Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or Naruto, never will. Too tired to come up with something witty, apologies.
Harry was actually having a pretty nice summer this year. The Dursleys were off in Mexico, and they had obviously refused to take him along.
Harry didn't mind this at all. He had even waved them off cheerfully when they had left ("Goodbye Uncle Vernon! No, I won't blow up anything, that was only once! Don't worry, there will be nothing freaky going on in your house. Yes, yes, Aunt Petunia. I'll still clean and work with the garden. Would be a waste of the five years I tended it if I gave up on it now! And, Dudley, I could care less about your video games. You think I'm going to burn them, sacrifice your Halo to a pagan bonfire? Well there is that ritual.. Kidding, Big D, just kidding! Have a nice trip now!").
So Harry was content. There had been no Dementors, no Howlers, and no creepy house-elves. It had been an mundane July. Until now.
Harry was sitting pretzel-leg style on the couch when he first noticed the strange boy. The boy, he'd call him Brick for now, though his hair was less brick-colored and more blood-copper stained, was just standing there. He was dressed strangely and had a huge gourd strapped to his back. Harry wasn't all that worried though. The blood wards would keep any unwanted intruders out, so Brick probably didn't have any malicious intentions toward him.
Eventually, Harry got tired of watching Brick stare intently at his door. The guy probably had the wrong house anyway. He would talk to the poor sod and clear any misunderstandings.
Gaara, though he would never admit it, was nervous. He showed no signs of it outwardly, of course. He was Gaara of the Desert, fearsome shinobi and Kazekage of Suna despite his young age. His forehead was smooth and unfurrowed, his eyes perfectly blank, and his hands as dry as the desert sand. But yes, Gaara was nervous. Why? It all started after the eventful Chuunin Exams, nearly a month ago.
Knock, knock. Gaara slowly turned his head to the door. "You may come in," he said.
Temari poked her head out cautiously. Although Gaara had changed since his fight with Naruto, he was still dangerous and unpredictable. Temari remembered the last time a messenger had interrupted Gaara and shivered. She chose her words carefully, "Our father left a will behind."
Gaara stared back with his head slightly cocked, as if saying, your point? They knew that the former Kazekage held no lost love for him. Temari decided that physical evidence would work best and fished out a neatly pressed envelope. She handed it to Gaara, who gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment, and then got the hell out of that stifling room, not once exposing her back to him in her departure. Gaara turned his piercing gaze onto the small white paper. He opened it slowly and with an extra-thick layer of sand on his hand (Gaara wouldn't put it past his father to attempt to poison him from the grave). He could not hold back a sharp intake of breath.
If you are reading this, I am deceased. I do not expect you to grieve - I would not grieve for you either.
That wasn't true actually. Gaara had felt a minuscule pang of loss when his father's death was revealed. He had went out that afternoon and carved a 50-foot statue of the Kazekage in the middle of the desert. Gaara had later destroyed the sculpture in a fit of rage, but felt that it was the thought that counted.
However, there is one thing I owe you, and that is the truth. Karura was not your birth mother. Your real mother was Lily Evans.
There was a buzzing sound in his ears, and he could hardly breathe. A mother, a real mother. Not a stranger that had cursed Suna, cursed her child and named him for carnage.
Do not get your hopes up. She is long dead, dead for thirteen years now. A year after Lily had you, she birthed another boy: Harry James Potter. He is your half-brother, and you will seek him out.
This is my only and last favor to you. Why, you are probably asking. You hate me, and the feeling is mutual. But I held a great affection for Lily. She would want this for you, and so this is my dying gift for her. Because Gaara, your mother loved you. Would have died for you, and that is the truth.
Goodbye. May you find a reason to live.
Gaara raised a trembling hand to his forehead. Ai. He traced his scar with his finger. Could it be that he was...loved?
So it was his stupid father's fault for going and dying on him. What was he supposed to do after he read that letter? Gaara couldn't refuse him! And that brought him to his current situation. He was in front of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey (in freaking England!), and poised to knock. Gaara steeled his resolve and brought his knuckle against the door - only to find the door already opened.
A green-eyed boy blinked sheepishly at him, "Hello there." He had messy hair, crooked glasses, messy everything, basically. Gaara let his hand fall. The boy offered a smile. "You've been standing outside the house for over an hour. Are you looking for the Dursleys?" he asked politely."Because they're vacationing in Mexico right now."
Well, that was slightly embarrassing. "No," Gaara replied. "I'm looking for a Harry James Potter." The boy looked even more confused than before, if that was even possible, "That's me."
"Hello, then," Gaara said. Harry, that was his name, waited patiently. "I'm Gaara," he added. This communicating thing was difficult. Why was he here again? Oh, right. He continued, "I'm your half-brother."
Author's Note: I'm terrible, I know. I have five other stories that I haven't updated in, like, a month. But seriously? I had to write this. So, standard conclusion.
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