Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or Prince of Tennis.
Summary: Enter Nanjiroh, whose celebrity status has garnered quite a number of rabid fans. Enter Rinko, whose reputation as a prominent lawyer has acquired just as many enemies. Enter Ryoga, whose shady dealings thus far don't do much for the safety of his family. Enter Ryoma, who just wants to play tennis and doesn't appreciate all the suspicious crazy people trying to kidnap and/or harm him because of his parents. And finally, enter Harry, who really couldn't care less about tennis but is hired on as a certain tennis prodigy's bodyguard.
General Warnings: OOC!Harry, Master of Death!Harry, Kickass!Harry, language, violence, gen, PoT AU (duh).
Author's Notes: This fic doesn't have anything to do with my HPxKHR one. In other words, two different Harrys. I'm also hoping to make this crossover a bit lighter compared to all the angst and drama in my other one, concentrating on the friendship aspect and everyday life instead, though it might wander into angsty territory sooner or later anyway.
I have no idea where this plot bunny came from but it came and it wouldn't leave so I had to write it down. Not sure when the next update will be (could be tomorrow, could be in a week), but the HPxKHR fic will be my top priority.
Chapter 1 – Prelude
"You're a bit young," His soon-to-be employer said slyly.
Harry raised an eyebrow and barely had to think before he became a twenty-year-old instead of a fifteen-year-old.
The man blinked and then grinned. "I had heard rumours you could do some sort of voodoo and change your age but I didn't think they were actually real."
Harry rolled his eyes. "If you didn't think they were real, you wouldn't have gone to the trouble of finding me."
"True," The man agreed cheerfully. "I've seen all sorts of magic happen on the courts. Not quite so... blatantly, but incredible enough."
Harry shrugged. He had a general idea of the tennis world here in which top or rising players had all sorts of reality-defying techniques up their sleeves but that was about it. His closest encounter with tennis before now was walking by that tennis court a few months back after taking down a yakuza gang sent to kidnap a young mafia don. Needless to say, they hadn't succeeded and had been very glad to get away from him and his charge after three-quarters of them had been knocked out.
Now, one might ask how Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Conquer, the Wizarding World's Saviour, and so on and so forth, had snagged a job as a one-man security detail. The answer was actually relatively simple.
Being the Master of Death had its benefits. For one, he had found quite a number of different dimensions to jump to, and after going through a war with the Dark-Lord-Who-Has-To-Be-Killed-Multiple-Times-Before-Staying-Dead and then another political war with the bloody Ministry who had eventually decided he was a danger to society and had, unsuccessfully, tried to lock him up, he had been more than happy to get out of there, especially after most of his friends had grown to be far older than him in terms of physical age.
For another, Death had been kind enough to give him the option of varying his age at will – something about life no longer having a hold over him and other technical jargon Harry hadn't really bothered listening to after getting the gist of the idea – and dying whenever he wanted to instead of just kicking the bucket the first time around like everyone else. Death had quite endeared itself to him after that little tidbit. Harry had no desire to live forever but it did make his life easier if he could choose to come back or go on whenever he died.
But none of that was terribly relevant when it came to his current career choice. In truth, Harry had merely gotten bored of the last world where he had been a barkeeper and was now trying his hand at bodyguard work. He hadn't done it before, he knew, probably more than most, how to fight, and the jobs he took on didn't clash with what little morals he still had. As far as Harry was concerned, those three things were the only requirements he needed.
He had spread the word, and it helped that people in this world prized sports – especially tennis – quite a bit, and they were used to seeing impossible things happen every other month. It also helped that Harry could use a bit of surface legilimency to see whether or not his employer would be receptive to something as otherworldly as changing his age in the blink of an eye. Most of the time, he would secretly scope out his next temporary boss and see who they had in mind before simply coming as a man of that age (it wasn't as if he advertised his less-than-normal abilities so the only real reputation he had gained was that of a highly capable bodyguard and a master of disguise), but there were a select few who couldn't care less what he could do as long as he got the job done.
So, through a series of spells he always wove before each job, Harry could come and go without leaving anything more than a name and a growing repute for his employers, not having to worry about people trying to track him down for anything other than business. This way, he could take various jobs from criminals and police and normal citizens alike – he could and would protect anyone as long as they had money and genuine need of his help.
The man sitting across from him at the moment had both.
"So how old is your son anyway?" Harry enquired.
"Twelve," The man said promptly, pushing a photograph across the table. "I know it's short notice but we're moving to Japan in a week and he'll be starting middle school there." He hesitated briefly before continuing, "By word of mouth, your résumé does say anywhere, anytime."
Harry nodded in confirmation, idly picking up the picture. "Yes, I can pack and leave anytime, and my Japanese is passable. Although going through middle school again does not sound fun."
The man barked out a laugh. "Teenage drama all over again. I'm still waiting for my brat's hormones to kick in though. Some days, I swear his true love is tennis."
Harry's snorted in amusement, giving a cursory glance at the man over the top of the photo. Seemingly easygoing and, judging by his posture, lazy, but the fact that he had managed to find Harry at all meant he was serious about his son's safety.
"I'll take the job," Harry decided, returning the picture. "You know what I charge, and your son doesn't look like the clueless type; I'm guessing the rest of the family knows already?"
His employer nodded. "Ryoma can be childish but he's smart and more mature than most kids his age in some ways. He can keep your identity secret. He's not much interested in anything outside of tennis anyway."
Harry hummed in acknowledgement as he rose to his feet. The man did the same and they shook hands. "I'll have a cover story and the proper enrollment papers ready in a few days. I'll probably change my name too; just a heads-up."
The man's eyes glinted and Harry caught a shadow of the samurai persona his employer was renowned for. "Understood. You'll keep him safe?"
Harry smiled, sharp and certain. "No one will harm him on my watch, Mr. Echizen."
~Two Weeks Later~
"Rise and shine, Ryo-kun!"
Ryoma grunted in annoyance and swatted at the hand tugging at his blankets. "Go 'way! And don't call me that!"
"No can do! You're going to be late for our first day of school if you don't get up now. Ryo-kun."
Ryoma fumbled for his alarm clock – the one he had turned off a while ago so he could get a few more minutes of sleep – and threw it in the general direction of the way-too-cheerful-for-the-morning voice. He heard a muffled smack but he didn't need to look to know that his clock had only been caught and hadn't actually hit his target.
"Up! Your mother's almost done making breakfast!"
He groaned pathetically and finally stopped wrestling for control of his blankets. Haruto wasn't going to let up until he rose from bed.
"Alright, alright, I'm up!" He threw the dirtiest look he could muster at the grinning teen. "Now get out; I need to change."
"That's the spirit!" Haruto chirped, tossing him both his school uniform and his alarm clock before sweeping out the door.
Ryoma watched him go before heaving a long-suffering sigh. Of all the people his oyaji could get as his bodyguard, it had to be someone he couldn't ignore.
Akiyama Haruto had breezed into his life a week and a half ago and had settled himself firmly at Ryoma's side. Literally. The black-haired teen had followed him around for three days before backing off, but only far enough to not be with him twenty-four/seven.
At first, Ryoma hadn't been sure how someone his own age could protect him from rabid fans and hired thugs. It had taken him all of an hour to figure it out; Haruto could scare them all away just by being far too happy.
The teen wasn't hyperactive or anything, just very, very cheerful. He had introduced himself to Ryoma at once and had been completely oblivious to the disinterested expression Ryoma had been wearing, taking his one-worded answers and grunts in stride and not minding at all that Ryoma rarely talked.
It wasn't as if Haruto was a babbling mess either, which was something Ryoma supposed he should be grateful for. The other teen didn't talk nonstop, and, morning wakeup calls aside, Haruto actually did have intelligent things to comment on. Ryoma didn't know where his dad had found him but no normal twelve-year-old could spend half the plane ride from America to Japan pointing out the personal backgrounds of every passenger onboard just by looking at them to Ryoma. He could've been guessing but Ryoma's instincts hadn't picked up a lie and he had found himself grudgingly engrossed in the psychological analysis. It had been the most interesting thing to concentrate on during the trip anyway.
Haruto also had his periods of quiet, which was what Ryoma liked best. While he had grown to tolerate Haruto's presence over the past one and a half weeks, it came as a relief the first time the other teen simply sat quietly next to him and read a book while Ryoma dozed under a tree in a nearby park after playing tennis against a wall for several hours.
The main problem Ryoma had with his new bodyguard however was probably how bright he was. Ryoma had gotten used to tuning out reporters and strangers talking around him until everything was just a grey canvas passing by. The only time that changed was when he was on the court, but Haruto had proceeded to flush out the grey in his everyday life and begin filling it with colour.
God, and now he was spouting poetry. The morning was playing havoc with his mind.
Ryoma had originally planned to spend the last week before school started playing tennis, drinking ponta, and sleeping in his bed, but Haruto had dragged him out to go sightseeing, never mind the fact that his bodyguard seemed to know exactly where everything was already. Apparently, the sightseeing had been for Ryoma's benefit.
Five days into their acquaintance, Haruto had also proven to be a prankster, though thankfully, the pranks hadn't been aimed at Ryoma. The two of them had run into a bunch of thugs on the subway who had been bragging stupidly about holding his racket (Ryoma could faintly recall a girl with pigtails who had seemed bothered by them as well) and Ryoma had proceeded to correct them. With a cocky smirk thrown in for good measure.
He had missed the tournament he had wanted to participate in because the girl gave him the wrong directions, but one of the thugs – he couldn't remember the teen's name – had challenged him. Ryoma had put him in his place in record time before heading off to the bathroom. When he had returned, his opponent and the other thugs were covered from head to toe in glitter. One look at his bodyguard's crafty smirk had told him who the culprit was. Even Ryoma had been hard-pressed not to snicker when Haruto muttered an offhand comment about Twilight.
Haruto was different and somewhat strange but Ryoma had started getting used to him – he had to since the teen would be staying with him in the foreseeable future – and had even capitulated when Haruto insisted on being called by his first name. It made sense; they were all from America in the first place, and Haruto was supposed to be a family friend who would be living with them for a while because his parents were always busy. Ryoma had wondered once or twice if the teen had parents.
At the moment though, with a lot of grumbling on his part, Ryoma dragged himself out of bed and got ready for the day. Maybe if he was lucky, Haruto wouldn't draw too much attention at school. Ryoma was all for showing off but he preferred to keep it on the court so his tennis could do the talking.
"You're too quiet. What are you planning?" Ryoma asked bluntly, peering suspiciously at Harry – or Haruto now – from under his cap.
Haruto grinned back lazily as he strolled down the hall beside his charge. It was kind of adorable that Ryoma sometimes got so paranoid when Haruto wasn't talking to him. Granted, he had been dropping hints that he would be doing something extravagant on their first day which Ryoma had probably taken the wrong way and now thought Haruto would be blowing up half their classroom or something – exactly what Haruto had been aiming for. Slightly jumpy and wary Ryoma meant lethargic and apathetic Ryoma was nowhere in sight.
However, as a bodyguard, Haruto preferred not placing them directly in the spotlight. He was going to have enough trouble keeping an eye on Ryoma when the twelve-year-old started displaying his skills on the court.
That didn't mean he couldn't mess with Ryoma's head in the meantime though.
"Absolutely nothing, Ryo-kun," Haruto assured gleefully. "Just busy admiring our new school."
Ryoma scowled at him, clearly not believing his words. "Don't call me that."
Haruto just slung an arm around the shorter teen who immediately began squirming away as they entered their classroom.
"Haruto, let go!" Ryoma ordered in vain as Haruto's gaze rapidly flickered across the room – twenty-two students, ten girls, twelve boys, male homeroom teacher, bored, tolerant of the noise around him, not new to the school, not a threat.
"Don't be so grumpy all the time, Ryoma," Haruto mock-scolded as they proceeded to take adjacent seats by the windows, Haruto closest to the glass. The voices had dropped to a muted buzz, all eyes focused on them from the moment they had come in.
They made a striking pair. Ryoma had his dark green hair, pale features, and catlike golden eyes, short enough to be cute but with enough natural charisma to be attractive. Haruto himself had his father's tousled raven-black hair, his mother's green eyes, and, he'd like to think, more than enough charm for a school filled with judgemental teenagers. A simple gold hoop earring adorned his left ear. Only he understood the tiny intricate protective runes etched into the band.
Ryoma swatted him away, laying his head down as he slumped into his seat. "...You're not joining the Tennis Club, are you?"
"Unfortunately, no," Haruto leaned back in his chair, pulling out a book to read for the next half hour. "I'll be your biggest fan though."
Ryoma muffled a groan as he buried his head in his arms, his cap pulled low to block the sunlight.
Harry quirked a smile as he flipped open his book, keeping half an eye on his surroundings. This job might be more fun than usual.
One floor up, Momoshiro Takeshi and Kaido Kaoru glared at each other as they spat insults back and forth. Neither of them could wait for the ranking matches where they would be able to see just who had improved more since last year.
On the very top floor, Oishi Shuuichirou smiled fondly at his partner as Kikumaru Eiji bounced excitedly in place and babbled about the upcoming ranking matches.
Next door, Inui Sadaharu, Kawamura Takashi, Fuji Syusuke, and Tezuka Kunimitsu settled down as the bell rang and their teacher started going through roll call.
They were expecting the tennis prodigy coming to Seigaku. They weren't expecting the enigma said prodigy had brought with him.
Please leave a review on your way out.