Ah, I really wanted to write something that didn't have any Yu-Gi-Oh in it, back in September of 2007. This was before I'd ever seen Bleach for the first time, so instead I focused on Harry Potter.

I'd already written a (very bad) Harry Potter/Yu-Gi-Oh crossover previously, so I was fairly confident with my ability to write him in character... Ah, anyway, that's up to your judgment to see if I did that or not. I don't think I did, but bleh.

Petunia Dursley was scowling at some papers that were sitting neatly on the very corner of her sparkling clean kitchen counter.

The papers were a perfectly normal thing for a family such as theirs. They described several courses that were available for her child to take during the upcoming school year, including a few extracurricular classes. But that wasn't why she was scowling at them.

No, she was scowling because instead of a single packet of papers, she had received two, with an attached note requiring that other boy participate in at least one of the optional courses. "His grades in other subjects are such that we feel he would be more focused in one of these classes."

The other boy was nothing like her Dudley. He was rude and ungrateful, and he never managed to keep himself looking nice. He was extremely unintelligent, she knew, for all of his grades were completely abysmal compared to those that her Dudley received. Plus, he was Her son, and Petunia just knew that he would end up having the same strangeness that she did.

Petunia also knew that the boy would love to take the extracurricular classes, but that he would never do well in any of them. And the fact that the teachers were requiring him to have one would only make the boy insufferably smug.

After deciding that glaring at the papers wasn't going to make them burst into flames or disappear, (which, she also decided, would be a very bad thing to happen anyway, considering her husband's reaction,) she sighed and felt grateful that at least the extra classes didn't cost any money.

The best thing to do about it, she decided, was to force him to take a class that either was completely useless, or one that he hated so much that he wouldn't get arrogant about it. A class that was both would be best.

Picking up one of the packets, she flipped through it, looking at some of the available optional classes.

World Languages... He could hardly speak proper English, and they want to try to make him learn different languages?

Computers... Ha, the boy had never touched a computer in his life; her Dudley had taken care of that.

Debate... As if the brat didn't talk back to her enough!

School Newspaper... The boy didn't know a thing about what went on around him, he couldn't write about it to save his life.

Science... That had always been Her forte, and giving him additional classes in that would be inexcusable.


Petunia almost smiled at it. The boy didn't have a creative spark in him, she was sure. And the subject was surely useless, especially in her husband's eyes... Plus, it was such an ambiguous subject, with no good way to grade it... so while the boy might actually receive good marks in such a class, this wouldn't actually mean anything, so her husband and her Dudley wouldn't be upset with him.

Not that she cared too much about such things as the boy's well being, of course. He lived in the cupboard under their staircase, after all. But, after all, he was Her son...

Her mind made up, she circled the art class on the form. But just before she could turn to the accompanying sheet and sign it, her Dudley walked in.

"What are you doing, mum?" he sweetly asked, standing on his tiptoes to look at the paper.

Petunia smiled. "Signing up classes for-"

Dudley frowned as he noted which of the many classes had been circled. "Art? Art, mum?" his voice grew slightly high pitched with disbelief.

"Yes, dear, it's for-"

Dudley looked completely dismayed. "But muuuum..." he whined. "I'm 9 years old, now! I'll need to be taking classes that will impress people! Dad says art is for poor losers. Do you want me to be a poor loser, mum?" his eyes filled with tears.

Horrified that her precious son would think such a thing of her, she sought quickly to calm his fears. "Of course not, Duddy-kins! Look, dear, your packet is over here." She picked it up and showed him the many classes she had signed him up for.

His tears stopped abruptly as he took the packet and looked it over, smiling with delight. Then his expression turned to one of confusion. "Then the other packet... the art class...?"

Petunia smiled again. "Don't worry about it, Dudders. It's just for him."

"What's for me?" came a voice from the kitchen doorway, as the aforementioned boy stumbled in, obviously having just woken up. Without waiting for an answer, he headed towards one of the cupboards and began pulling out ingredients for breakfast, as he did every morning.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, boy," she snapped at him.

Dudley smirked at his cousin. "You get to be more of a freak at school this year, freak! Look, mum signed you up for some art class, while I get to take all the fun classes!"

Harry simply raised an eyebrow and went back to preparing the food. "Good for you," he said shortly. "What art class is this, Aunt Petunia?"

"One of the optional courses." She refused to explain more to him. She knew that he would know what she was talking about. "Come on, Dudders, let's go to the dining room for breakfast." She turned back to the boy. "And it better not be late or burned today, got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The ungrateful brat said sarcastically.

Petunia glared at him, then sighed. Some people were just not worth it.

(Later that year)

"Let go of me, quit pushing me around!" Harry was not in a good mood, and the regular bullies, his cousin included, weren't helping.

"What's the matter, freak?" one of the usual tormentors asked. "Are you going to be late for your sissy freak art class?"

This brought a chorus of snickers from the other boys. "Sissy art class!"


Harry ducked his head and shoved through them all as hard as he could. If he was late one more time...

"Oooh, the Potter freak's trying to show his muscle!" one of the boys grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the circle.

"Don't worry, Freak, no need for that! We'll give you your own personal escort!" This was Dudley. There were more snickers.

Harry didn't like the sound of that. "Thanks, I can manage."

"Oh, but you'll need an escort in a few minutes. One to the nurse, that is!"

Harry knew he hadn't liked the sound of that. Dudley gave him a malicious grin, then signaled to a few of his cronies. Harry very quickly found himself on the ground, his arms attempting feebly to protect his head from the blows of their feet.

Then, rescue came in the form of the principal. "What's going on here?"

"Harry fell," came the immediate response from one of Dudley's goons. "And we were helping him up, isn't that right?"

The group all made noises of affirmation, and one of them pulled Harry roughly to his feet.

The principal looked Harry over and frowned. "Is that really what happened?" the question was directed at Harry. The other boys gave him a look telling him just what was in store for him if he answered incorrectly.

Harry frowned, tempted to rat on them, just this once. But it wouldn't be worth it, he knew. "Yeah," he said thickly, brushing himself off. Without another word, he headed for his class, aware that the principal was studying him as he left and not caring.

This sort of thing happened almost every day. It was nearing the end of the school year, and he'd been taking this new art class the whole year so far. Dudley and his gang still hadn't gotten bored of harassing him while he was on his way to his class following lunch time and, of course, the harassment was always worse on those days when he had art then.

Entering the classroom, Harry noted that he was once again the last person there, so he took his usual seat in the back of the room. Looking around, he sighed in relief. Today seemed to be a free drawing day, so there wouldn't be any particular graded assignment to be working on, as long as he worked on drawing something. These sort of class periods happened maybe once a week, but he was always glad when they occurred.

Quickly, he dug through his pack until he came to the now slightly worn sketchbook the teacher had given to him. Flipping through the pages until he came to a blank sheet, about halfway through the book, he pulled out a few pencils and began to sketch.

He really wasn't sure what he was drawing. He never did, really, he just drew the first thing that came to mind.

He had learned early on, of course, never to show the Dursleys any of his artwork when he drew like this, though. If they hated his talking about dreams of 'unnatural things', they would hate more his pictures of such things.

Now, what was appearing on his paper looked sort of like Dudley, sitting on the ground. He smirked, erasing a line he'd drawn and making the figure's stomach much bigger than he'd originally drawn it. There, that was Dudley.

And what was happening to this figure? Harry thought about this for a moment, then began to draw again. Another figure drawn next to Dudley, much taller than he was, with a victorious look on his face. Harry smirked and drew a bloody nose for Dudley, and a mouth wide open in a scream.

Harry closed his eyes, setting his pencil down. Yeah, that would be nice. Someone who picked on Dudley and not on him...

He smiled to himself and added himself into the picture, in the background, looking slightly bewildered, but happy. Then he modified the stance of his unknown hero, making him give his picture self a thumbs up. That seemed right.

"Harry?" The voice of the art teacher came from above him and, startled, he glanced up. "May I see that?"

Harry frowned. His drawings weren't exactly the stick figures they used to be, not after being in this class for almost the whole year. He knew she'd be able to figure out who was in his drawing and what exactly was happening.

"Er, I..."

She took the sketchbook from him gently and looked over the picture. "You draw very well," was all she said about it, even smiling a little. "You know, it's amazing the progress you've made this year."

She flipped to the very front of the book and showed him some of his stick figures, then slowly flipped through the individual pictures, showing how they turned into actual drawings, and then gained more and more realism.

"Not many people are able to draw people so lifelike, especially considering what your skills were before. I would like to suggest that you take this class again next year. If you can make this much progress in one year, imagine the progress you'll make in another year!"

Harry took the sketchbook back and frowned at his first drawing. "All right. I can only imagine what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will think about that, though, my retaking a class..."

His teacher smiled at him. "I'll take care of contacting them, don't worry." She straightened and returned to the front of the class.

Harry turned the pages of his sketchbook back to the drawing he had just done. It was true, he had made tremendous progress... Not only in his drawing skills, but also...

There were several pages of his sketchbook that he'd had to rip out so that nobody could see them. Things he would never have been able to explain even if he'd wanted to.

Pictures that moved when he finished drawing them, for example. One minute, he'd be sketching the crowd at the pep rally he was attending, the next, the people in his picture were actually waving and yelling silently, occasionally looking up and grinning at him.

These little incidents were rare, as they only seemed to happen when he was feeling particularly emotional about something, but it was strange all the same... And he definitely didn't show them to anybody.

Looking down at his latest drawing, he could tell there was something of that strangeness about this one too, but he wasn't really sure what it was. It would probably manifest itself later...

The bell rang marking the end of the class period, and Harry quickly stashed his sketchbook and pencils into his bag, heading out the door into the hallway. Usually the bullies didn't go after him again until after school was out, but today they'd be mad that the principal of all people had bailed him out before.

With a sigh of relief, he made it to his next class and slipped in the door, heading for his seat in the back.

He had escaped punishment for now, but if he didn't hurry home after school, he was going to get extra then...

They caught up with him in the school yard just minutes after the last bell rang.

The usual taunts and jeers were now punctuated with fists and feet, and Harry just closed his eyes and tried to get away from them, an effort that was almost pointless.

"Hey, why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

The clich├ęd remark brought silence over the gathered crowd. Not only was somebody being stupid enough to go against Dudley Dursley and his whole gang, but they were standing up for Harry Potter of all people.

The crowd parted to let the crazy person through. He stood there with his arms folded, and a frown on his face. "I've seen you picking on him all year now, and I probably should have done something about it before, but enough is enough. Let him go."

Harry stared at him. He looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place where he could have seen him before. Certainly not in one of his classes, he would have recognized him if that was the case... Maybe he had just seen him before in the hallways, but that seemed unlikely too, as the only people Harry really saw in the halls were his tormentors...

"Let him go?" He ran out of time to think about it as Dudley picked him up by the back of his collar and threw him at the other boy. He landed rather painfully on his side, but quickly tried to pick himself up. "Fine, and then what?"

The other boy helped him to his feet, then stood between him and Dudley. "And then, you leave him alone, Dudley. Quit picking on him."

Dudley only laughed. "Right, and a wimp like you is going to do something about it."

The boy smirked, putting up his fists. "You wanna fight somebody, you can fight me. But leave him alone."

Harry was shocked. Was this kid nuts? Sure, he was taller than Dudley, but not by much, and Dudley definitely outweighed him by almost three times. This kid had to be crazy!

Dudley apparently thought so too. Laughing, he asked, "Who do you think you are, kid?"

"You can call me Kennan." He grinned.

"All right, Kennan." Dudley nodded at his goons, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. "You want a fight, then let's do this!"

As Harry had expected, the fight didn't last very long. What Harry hadn't expected, however, was that the winner of the fight wasn't Dudley and his gang. This new guy, Kennan, had taken all of them down, and now Dudley was sitting at his feet, clutching a bloody nose, screaming.

Kennan smirked at him, looking victorious. "I'm sure now you'll think twice about picking on your cousin, huh, Dudley?" he turned to Harry and gave him a thumbs up.

Harry simply watched in shock, his jaw hanging wide open.

If he hadn't just been drawing a picture of a scene like this in his art class just a few short class periods before this, he would have been surprised, of course, but now he was a little scared.

Dropping his bag and pulling out his sketchbook, he looked from the scene depicted in his drawing to what he was looking at now. Not only was this scene exactly what he had drawn, but now he realized where he recognized Kennan from; the figure he had drawn beating up on Dudley looked exactly like him.

Hands shaking, Harry dropped the sketchbook back into his bag and took off for home at a dead run. Several questions were running through his head:

Had he just drawn a picture that had predicted the future...? Or had his picture somehow made this happen?

And either way, how was this possible?

(1 Year Later)

Harry Potter was having a conversation with a snake. Not a real conversation, of course. Everybody knew that snakes couldn't talk. But ever since his cousin Dudley had banged on the glass of its home and stormed away angrily, the snake had been acting rather odd, pointing at the signs around it as if it understood what Harry was saying.

"Was it nice there?" he asked the snake through the glass, talking about the sign it had pointed out that told him it was from Brazil.

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: this specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see. So you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. "What? What is it?"

Dudley's friend, Piers looked confused as the two of them pressed their noses up to the glass. "It... it was looking up a second ago. Harry was talking to it, and it was pointing with its tail, I swear..." But the boa constrictor had coiled back up and was, to all appearances, fast asleep once more.

Gingerly, Harry picked himself off the floor and dusted himself off. "I wasn't doing anything to it," he complained. "And it wasn't doing anything either."

Vernon Dursley shot a look in Harry's direction, as if he wasn't sure he believed him, then turned to Dudley and his friend. "Very well, come on now. There's plenty more to the zoo than the reptile house, you know."

They all trooped out of the reptile house, Piers giving Harry a very thoughtful look as they left. Harry's attention was back on the boa constrictor, whose head had come back up again and was watching him intently.

Harry gave it a shrug of apology, which it, strangely, returned as well as a snake could. Then he left.

After Dudley's rather uneventful 11th birthday, life went on as normal. The two boys went back to school, and Harry went back to his art class, where he drew a picture of the boa constrictor, trying hard to make it just a normal picture and not a strange moving one.

He had now been taking this class for almost a whole two years, and now he could draw very well. He could draw almost photograph-like pictures in less than half the class period, and less complicated ones in mere minutes.

And what was more, most of his drawings were turning out to be the strange pictures he couldn't show anybody. He had a whole notebook of moving pictures, plus some that had seemed to predict the future at times. Sometimes he could reuse entire sheets of paper for multiple drawings, simply because the things that he drew came off the page and became real; which was useful for those times when the Dursleys locked him in his cupboard with no food, but still almost unfathomable.

The boy, Kennan, was still his friend, and he very effectively kept the bullies off him during the school day. He couldn't stop what happened to Harry at his own home, but at least school was better than it had ever been, especially since Kennan had signed up for some of the same classes as Harry that year, including art.

Next September was going to be tough, though. They were all going to be starting secondary school next year, and Kennan would be going to a different one than he was. Thankfully, Dudley would be attending a different school than him as well, as he had been accepted to his father's old private school, but that didn't change the fact that Harry would be losing his best and only friend.

All too soon, the school year ended, and summer vacation began.

Harry spent most of his time wandering around outside, partly because there was nothing to do inside, and partly because Dudley and his gang liked playing Harry Hunting whenever Kennan wasn't around, and the Dursleys, of course, never let him invite friends over.

Life at number four Privet Drive began to take on a dull routine for Harry. Wake up, make and eat breakfast, head out the door and wander over to the park before Dudley's friends arrived. Hang around, dreaming of the beginning of the next school year, then go home, do a few chores, make and eat dinner, go to bed.

Finally, one day near the end of July, something happened to break the monotony.

Harry received a letter in the mail. That in and of itself was strange. The only person in the entire world who would possibly want to write a letter to Harry was Kennan, and he wasn't much of a letter writer. Harry had never received a letter before.

But this letter was strange even if Harry had regularly received letters. For one thing, the envelope was made of a heavy parchment paper, it was closed with a wax seal bearing a strange coat of arms, and the address was written in a green ink. For another, whoever wrote it seemed to know that he lived in the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry took the small stack of letters back to the dining room and tossed the regular mail to his Uncle distractedly, pealing off the wax seal on the parchment envelope so he could get at the letter inside. Dudley quickly discovered what his cousin was up to and called it loudly to his father's attention.

The letter was rather rudely removed from Harry's hands by his incredulous Uncle. "That's ridiculous, who would write to..." his voice trailed off as he read the first few lines of the letter. His face turned several different shades of color very quickly, settling eventually on a deathly pale white. "P-Petunia!"

What followed was a rather hectic fight for the letter, followed by Dudley and Harry both being kicked out of the room. The two of them fought silently for the keyhole to listen in on Vernon and Petunia. Dudley won, so Harry listened at the bottom of the door.

"No, we'll ignore it." Vernon was telling Petunia emphatically. "If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best. We won't do anything..."

"But-" Petunia tried to say something but Vernon interrupted her.

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That was as far as they got to listen in before they heard footsteps and had to scramble far enough away from the door as to look innocent before it opened.

Harry spent the rest of the day wondering. Who could have written to him? And what was more, who could have written to him with something so important that Uncle Vernon wanted to 'stamp it out' and refuse to let him see it?

Things around the house quickly grew stranger, as first Harry was moved into Dudley's second bedroom, then Uncle Vernon came up with more and more ways to keep Harry from getting his letters, and whoever was sending them came up with more and more creative ways of sending them.

When twenty-four of the letters arrived rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their milkman had delivered to them through the window, due to the fact that the Dursleys' front and back door were both completely boarded up, and Harry still wasn't allowed to see any of them, he decided that he'd had enough.

After he completed all of his usual Saturday chores, Harry snuck up to his new room and pulled out his drawing pad and pencils.

He sat thinking for a long moment. Should he try just drawing a picture of one of the letters and hope that it ended up being one of those pictures that just came to life? He shook his head. He didn't know what the letter inside said; if he tried that, he would end up with an envelope with a piece of blank parchment inside.

So what he really needed was a predicting the future sort of picture; one that showed the letter being delivered to Harry, while the Dursleys weren't looking. What would be the easiest way to portray that?

Well, as he had no idea who was writing the letters, it would be impossible to try to draw them handing him a letter personally... And he had no idea what was actually delivering the letters, (what kind of mailman could get letters to fit inside eggs, after all?) so he couldn't draw a picture of that delivering it to him either.

Finally, Harry began to sketch his new bedroom's window, and the area around it. The window he drew was cracked open slightly, and one of the letters was resting on the sill. Harry thought for a moment more, then drew a moon and stars in the window. It wouldn't do for the letter to arrive during the day when the Dursleys could see it.

Harry wasn't sure at all that this was working, but for good measure, he drew a box in the corner to show each of the Dursleys asleep in their beds.

Then, convinced that he wouldn't be able to do anything more, he stuffed the drawing pad back into his bag, where nobody would look at it.

Harry was awoken that night by a tapping on his window. Immediately, he was awake, sitting up straight to look towards the window, which he had left slightly open.

Right outside his window was, of all things, a small, brown owl. It peered at him almost questioningly, as if making sure that he was indeed awake, then turned and dropped from the sill, flying off into the night.

Quickly, Harry went to the window to watch its flight, then looked down in amazement at the letter that now sat innocently on the window sill, having obviously been dropped off by the owl.

He picked it up and looked it over. It was the same as all the others that had been arriving. Made of parchment, closed with a strange wax seal, with the address written in green ink.

He tore open the seal, eager to finally get at the letter inside. Nothing could have prepared him for the letter's contents.

"Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry read aloud to himself, trying to convince himself that what he was reading was real, and not some dream. "We await your owl by no later than July 31."

He frowned at that. "Owl?" his eyes widened as he looked to the window that the owl had just vacated. These people used owls for letters?

But how was he to get a message back to them? He didn't have an owl of his own... And even if he could send a letter, would he address it to the Headmaster, or would he send it to the Deputy Headmistress who had sent him this letter?

Suddenly, the startlingly obvious question popped into his mind: Was this real? There was a possibility that this was some weird product of his picture... But how could that sort of magic come up with something like this?

Magic... Yes, that really was what his pictures were, after all. He had just never really put that word to the situation. So if the magic in his pictures was real, this could be real too! He could go to a school where more people would be like him, and he could learn how to master his magic!

But how was he going to contact these people? He supposed he could draw a picture of the owl returning to his window sill, but that didn't really seem fair to that owl, making it turn around...

But he really couldn't see any other way... Before he did anything, though, he'd have to try and figure out what he wanted written in his letter.

The only available paper he had was drawing paper from his notebook, and he didn't want to waste that, as much as possible. So he took a single sheet and, using one of his drawing pencils, began to write out his letter.

"Dear"... he paused in thought, then decided that since the Deputy Headmistress had written him the letter, he ought to send his letter to her.

"Dear Professor McGonagall,

Thank you for telling me that I've been accepted, but I really don't know any thing about the school, or about magic. My aunt and uncle don't like magic, so I can't ask them for anything. I'd like to go, but I need more information.

Also, I need a better mailing system. The owls just don't work. Thanks.

Sincerely, Harry Potter"

That should work, assuming she didn't think he was being rude... Which, since he had never written a letter before and was simply copying the style of the letter she had sent, was entirely possible...

He wondered vaguely how far away Hogwarts was, and how long it would take them to respond to his letter.

Then he turned to another blank page in his drawing pad and drew a quick picture of the owl sitting on his desk, waiting for him, the window behind him wide open, and the sky still black with night.

Once that was done, he threw the window open, then sat down on his bed to wait. There he waited a long time, until he started to drift asleep again. Suddenly, he was startled awake by the arrival of the owl through his window, and he jumped clumsily to his feet.

The owl landed on his desk, blinking up at him slowly, as if wondering what it was doing back here.

Hurriedly, Harry snatched up his letter and folded it up a few times. He had no envelope to put it in, but he hoped that wouldn't matter. "Can you take this to Professor McGonagall?" he asked the owl, holding the letter out to it.

It ruffled its feathers indignantly, then clamped the letter in its beak and took off through the window again. Harry stared after it in wonder for a long time before he finally went back to sleep.

Pulled from my original author note:

A quick note about the school system. It may not be hugely obvious with how I wrote the story, but I didn't really give Harry a normal schedule. Normally in a school situation, I would write the schedule based off of my own school. However, the school system in Europe is different than it is here in America, and I wanted to try that...

For those who don't know what happens in England as far as school... well, I don't know either, but it's something like, students age four to ten go to primary school, and once they turn 11, they enter secondary school. Hence why Hogwarts accepts students age 11, it's supposed to be a secondary school. And hence why Dudley says that at 9 years old, he needs to be taking classes that will impress people; so he can get into a good secondary school.

The students at Hogwarts, if you hadn't noticed, have weekly schedules instead of a daily schedule like we have here. Potions classes are every Tuesday and Thursday, rather than every day, and so forth. Again, I don't really know how the school system in England works, but I assumed that the primary school would probably go with the same weekly schedule that the secondary school does... Hence why Harry doesn't always have art right after lunch, in case you were wondering.

So, yeah. That was my attempt. This was originally two chapters, and I stuffed it into one for my purposes here...

Augh, looking through this, I am appalled by the shortness of the scenes... Augh...

In the end, I didn't really succeed in taking Yu-Gi-Oh out of it completely; you probably wouldn't have been able to tell if I didn't say so here, but I based Kennan's appearance off of Kaiba. Ah, I fail...