drooping pathetically over his eyes.

Grabbing another pitcher of tea and a glass, he scooped up his laptop resting on the low table by the couch and made his way to the balcony, all the while glaring balefully from the corner of his eyes at the source of his ire. Hiruma would have riddled it with bullets if he thought for one second it would work.

Throwing himself into the lounge chair outside, he took a moment to savor what little breeze there was. In the corner of the balcony Cerberus was sprawled out in a half-doze, too over heated to do anything put pant with his dry tongue flopping out, the sound like a series of staccato-like wheezes.

The blond would have groaned, but such a sound of defeat was beneath him. Instead, he forced himself to sit up and work, his laptop displaying his plans of establishing an amefuto team at Deimon High. His plans for winning the Christmas Bowl were set back when Shinryuuji's door closed on Kurita.

"Fucking dreads!" he hissed, nearly banging on the keys. Muscle-bound God-shit just had to screw everything up. If not for him, Kurita, Hiruma and Musashi would have been accepted for sure. Now the blond demon had to start from scratch; new blackmail had to be gathered to secure Deimon under his iron control and then he had to train a fresh batch of players. God, what a hassle.

At least it was blissfully quiet, he thought as he worked. But that was to be expected since the entire apartment complex was devoid of any tenants except for the unscrupulous blond and his hell-hound. It was a nice property, but his usual behavior – "YA-HA! Kekekeke! Sic 'em, boy!" – was enough to deter any hopeful residents.

His more cautious, braver neighbors in the houses beside him had discreetly labeled 2453 Tendou Apartments the "Demon's lair" – the more cowardly ones already having moved far, far away – and dutifully informed all potential tenants of the mortal peril they would be bringing upon themselves if they dared reside there.

Hiruma, of course, knew of this; even encouraged it and was pleased that both the landowner and local real estate agent were still brimming with fear and foaming at the mouth with frustration. He still had enough dirt to bury their existence in ruin and despair if they moved against him.

So for now, he was confident that he had secured himself a refuge – a haven to him and a nightmarish manifestation of a circle of hell to others - from the spineless, fucking annoyances called people.

Which is why he was a bit slow to react to the foreign sound of a truck backing up – its cautionary 'beep, beep' sound breaking the silence – somewhere below him in the street. It wasn't until he heard a man's voice getting closer – too close to be a healthily informed person – that he realized something was happening.

"Okay. That's good. Bring the ramp down! Let's get the bigger stuff in first and take a break. It's getting too damn hot!"

Hiruma's ears twitched at the loud 'screee' of metal sliding on metal, and the 'thump' of the aforementioned ramp hitting the pavement. He tensed. Surely it couldn't be what he thought. No one was stupid enough to move in here.

"W-What are you doing here!" a strained voice squeaked. "You're s-supposed to come tomorrow! I told you to come tomorrow! Tomorrow!" Hiruma gripped the arm of his chair tightly, his suspicions rising. That was his landlord's voice: 56-year-old Yama Toushi, divorced, childless, and secretly indulging a shota-con complex.

"I'm sorry Yama-san, but the owner said he needed to move in today. Surely it's not that much trouble. You're moving out tonight, aren't you?" Came the confused yet placating reply of the unknown man. The blond suspected it was one of the workers for what he now knew to be a moving company.

"Noooo," old man Yama wailed, his heart palpitations practically audible in his voice. "I was supposed to be gone tonight! Stealthily! When he wasn't here!"

"He?"

"The Demon!" Yama half-hissed, half-shouted. The other man and his fellow workers laughed awkwardly, but said Demon was gratified to know Yama still had the fear of Hiruma Yoichi in him. For a moment, the landlord's unexpected insurrection had made the blond think he was losing his touch.

Hiruma smirked and swung himself up, walking to the edge of the balcony to look down at the scene. And there Yama was, a pitiful bald man, hunched over with paranoia yet stomping like a child in terrified anger. The workers, sweating like pigs in blue uniforms watched and tried to calm the old man down before he stroked, unaware of the very real danger they were in.

"Kekeke, time to spread the fear," Hiruma cackled quietly as he turned away. "C'mon Cerberus, let's go see what trash is moving in." He sauntered inside with his laptop, set it aside in favor of one of his many automatic guns, and then ambled out of his apartment, his loyal mutt following him with chuffing noises that sounded suspiciously like snickering.

Hiruma popped his gum while waiting for the elevator door to open at the first floor, innocuous music tinkling in the background. He stepped out after the metal doors opened with a cheerful 'ding' and slung his gun over his shoulder as he stepped stealthily around the corner to hear his still ranting landlord.

"It'll be okay! It has to be okay! I'm free! I'm free!" Yama shouted, wringing his hands.

"Free?" A mocking, haunting voice seemed to drift through the street. The landlord squealed in fright, and the moving workers tensed, a chill shuddering through them despite the sweltering heat of the sun.

Yama whimpered, his shoulders sagging as he turned around. And there, just around the corner of the apartment complex, the light of day seemed to disappear, sucked into a growing aura of dark, demonic purple and black energy. A head emerged, fixed with glowing green eyes, a mouth filled with beastly teeth set in a wide, menacing smile, and hands with spindly thin fingers and sharp nails peeked out from the corner.

It started quietly, and the workers held their breath, straining to hear what the landlord already knew was coming.

"…ku…ku..ku.."

Yama squeezed his eyes shut.

"…kue…kue…kue…"

"It's the Demon! The Demon!" the old man sobbed.

"…Ke…Ke…Ke…"

A strange growling sound began to rumble louder and louder, and they noticed a smaller creature - though no less terrifying - at the heels of the old man's demon. Then the demon sprang out fully, waving and firing an automatic rifle in the air, a hell-hound dancing at his feet, cackling with unholy glee.

"KEKEKEKE! Free, you'll never be free!" The demon, a blond teen with spiked hair and piercings, pointed a damning finger in Yama's direction. His bare chest gleamed with supernatural energy the workers thought – it was, in fact, sweat – and they attributed his paleness to his demonic nature, now fully repentant that they'd laughed at the old man.

"HIIII~!" Yama cowered before Hiruma, having fallen to his knees in fright. Even so, he showed defiance as he blurted out, "I-I am free! I am! I'm no longer the landlord! I sold the place! I have no power to decide who goes or stays!"

That actually made the blond teen pause, though Cerberus continued to nip at the workers' heels, making them yelp and scramble on top of the moving truck.

"You sold the apartment complex? To who?" Hiruma demanded sharply, shoving his gun into his former-landlord's face.

"Potter Harry!" Came the prompt answer.

"Fucking foreigner?" Hiruma drawled musingly to himself, but Yama answered anyways.

"Yes, British! Lives alone! Attends some prestigious academy! Works as a Physical therapist and – and he's rich! Oh, and a dog! A big one!" the old man continued to blurt at a rapid-pace. Hiruma listened with a strange smile; it was not often that a victim provided intel on another potential victim so readily, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Why did he buy this place?" the blond questioned.

"Um, h-he didn't really say. Just that he needed a place to live quickly but would prefer a place without a lot of residents, but that he didn't want a house…" Yama trailed off, peeking up towards his tormentor. Hiruma grunted, his expression pensive. He needed more infor-

"GRRRRRR," a rumbling growl, impressive given that it did not come from Hiruma's own mutt, vibrated the pavement he stood on. The blond paused mid-chew of his gum and turned to look at its source; a large, black creature loped down the street from previously non-existent shadows, white teeth gleaming.

"It's Potter-san's dog!" Yama screeched, causing said dog to whip its head in the old man's direction. "You see! You see! He's like you! He's got to be! With a dog like that! I mean, look at you! You have that monster! So, you see, I had no choice! No choice! I had to sell!"

Hiruma almost gaped at Yama's continued rambling. What the hell? The blond wondered. Even Cerberus and the workers were quiet, though Potter-san's dog continued to growl.

"He tried to fool me, I know! Just like you do! But I could tell, yes, I could! That he was a no good hooligan, a demon! Trying to act all normal and decent and kind! As if, with a dog like that! I'm smarter than that! I've learned from years of torment! But I sold it to him, because what better way to get away from you!" Yama ended in hysterical laughter, flopping to the ground in sudden silence.

Hiruma backed away from the prostrate former-landowner with uncharacteristic wariness. "Huh. I didn't expect that." He casually flipped open his cell and called an ambulance. He blackmailed people and caused them unspeakable torment, but he didn't make a habit of killing them or sending old men into cardiac arrest. Dead pawns were useless pawns, after all.

He turned to observe the black monstrosity of a dog. It was like no other dog he'd seen - and he'd seen some unique ones. After all, Cerberus was one of a kind, too - almost the size of a Great-Dane but obviously not of its breed; it was too muscular. "Potter Harry. British." The dog turned to face Hiruma, as if recognizing the utterance of its master's name.

"…a Grim?" Hiruma mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He recalled some celtic – or was it welsh?- legends of dogs of death he'd looked up while choosing names for his own mutt. "Kekeke, well, what do you know, Cerberus? Looks like there's a fellow guardian of hell moving in. How interesting."

The ugly canine moved towards the blond, sniffing mistrustfully at the larger dog. Sirens wailed and an ambulance skidded around the corner of the street. Paramedics scrambled out and skirted nervously around Hiruma – a well-known face – and his dog to collect the old man – another unfortunate victim of the Demon, for sure.

In the flurry of activity, the moving workers took the opportunity to jump off the truck and hurriedly start moving furniture. They would do their job and get the hell away. The workers were decent men, so they would've worried for their customer who was moving into this death-trap, but if the old man had been right, Potter-san would be right at home. They tried to ignore the Demon's eyes on them, but he didn't shoot them so they didn't stop.

Hiruma popped his gum and nudged Cerberus with a foot, pushing him towards Potter-san's dog. "C'mon. Say hi," the blond snarked. Grudgingly, the stout mutt shuffled over to the Grim, which stayed almost preternaturally still. Hiruma watched with great amusement as Cerberus stopped a foot away and growled, his ears standing straight up.

The black dog merely dipped his head down an inch away and huffed into the smaller dog's face. Then, with great ease, pawed Cerberus around and, without further ado, shoved his face into the mutt's posterior. Hiruma guffawed, nearly spitting his gum out at Cerberus' affronted yelp.

"KEKEKE!" the blond cackled as Cerberus turned tail and hid behind his legs. The Grim was not deterred, trotting up to the blond and peering around to seek the other dog. "If your master is anything like you, this might not be so bad. Should prove to be entertaining," Hiruma talked down to the black dog, which ignorant of its own strength and mass, easily shoved the blond this way and that as he chased the other canine around the legs of its owner.

"So," Hiruma drawled, "let's see what Potter-san named his Grim." He reached down, snagging the almost invisible black, leather collar around the dog's throat. The black dog tugged at the grip but stopped obediently after a warning look from the blond. Cerberus stopped running around with a relieved huff.

Hiruma felt along the length of the collar, searching for a tag, and spied the moving workers practically flying out of the elevator and into the truck, one man still scrambling behind to retract the ramp and close the door even as the vehicle drove off. The blond snorted. Spineless trash, he thought.

Finally, cool metal slid along his fingers and he grinned triumphantly, leaning down to spy the romanji lettering engraved upon it. It was silver, gleaming in the sun, with elegant script depicting one word – "Snuffles."

"What the fuck?!"


AN: Heehee, just a plot bunny that bit me in the ankle after talking with PsychoticKisshu. She's also doing a series of Eyeshield 21 x Harry Potter drabbles, so go read it! It's in my favorites.

So, tell me, does this work? I'm kind of looking forward to all the craziness this potentially allows.